Press Release

3: Hard Pressed

"Yes, I saw the news," Minnie responds cautiously on the phone, "And I'm sorry that he's an asshole, but what am I supposed to do about it?"

Jeffrey's voice is coaxing. He knows how much Minnie makes, and he's well aware that she has a waiting list for her services. "Look, Minnie. I wouldn't ask except that it's an emergency situation." Pausing a beat, he presses his advantage, "You owe me."

There's a gasp on the other end of the line, as Minnie assumed Jeffrey would never call in that marker. It was a long time ago, and she'd been young and new in her field. Now that she's successful and sought-after, she has forgotten how she got her start. Her voice turns steely, "Fine, Jeffrey. I'll do this one, but then we're even. Who's paying me?"

"For now? I am. But don't worry. That sad sack of excrement will pay me back later." The younger Azoff hangs up the phone to make preparations with the studio for her credentials.

Sighing, Minnie taps her phone against her chin. So much for her vacation. Looking at her half-packed suitcase for her planned trip to Scotland, she's relieved that she purchased refundable tickets. Calling the airline, she cancels her flight. Pouring herself a large glass of white wine, Minnie flips on Spotify to her Daily Mix, choosing playlist #5, the jazz greats. The melodies of Ella Fitzgerald flow through the surround sound speakers in her luxury high rise apartment in downtown Los Angeles.

Returning the items she'd already packed to her closet, she sways to the music as it switches to Michael Buble singing a duet with Meghan Trainor. "Someday maybe when we're old and gray, we could be in love once more." Minnie sings along with the lyrics, two-stepping around her apartment.

When the song ends, she settles in her favorite spot in her bedroom: the large armchair with seashell patterns on the multiple shades of brown fabric. Pulling her computer onto her legs clad in their gray leggings with her cozy wool socks completing the look, Minnie reluctantly begins her research for this job. It's going to be a late night, she thinks, contemplating whether to put on a pot of coffee now or whether she can hold out without the caffeine rush. Opening her search engine, she types in his name.

==========

It's early, and she's put on her full armor. The simple peach tailored dress with its short sleeves is paired with one of her favorite necklaces. Her blue striped flats adorn her feet, preparing her for a full day of hard work.

Approaching the trailer she's been directed to, she smoothes the hair pulled back at the crown of her head. It's nerves that force her hand to twist the curls hanging closest to her face. Shaking herself, she releases the corkscrew curl, raising her hand to knock on the door of his trailer.

Hearing a mumbled, "Come in," she pulls on the door handle, stepping back at the stale smell that wafts out to her. Nose wrinkling, she enters the space, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness as she hears a croaky voice bark, "Who the fuck are you?"

Clearing a space on the foldout table, Minnie sets down her handbag. Without hesitation or permission, she begins opening the side windows, allowing light and fresh air to enter the space. "I'm Olivia Wakefield, your new publicist. Get your ass out of bed and take a shower while I tidy up a bit."

It's actually Wilhelmina Olivia Wakefield, but "Wilhelmina" is too old-fashioned for business and "Minnie" too informal. So it's "Olivia" for the win.

"Fuck off," comes the quick reply.

"Nope. I'm getting paid to do a job, and I will do it." Stalking over to the bed, she pulls away the covers, oblivious to the fact that he's lying there naked. Scrambling now, he puts both of his hands out to cover his junk, while Minnie simply continues opening windows. "We need to get these sheets washed. They're disgusting. You have a house in LA, and from now on that is where you will sleep."