Whoever invented the PowerPoint presentation needs to be shot. Seriously, this is the most sleep inducing thing I've ever endured.
It probably doesn't help that the air conditioner's broken and the room's way too hot, but mostly I blame the PowerPoint. It's the PowerPoint putting me to sleep and making me look unfocussed and lazy in the middle of a board room a.k.a the place I do not need to look lazy. I really should be more concerned about the image I'm presenting here, but damned if I care. Don't see the point, anyway.
I mean, all anybody does is read what's on the slides, so why do they need to make a song and dance of it? They read with little to no deviation from the screen, it puts me and I bet everybody else in this room to sleep, and or what? I feel like a fifth grader. Sometimes I honestly want to tell these guys that they could save us all a hell lot of time if they just handed out copies and told us to read them in our own time. I can read big girl books now.
They've drawn the blinds so tightly that it makes it look like night time, which doesn't help. The room is overly warm and the absence of too many plants or pictures or anything remotely distracting is making it hard to stay awake. There's nothing for me to fix my attention on except that narcotic presentation. If I wouldn't get reamed out for it, I'd be tempted to set my head on this nice sturdy looking table here and take a nap. Did I mention my butt is starting to go numb?
"Chels?"
And clearly I snapped back into reality at just the wrong moment because they're all looking at me and I have no idea why. Crap.
You know, she's capable of irritating the crap out of me, but sometimes Sophie Lumos -Sofia Fuentes if Daddy hadn't decided on a stage name - really can come through. She's delicately cupped a well manicured hand around her mouth and is mouthing 'when am I available' at me.
"Well…" I ought to know this one off the top of my head and I do, but it never hurts to act like she's so busy I can't keep up. "She's on the promotional tour for Devil's Ride until the beginning of June and then has some post production to do for Sam Raimi but she has a free window last week of June, beginning of July until shooting starts for Tarantino in October."
We're talking about things which are going to happen six months from now, but that's the way it works in the movie business. The one thing I've never quite figured though is how some directors like to cast real early and yet some like to make the studios sweat until the last possible second when they get their stars together. With so much money being thrown around you'd think they would plan better. You will notice how I sneakily made mention of the respected directors she's working with and a hotly anticipated summer blockbuster she's starred in. Just to remind them who they're dealing with here and that she's hot stuff.
Like anybody needs reminding. If Jennifer Lopez and Angelina Jolie got together and had an insanely hot love child, Sophie would be it.
"Who else has signed on?" Sophie asks in that well practised nonchalance of hers. Her agent loves her for this precise reason; she's a damn good actress and a freakishly canny business woman. She sounds just the right amount of bored to make them sweat here - not dismissive or obviously playing hard to get, but not too eager.
"We're looking at Orlando Bloom, Heath Ledger, Justin Timberlake and Tobey Maguire for Jonathan," the casting director pipes up.
"Interesting cross section," I mumble under my breath. I don't think she heard me, but Sophie's just caught my eye with those big old coffee ones of hers and I know she's thinking what I'm thinking.
***
"Tell me what you think, Chelsea," She asks me as we're striding across the underground parking lot. I keep telling her we can get Rob to drive her but she still insists on driving everywhere herself. I'd find it refreshingly normal if she didn't drive an expensive ass Porsche.
"I think they're scrambling," I tell her. "That weird ass mix for Jonathan's role? None of those guys have anything in common look or image wise. You ask me they're hoping to snag you and reel in a big male lead off the back of it, whoever they can get with a name."
"And that's why you're my personal assistant. You're a smart chica, mi amiga."
Sophie flashes that million dollar grin at me as she points her key and the car and unlocks it. She does that - for the most part she speaks such perfect English you forget her background, but every now and then she drops in just the tiniest bit of Español.
"Desperate studio aside, what do you think?"
My mouth twists up a little bit as I ponder this one. Even as I'm doing so we're both sinking into the car (you don't get into these low riding cars, you sink into them) and she's bringing the engine to life. I guess I ought to be flattered that she runs all her parts by me like this.
"I think that after dragon fighting fantasy and tough bitch cops and all that, you need a softer role. This one seems as good as any. I think the studio needs to get their act together but the script's solid."
"Hmm."
