The early days of the film were arduous and the film dragged painfully, until the actors began to warm up and understand the psychology of their roles. Sam did a terrific job of explaining it to them again and again, until it became second nature, while Malcolm fought for every word of the script, which slowed them down even more. And there were daily questions for Mr. Green, which Alex answered by email, as soon as she got home. After a month of it, she was starting to miss writing, where she could move at her own pace, not be slowed down by anyone, and soar. This was lumbering and agony at times.
She was a familiar fixture on the set. The director was always pleasant to her, and Malcolm went up and down, depending on his mood, or possibly whether or not he had gotten laid the night before. She had a feeling he had a busy sex life, but he didn’t talk about it, to his credit. He would stand a little too close to her at times, and she could feel him breathing on her, but he never made a pass, and she didn’t expect it. In fact, she hoped he wouldn’t, no matter how handsome and sexy he was. Fiona would have loved the whole scene. They were coworkers and nothing more. She was the conduit to his idol, as Sam the director called her. He didn’t intend it meanly, that’s what she was to them. What they didn’t know was that the eyes and ears she was exercising were, in fact, her own.
And then Malcolm startled her when they’d been on the set for six weeks. They were starting to shoot the crime scenes, which made it more interesting. Alex paid close attention, to make sure they got the details right, and they had so far.
“Do you want to help me out tonight?” Malcolm asked her during a break. He was in a semi-bad mood, and as temperamental as the actors.
“How?”
“My date just bailed on me for tonight. She got a better offer. I’m going to a premiere. I tried everyone and no one’s free.” It wasn’t the most flattering offer she’d had, but she had been home every night since she got there, and she was bored. The premiere sounded exciting and definitely more fun than watching TV on the big screen. She had no friends in L.A. to go out with.
“I’d love it.” But she only had one dress with her, and wasn’t sure it was the right look. It was short, black, and serious, and she had bought it in London to wear with Fiona’s family in Ireland over Christmas two years before. “How dressy is it?”
“Hot. Sexy. It doesn’t really matter as long as you don’t show up in jeans. No one’s going to look at you anyway. They don’t know who you are.” And neither did he. What he said would have been insulting if he were anyone else. Coming from him, it was standard fare, and how he viewed the world.
“Can I leave the set early?”
“Sure. Why? And will Mr. Green care?”
“He lets me do what I want. I want to shop for a dress for tonight. I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“You won’t. Yeah, go whenever you want to.” And then he thought of something and lowered his voice. It had never occurred to him before. “Are you his girlfriend?…Green, I mean.” She looked at him and laughed. She would have loved to say yes, but that would have complicated things even more. Regretfully she shook her head.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered back.
“Are you sure? Will he be pissed if you go out with me? The last thing I want to do is piss him off.”
“Me too,” she assured him. “He doesn’t mind who I go out with.” And then she made a suggestion that she knew Malcolm would love. “Do you want to use the Rolls? He’ll let me have it if I want.”
“Hell, yes!” Malcolm’s face lit up like Christmas. “You’re not just taking it, are you?”
“Not at all.” But he was faintly suspicious of her. If Alexander Green was that free with her, there had to be something more going on between them. But that only made her more interesting to him. Suddenly she was forbidden fruit, and enhanced by association. “Where should I pick you up?” she asked him.
He gave her his address on a piece of paper. “Be there at seven.” If she looked hot enough, he would take her down the red carpet for photo ops. The evening was beginning to sound better than the flop it had been moments before when his date canceled. She was going out with a hot new rapper, with whom he couldn’t compete.
Alex left a little while later, and drove to Beverly Hills. She headed to Neiman Marcus, walked through the designer section, and found a short tight white satin Saint Laurent dress that looked appropriate for the occasion, with high-heeled silver and rhinestone sandals and a small silver clutch. She found big rhinestone earrings that looked like real diamonds, and a matching bracelet, put all her bags in the car, and drove back to the house, pleased with herself. She had just enough time to bathe, wash her hair, dress, and be at Malcolm’s place at seven. She noticed that he lived in a seedy neighborhood in a run-down building, but the Porsche was parked outside. Apparently, L.A. was about what you drove, but not where you lived. She got out and rang the buzzer and he came downstairs a minute later in a well-cut tux, a white shirt, and no tie, and he hadn’t shaved. And he was wearing expensive black patent leather loafers and no socks. It was very L.A. The combination was the right mix of hot, laissez-faire, and trendy, and gave the impression that he hadn’t tried too hard, but just enough. It was a blend of messages and symbols she didn’t get, but he looked good, and he whistled when he saw her.
“You clean up nicely,” he complimented her. “I like the dress.” It was a lot better and a whole different style than the one she’d decided not to wear, which would have made her look like an orphan or a Greek widow.
She let him take the wheel of the car and he was thrilled. “He didn’t mind?” he asked, referring to “Mr. Green.”
“He said to have fun.” She smiled at Malcolm.
It was a long and interesting night. Pleased with her outfit, he took her down the red carpet with him, and they were liberally photographed, because they looked great. His hair was a rich brown, as dark as hers, his eyes sky blue. She had a perfect tan from sitting in the sun on her lunch breaks. The white Saint Laurent dress was fabulous on her. The premiere was fun, and all the stars were there. Malcolm saw his ex-date with the rapper and snubbed her. They had dinner at the Chateau Marmont afterward, and wound up at a nightclub, talking till two A.M. After an evening with him, she liked him better than she had so far. There was still something plastic and insincere about him, but it was the nature of the beast for men his age in the film business in L.A. Alex had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. It was all different and new to her, and good research for future books.
“I’m trying to figure out how it all works here,” she said to him over a glass of champagne.
“What do you mean?”
“Like what matters and why.” She thought she might use it in a book one day, about a murder in L.A. She had already figured out most of the social ground rules just by observation, but wanted verbal confirmation from him that what she was guessing was right.
“It all matters, who you know, who you’re with, where you’re going, where you’ve been, what you drive, what you wear, who does your hair.” It was all superficial, there was no depth to any of it, and nothing was real, like her fake diamond bracelet and earrings.
“What about what you think, or believe in, or how you feel?”