Kiss me under the Hollywood sign

Chapter 4

Stepping through the revolving glass doors of the Silver Screen Studios building, I felt a surge of anticipation course through me, along with a good dose of nausea from all the spinning.

A week ago, this place had been a symbol of my fear of rejection. Now, it was the gateway to a new chapter in my Hollywood adventure, one that held the unexpected (and slightly terrifying) prospect of working as Daniel Hunter's personal assistant.

The lobby glared in sterile perfection. I swear I saw my smile morph into a grimace on the marble floors. The marble floors were so clean and polished that I worried I'd slip and fall on my ass. It reminded me of high school when my orthodontist would rub Clearasil on my braces saying "smile big!" as if a mouthful of metal and acne cream could ever be mistaken for happiness.

I tried to recall if the interview had revealed any clues as to Daniel Hunter's 'REAL' personality, but all I could picture was the tantalizing prospect of workplace "perks" plastered on the brochure. With any luck, the lunches would be better than cafeteria slop and I might find time to attend an "industry mixer" and meet someone, anyone, else. At this point, even the janitor seemed a promising prospect for conversation and correspondence.

Behind the reception desk sat the same woman from my interview, her perfectly coiffed hair seemingly defying gravity. I approached the desk cautiously, half expecting one of those vacuum robot things to whiz by and attack my shoes.

"Good morning," I greeted her, a nervous smile plastered on my face.

She glanced up, her expression morphing from aloof indifference to recognition. And Miss Ponytail greeted me sweetly as ever. "Ah, Ms. Watson," she said, her voice surprisingly warm. "I am Veronica...It's nice to see you again."

Wow, a name and a friendly greeting. Maybe the coffee stain incident had somehow endeared me to her. Or maybe working for Daniel Hunter came with certain perks, like preferential treatment at the receptionist's desk.

"The pleasure is all mine," I replied, trying to appear confident despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Where should I head first?"

"Mr. Hunter's not in just yet," she informed me. "But his manager, Mr. Stevens, is expecting you. He'll be briefing you on your duties and answering any questions you have".

Rifling hastily through a stack of documents crammed in her bottom drawer, she paused and peered up at me over a pair of bifocals perched precariously on the tip of her nose. "Ah, Ms. Watson, if you'd please be so kind," she gestured toward a line on the page with a pen, "just sign here to confirm your employment."

"Mr. Stevens," I repeated, committing the name to memory. "Thank you."

Following her directions, I stepped into a high-speed elevator that had clearly seen better days. The polished metal doors, dotted with smudges and fingerprints, reflected my slightly jittery image and the pit stains forming under my arms. As the elevator hummed and creaked its way upward, I tried focusing on my breathing to avoid hyperventilating. Each floor ticking away the seconds was a constant reminder of the world I was now a part of.

Finally, the doors shuddered open, revealing a corridor that was trying really hard to appear sleek and modern despite the dated floral patterned carpet. Large windows offered a panoramic view of the sprawling, smoggy city that was putting its best concrete and patchy greenery face on while basking in the golden morning light pollution. The Hollywood sign, looking much smaller and more bedraggled up close, proudly reminded everyone who may have forgotten of the lofty ambitions and dashed dreams it had borne witness to over the years.

Taking a series of short, shallow breaths, I approached the double doors at the end of the hallway marked with a discreet silver plaque that read "Mark Stevens - Management." This was it. My first step into the inner sanctum of Daniel Hunter's world.

A wave of nervousness washed over me. What would Mark Stevens be like? Intimidating? Overbearing? Or perhaps a Hollywood version of a kindly uncle figure?

~

My sweaty palm hovered over the doorknob. I could hear everything through the thin crack between the door and the frame. It sounded like two cats fighting in a bag. A sliver of light sliced into the dark hallway, almost blinding me.

As my eyes adjusted, I got an eyeful I was not ready for. There on the plush white couch was a naked naked naked pile of intertwining body parts! Blonde hair was flying every which way like strands of spaghetti escaping a container. It was obvious these two were doing more than just chatting over coffee.

Through the big glass windows, the shiny city below looked like a model town. But the real show was happening right in front of me.  The sounds coming from inside were unmistakable - a low moan, some choice language I shouldn't repeat, and a rhythmic thumping like the bumper cars at the carnival going at full speed. Heavy breathing and grunting filled the air. I wanted to cover my ears but I was frozen. My face felt sunburned from embarrassment.

The lady had her back to me like she was posing for a picture. Her golden mane spilled all over, hiding the mystery man like a wig on a fat bald guy. All I could see of him was a big beefy arm squeezing the couch so tight his fingers looked like corn dogs.

My mind raced, shocked, curious, but also weirded out... was Mark Stevens simply a more unorthodox manager than I'd anticipated?  Barging in now would make me the fool of the year. It would be the social faux pas of the century, not to mention a surefire way to ensure an awkward first impression on my new boss (or whoever the mystery man was).

But lingering out here spying felt just as weird and unprofessional. My conscience said to scram but my curious side, always hungry for a good soap opera plot, wanted to peek some more. In the inner battle between being polite and feeding my nosiness, I found myself edging closer to the door with sweaty palms glued to the knob. Just a quick look to ID these mystery characters, I told myself.

Internally wrestling between propriety and my inner gossip queen, I found myself inching closer, the doorknob still clutched in my sweaty hand. Just a glimpse, I bargained with myself again and again. Enough to identify the players in this X-rated business meeting.

Suddenly, a sharp gasp escaped the woman's lips, followed by a low chuckle from the man. It made my whole body shiver with embarrassment and intrigue mixed together. My curiosity had reached its limit - I wasn't in control anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the awkwardness to come, and with a determined push, flung the door open.

~