not too hungry.” Gracie filled a Styrofoam coffee cup at an urn.
“I'm Connie Cameron. I saw you driving in with Bobby Tom.” She took in the navy blue suit in a way that made Gracie realize she had once again dressed wrong. “Have you known him for long?”
The woman's manner was less than friendly, and Gracie decided it was better to clear up any misunderstanding right at the beginning. “Only a few days. I'm one of the production assistants. I escorted him here from Chicago.”
“Nice work if you can get it.” Connie's gaze was carnivorous as she watched Bobby Tom in the distance. “I spent some of the best times of my life with Bobby Tom Denton. He sure does know how to make a woman feel one hundred percent female.”
Gracie didn't know how to answer that, so she smiled and carried her coffee over to one of the folding tables. As she took a chair, she forced herself to put Bobby Tom out of her mind and still thinking about her new responsibilities instead. Since production assistants were at the bottom of the totem pole, she could end up working with the prop people, typing crew sheets, running errands, or performing any of a dozen other jobs. As she saw Willow approach, she hoped her boss hadn't decided to send her back to L A to work in the office. She wasn't nearly ready for this adventure to end, and the thought of never seeing Bobby Tom again gave her a sharp pang . . .
Willow Craig was in her late thirties, a woman with the lean and hungry look of an obsessive dieter. She bristled with frantic energy, chain-smoked Marlboros, and could be curt to the point of rudeness, but Gracie still admired her tremendously. She began to stand to greet her, but Willow gestured her back into her chair and .sat down next to her.
“We need to talk, Gracie.”
The brusqueness in her tone made Gracie uneasy. “All right. I'm anxious to hear about my new duties.”
“That's one of the things I want to discuss.” She pulled a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her peach jumpsuit. “You know that I'm not happy with the way you did this job.”
“I'm sorry. I did my best, but—”
“It's performance, not excuses, that count in this business. Your failure to get our star here on time has been extremely costly.”
Gracie bit back all the explanations that were bubbling to her lips and said, simply, “I realize that.”
“I know he can be difficult, but I hired you because I thought that you could handle difficult people.” For the first time, her voice lost its edge and she regarded Gracie with a trace of sympathy. “I'm partially to blame. I knew you lacked experience in the business, but I hired you anyway. I'm sorry, Gracie, but now I'm going to have to let you go.”
Gracie could feel the blood, draining from her head. “Let me go?” she whispered. “No.”
“I like you, Gracie, and, God knows, you saved my life when Dad was dying at Shady Acres and I was so distraught. But I didn't get where I am today by being sentimental. We're on a tight budget, and there's no room for dead weight. The fact is, you were given a job to do, and you couldn't handle it.” “Her voice softened as she stood up. “I'm sorry it didn't work out for you. If you'll stop by the office at the hotel, you can pick up your check.”
With that, Willow walked away.
The hot sun beat down on. Gracie's head. She wanted to turn her face into it and let it burn her up so that she wouldn't have to face what she feared the most. She had been fired.
In the distance Bobby Tom emerged from one of the trailers followed by a young woman with a tape measure draped around her neck. She laughed at something he said, and he gave her an answering smile so charged with intimacy that Gracie could almost see the girl falling in love. She wanted to yell at her, to warn her it was the same smile he gave tollbooth operators.
Tires squeaed and a silver Lexus peeled into the compound. The driver had barely brought the vehicle to a stop
“I'm Connie Cameron. I saw you driving in with Bobby Tom.” She took in the navy blue suit in a way that made Gracie realize she had once again dressed wrong. “Have you known him for long?”
The woman's manner was less than friendly, and Gracie decided it was better to clear up any misunderstanding right at the beginning. “Only a few days. I'm one of the production assistants. I escorted him here from Chicago.”
“Nice work if you can get it.” Connie's gaze was carnivorous as she watched Bobby Tom in the distance. “I spent some of the best times of my life with Bobby Tom Denton. He sure does know how to make a woman feel one hundred percent female.”
Gracie didn't know how to answer that, so she smiled and carried her coffee over to one of the folding tables. As she took a chair, she forced herself to put Bobby Tom out of her mind and still thinking about her new responsibilities instead. Since production assistants were at the bottom of the totem pole, she could end up working with the prop people, typing crew sheets, running errands, or performing any of a dozen other jobs. As she saw Willow approach, she hoped her boss hadn't decided to send her back to L A to work in the office. She wasn't nearly ready for this adventure to end, and the thought of never seeing Bobby Tom again gave her a sharp pang . . .
Willow Craig was in her late thirties, a woman with the lean and hungry look of an obsessive dieter. She bristled with frantic energy, chain-smoked Marlboros, and could be curt to the point of rudeness, but Gracie still admired her tremendously. She began to stand to greet her, but Willow gestured her back into her chair and .sat down next to her.
“We need to talk, Gracie.”
The brusqueness in her tone made Gracie uneasy. “All right. I'm anxious to hear about my new duties.”
“That's one of the things I want to discuss.” She pulled a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her peach jumpsuit. “You know that I'm not happy with the way you did this job.”
“I'm sorry. I did my best, but—”
“It's performance, not excuses, that count in this business. Your failure to get our star here on time has been extremely costly.”
Gracie bit back all the explanations that were bubbling to her lips and said, simply, “I realize that.”
“I know he can be difficult, but I hired you because I thought that you could handle difficult people.” For the first time, her voice lost its edge and she regarded Gracie with a trace of sympathy. “I'm partially to blame. I knew you lacked experience in the business, but I hired you anyway. I'm sorry, Gracie, but now I'm going to have to let you go.”
Gracie could feel the blood, draining from her head. “Let me go?” she whispered. “No.”
“I like you, Gracie, and, God knows, you saved my life when Dad was dying at Shady Acres and I was so distraught. But I didn't get where I am today by being sentimental. We're on a tight budget, and there's no room for dead weight. The fact is, you were given a job to do, and you couldn't handle it.” “Her voice softened as she stood up. “I'm sorry it didn't work out for you. If you'll stop by the office at the hotel, you can pick up your check.”
With that, Willow walked away.
The hot sun beat down on. Gracie's head. She wanted to turn her face into it and let it burn her up so that she wouldn't have to face what she feared the most. She had been fired.
In the distance Bobby Tom emerged from one of the trailers followed by a young woman with a tape measure draped around her neck. She laughed at something he said, and he gave her an answering smile so charged with intimacy that Gracie could almost see the girl falling in love. She wanted to yell at her, to warn her it was the same smile he gave tollbooth operators.
Tires squeaed and a silver Lexus peeled into the compound. The driver had barely brought the vehicle to a stop
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