The Second Assistant by Clare Naylor, Mimi Hare Page B

Mia’s away and all, and I’m a little turned on from watching a sexy action movie premiere beforehand, and here’s this chick in a little white T-shirt with no bra, rubbing her goddamn tits and staring at me. Winking. I mean, what’s a guy supposed to do? So I roll down my window and say hi. I figure it can’t hurt to be friendly, and then she licks her lips and asks me if I want to follow her to a hotel. I mean, show me the guy who can turn down that, Lizzie, right?
    “So I follow her to the Hayloft. And it’s not the Bel Air, but fuck it. She seemed to get off on the sleaziness, so who am I to interfere? So I get us a room, and before I can even shut the door, she’s taking off my clothes. I mean, she was hot for it. And she’s kissing my chest, biting my nipples, and she takes my zipper down with her teeth, and I was bare-assed in a matter of seconds. Then she takes off her top, and I’m trying to touch her really cute little tits, but she wants me to take a pill first. So I pop an X, and we’re rocking and rolling. Fooling around. And it’s fun.
    “Anyway, we party some more, and I’m just about ready to come when suddenly the room starts to spin and the wallpaper’s doing the tango. But she’s still on the bed and kissing me, and it feels kinda nice when she ties me to the bed, so I let her do whatever the hell it is she wants to do. And I’m just spacing. But the next thing I know, she’s putting on her clothes and she’s talking on her cell phone to someone, and eventually I just fall asleep tripping my balls off.
    “Then, when I woke up this morning, I had no fucking clue where I was, but I managed to untie myself—and guess what? She stole everything. My Porsche, my keys, my wallet, my watch, my phone. Even my clothes. The whole fucking lot. Which is when I realize that she set it all up. She left this nicely typed little note on the bed in an envelope and all, telling me—
‘Dear Mr. Wagner,
    You may remember that some weeks ago you had the good fortune to leave a party in Laurel Canyon with my good friend Grace. You took her home, and before having sex with her in your hot tub, you told her that you were an agent and that it would be no problem finding her work. That if she left her card, you’d call. And you promised her representation. But you never called, Mr. Wagner. Which we consider to be the worst kind of bad manners, so we decided to ensure that no aspiring actress ever fell prey to your low-life lies again. We can only hope that the loss of your car, clothes, and wallet reminds you to have more respect for others in the future.
     
    Yours truly,
    An Angel of Justice’
    “So apparently this tie-up-an-agent bullshit was them trying to teach me some kind of lesson. Yeah, really fucking useful lesson to learn. Actresses are crazy. Like I needed reminding.”
    I turned left and pulled into the tree-lined driveway that looped in front of the Four Seasons. The doorman looked at my car with horror.
    “Well, I’m glad you’re still alive” was all I could say to Scott. And I was. He was like a child who needed an awful lot of looking after, buthe was also pretty easygoing for a boss. I knew that I could do much worse, and I didn’t want to lose him just yet. Especially not to some harebrained actress with a vendetta and, now, a shining new Porsche.
    “Do I look okay?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his matted hair.
    “The truth?” I blinked. He looked very far from okay.
    “Okay, does my breath smell?” He exhaled on me, and I almost collapsed.
    I grabbed my purse and pulled out some Tic Tacs. “Here, take them all.” I handed them over, and he popped a handful in his mouth.
    “Thanks, Lizzie-o,” he said, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. I tried not to let him see me flinch. “I’ll get a ride back with Daniel, but you can get me a rental. Hey, how about the new Mercedes convertible? No, make it a Ferrari. Black. Oh, and call my insurance, too. Say I was