turned upward into a soft curve. “Lyd, if you’d get rid of them tits and grow a wank, you’d be me best mate for sure.”
“Say good-bye to your friends. You can come back to visit as soon as you’re finished shooting my film.”
Zymar lifted the sheet and Lydia caught herself looking—so did Zymar.
“It’s a big one, ain’t it, Lyd?” he asked, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Lydia blushed like a fourteen-year-old girl. “Uh, we’ll be in the hall.” She and Thuan walked out the door. Lydia’s heart raced in her chest. Zymar was correct—it indeed was a big one.
Ms. Albright and Mr. Zymar, please fasten your seat belts for the descent into Los Angeles,” the pilot said over the intercom.
For fifteen hours, Zymar had slept while Lydia read scripts, rolled phone calls, pestered her assistants, and paced the cabin of the Gulfstream 5500. Zymar finally woke two hours outside of L.A., hungover, dehydrated, and disoriented. First she had pumped him full of Fiji water. Then she fed him vitamin C tablets and multivitamins—Lydia needed him ready to roll the minute they touched down—and finally they talked about the script.
“We had one read-through, last week. It was okay. But just okay. Mary Anne is working on a couple more notes.”
“Your writer’s a cute one,” Zymar said, slurping more coffee.
“You cannot fuck my writer,” Lydia commanded. “Do you understand? This is her first film, and the experience will be overwhelming enough. She doesn’t need you mucking up her head.”
“Yes, ma’am. See we’ve got a bit of a mother hen in us. Who would have thought it? You with that set of brass balls and all.”
“Celeste Solange is playing Raphaella.”
“Don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Magic.”
“I’d say so. Speakin’ of magic, that little short redheaded fart who reminds me of a leprechaun, the one ‘at got the Worldwide job?”
“Arnold Murphy. Yes.”
“You know, Lydia, when I heard that was when I headed inland. I wasn’t meaning to be dodgy. I just figured with the feud between you two there wouldn’t be a movie to make.”
“You and me both. I got lucky.”
“You know the saying about luck—When chance meets a prepared mind. What saved it, then, Lyd?”
“Cici. Cici and Jess.”
“Yeah, well, I always did like them in threes.” Zymar’s lascivious grin would have been offensive if Lydia didn’t think he was so damn good-looking.
“And Bradford, then. He’s out of rehab? Cleaned up?”
“He seemed clean at the second read-through. I hope it holds.”
“He’s unstoppable in front of a camera, Lyd, if you can keep him off the blow for the shoot. But it’s impossible when he’s on it.”
“You take care of him on set. I’ll take care of him at the end of the day.”
“So what are we looking at for a start date? Ten days from now?”
“Three. Arnold is already ripping me apart for dailies,” Lydia said.
“That fric frac? He wouldn’t know a good film if it spanked him on the ass.”
Lydia laughed.
“He worked on my second film years ago—right after that little thing with you. Didn’t know which side of a camera the lens was on. He’s a wanker or the waste of one.”
They both bounced as the wheels touched down on the tarmac. “He may be a wanker, Zymar,” Lydia said, looking at her watch, “but he’s our wanker for the next eight weeks.”
Chapter 11
Jessica and Her Louis Vuitton Marble Leather Pumps
Jessica looked around the CTA boardroom at the fifty-four motion picture agents in attendance. This small group of individuals, with Jessica as their leader, dominated the entertainment universe. Clustered in the room were a whole lot of ties and dark suits and not many skirts and high heels. But the heels that were in the boardroom were remarkable: Louboutin, Choo, Blahnik.
Seven female agents, including Jessica. Not even twenty percent of the motion picture department’s agents (who represented eighty percent
“Say good-bye to your friends. You can come back to visit as soon as you’re finished shooting my film.”
Zymar lifted the sheet and Lydia caught herself looking—so did Zymar.
“It’s a big one, ain’t it, Lyd?” he asked, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Lydia blushed like a fourteen-year-old girl. “Uh, we’ll be in the hall.” She and Thuan walked out the door. Lydia’s heart raced in her chest. Zymar was correct—it indeed was a big one.
Ms. Albright and Mr. Zymar, please fasten your seat belts for the descent into Los Angeles,” the pilot said over the intercom.
For fifteen hours, Zymar had slept while Lydia read scripts, rolled phone calls, pestered her assistants, and paced the cabin of the Gulfstream 5500. Zymar finally woke two hours outside of L.A., hungover, dehydrated, and disoriented. First she had pumped him full of Fiji water. Then she fed him vitamin C tablets and multivitamins—Lydia needed him ready to roll the minute they touched down—and finally they talked about the script.
“We had one read-through, last week. It was okay. But just okay. Mary Anne is working on a couple more notes.”
“Your writer’s a cute one,” Zymar said, slurping more coffee.
“You cannot fuck my writer,” Lydia commanded. “Do you understand? This is her first film, and the experience will be overwhelming enough. She doesn’t need you mucking up her head.”
“Yes, ma’am. See we’ve got a bit of a mother hen in us. Who would have thought it? You with that set of brass balls and all.”
“Celeste Solange is playing Raphaella.”
“Don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Magic.”
“I’d say so. Speakin’ of magic, that little short redheaded fart who reminds me of a leprechaun, the one ‘at got the Worldwide job?”
“Arnold Murphy. Yes.”
“You know, Lydia, when I heard that was when I headed inland. I wasn’t meaning to be dodgy. I just figured with the feud between you two there wouldn’t be a movie to make.”
“You and me both. I got lucky.”
“You know the saying about luck—When chance meets a prepared mind. What saved it, then, Lyd?”
“Cici. Cici and Jess.”
“Yeah, well, I always did like them in threes.” Zymar’s lascivious grin would have been offensive if Lydia didn’t think he was so damn good-looking.
“And Bradford, then. He’s out of rehab? Cleaned up?”
“He seemed clean at the second read-through. I hope it holds.”
“He’s unstoppable in front of a camera, Lyd, if you can keep him off the blow for the shoot. But it’s impossible when he’s on it.”
“You take care of him on set. I’ll take care of him at the end of the day.”
“So what are we looking at for a start date? Ten days from now?”
“Three. Arnold is already ripping me apart for dailies,” Lydia said.
“That fric frac? He wouldn’t know a good film if it spanked him on the ass.”
Lydia laughed.
“He worked on my second film years ago—right after that little thing with you. Didn’t know which side of a camera the lens was on. He’s a wanker or the waste of one.”
They both bounced as the wheels touched down on the tarmac. “He may be a wanker, Zymar,” Lydia said, looking at her watch, “but he’s our wanker for the next eight weeks.”
Chapter 11
Jessica and Her Louis Vuitton Marble Leather Pumps
Jessica looked around the CTA boardroom at the fifty-four motion picture agents in attendance. This small group of individuals, with Jessica as their leader, dominated the entertainment universe. Clustered in the room were a whole lot of ties and dark suits and not many skirts and high heels. But the heels that were in the boardroom were remarkable: Louboutin, Choo, Blahnik.
Seven female agents, including Jessica. Not even twenty percent of the motion picture department’s agents (who represented eighty percent
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