The First Assistant by Clare Naylor, Mimi Hare Page A

looked at it, Carol had clearly never been a Hollywood assistant. I knew this because the poor girl’s reflexes weren’t up to snuff. The six-inch snakeskin stiletto hit her smack in the forehead with such force it knocked her to the ground.
    I heard a cackle from the direction of the bar.
    “Ooops. Sorry!” Emerald squealed, and then continued on to the next verse of “It’s Raining Men.”
    There was a slight moan from Carol and then an odd snuffling sound. I looked to make sure she was breathing and then scrambled over to help her stand up when the second high heel whizzed past my face.
    “Carol, I think it’s best we just sit here on the floor. Let me look at your head.” I did a quick examination. There was already a bruise and a little blood but nothing hospital-worthy.
    “Am I bleeding?” She sounded oddly hopeful.
    “Not really. There’s just a small spot of blood from impact.”
    “But there’ll be a bruise, right? A visible one? You know, one that you can see in a picture?”
    I helped her up and had a good look at her pupils. They weren’t remotely dilated, so she wasn’t concussed. Then I saw it clear as day, the green in her eyes. And did I mention they were actually brown?
    “I could sue her for this, you know,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement. I had to think quickly as a lawsuit on my first day of work wasn’t exactly going to endear me to my new boss.
    I smiled and leaned in close to Carol as a sweater landed by my feet. I gently turned her in the direction of the disrobing starlet. “And Emerald could sue your airline for serving alcohol to a minor, resulting in potentially career-ending behavior.” I had no idea if this was true or not, but it sounded good. “Anyway, it was clearly an accident and there are all these witnesses here to give their statements.” I glanced at her again and I could see the dollar signs starting to fade. I pressed on. “I’m sure Emerald is terribly sorry. She’d love to send you an apology present. Why don’t I get your address?”
    Carol looked from me to Emerald. “I always did want a pair of Manolo Blahniks,” she said hesitantly.
    “How about this season’s entire collection?” I responded magnanimously. She was practically salivating. I had her hook, line, and sinker. “I’m a size nine. And you have to agree not to sue the airline,” she
    said quickly.
    “We wouldn’t dream of it. Now let me go and fetch Emerald before she gets that last hook on her bra undone and they shut down your lounge under the Indecency Act,” I said. I knew studying politics would come in handy some day.
    But the real dilemma was how to remove a drunk nineteen-year-old from the top of the bar when she seemed to be having the time of her life. It occurred to me that she really should be traveling with a publicist, but as I neared the bar Emerald and I made eye contact for the first time that day. Her face lit up and she let out an ear-splitting screech and jumped from the bar practically into my arms. Luckily a kind man standing behind us braced me at exactly the right moment, allowing me to absorb Emerald’s hug without us both landing on our rear ends.
    “Lizzie! I’m so glad you made it. I was really worried you wouldn’t want
    to come. I mean, I know Scott probably didn’t give you much choice. And I know you probably think it’s strange considering we’ve only met once, but that e-mail you wrote for me was so smart and you look so much like my cousin who used to babysit me in Missouri. And I really loved her. She used to braid my hair. She was killed by a drunk driver when she was seventeen. But, anyway, I’m so glad you came. We’re going to have so much fun together. We’re going to be best friends. Right?” she screeched, barely taking a breath. The entire bar was gripped by her verbal incontinence, including me. But my heart went out to her. She was obviously sweet and well-meaning, just a little wild and a lot young. It was a