She taps her fingers on the steering wheel and huffs with annoyance as the paparazzi we thought we'd eluded start pouring into the car park. Unfortunately it's a public space, so all we can do is try and creep through them without running anybody's foot over until we can make a break for it. You'd think people would know better than to crowd moving vehicles, but I think they all inherited the stupid gene. Either that or they were dropped on their heads as kids.
You think that one day you'll get used to it, but it's so surreal you never do. Those flashes go off like strobe lights, there's yelling and thumping on the windows as they all try to catch her attention and it's like living in this weird bubble. A very irritating bubble. I can't imagine it's the most fulfilling life's work for them, either.
They're all crowding her window and she quietly slips on the movie star staple: a pair of oversized Chanels which hide half her face and therefore most of her expression. She might be wearing jeans and a casual tank, but with that glossy dark hair swishing as she turns to check her mirrors and those delicately chiselled cheekbones she looks every inch the goddess. It ought to be illegal to be that good looking, but she is.
That's why it always gives me such evil comfort when I see her going to the dentist for those whitening sessions or desperately trying to do damage limitation on the odd cold sore. I need regular reminders that she's human or I would seriously have to slit my wrists and get the misery of mediocrity over with.
Not a damn one of them is at my window, but they all know who I am. When the caption appears on X17 or wherever it is these particular shots will end up, my name will get added as an afterthought. They know who everybody around her is, purely because it's her. They know Enrique, her padre, Maria, her mom… and they know me, Chelsea, her PA and constant companion. We're bestest best buds don't you know?
We are so not, by the way. Well, okay, maybe I'm hers but she's not mine.
Famous people, by their very nature, are kind of self-centred. The same way Sophie this morning decided to spring herself on me at seven frickin' am and then expected me to be ready within ten minutes with no thought for the fact she kept me out until midnight. It's not always in a bad way, but they have to be focussed on themselves and their own goals to get anywhere in this business. And also, I'm on the payroll; inevitably I'm at her beck and call and she deigns to do me any favours when she feels like it. That's not a real pal.
I'm painfully aware that celebrities are fair weather friends, particularly when it comes to their employees. They expect you to ride out any storm, but if you cause them trouble you're gone in a heartbeat and they won't have trouble replacing you. She might be hurt if I said that and she'd probably deny it, but it's true. I don't blame her, it's just this game she's in; I never met a celebrity who was any other way. This industry can get nasty and they have to be ruthless sometimes to keep the boat afloat. You tolerate dead weight or loose cannons and the next thing you know you're a wreck.
"Jesus Christ will these fuckers get out of the way?" Sophie is fighting down a pout, I can see it. She knows that blasting her horn or flipping a finger will give them what they want, so she won't do it. She'll sure as hell bitch about it to me behind closed doors later, though.
"We've got a restraining order pending on hobo looking dude right there." It's of little comfort to her, but one of those guys has been intrusive and irritating and persistent enough that her lawyer's got enough ammo to file for a restraining order. Samuel Something, I think his name was. Assuming the judge grants it, that would make one down and… oh, I'd say fifteen to go from around this car right now?
Shame there'll be another fifteen immediately taking their place. I bet Sophie's glad she wore pants today or they'd be going for the crotch shot once we get out for lunch.
Apart from anything else… it's a bitch being her friend sometimes. I have to live all the shit she does but without any of the recognition. Not a damn one of the photographers would give two cents about running me over to get to her. People will fawn over her but totally blank me. Waiting staff will rush over to her every five seconds asking if she wants a refill but she actually has to prompt them to ask me. Guys don't even register my presence, except if they think that flattering me will get them closer to her -sorry boys but I'm not estupida, as Sophie would say. Actually, there's an upside; she'll insult the hell out of these guys in Spanish. They have no idea what she's saying, it's usually filthy, and they still stare at her like puppy dogs even as she's telling them they're hung like chipmunks. It's hilarious.
"Oh, I meant to say to you honey…" she flashes me the smile and the shutters go off a little more rapidly, "I had the best idea for your birthday! How'd you feel about a girl's trip to Cancun? I know the best spa down there."
Did I mention my birthday is in September and right now it's January? She's a little random with this stuff, but never let it be said she can't be thoughtful if the occasion strikes her.
"Sounds awesome."
So don't think I'm complaining. Sophie's fun (if a little high maintenance), she always snags me a couple of freebies too and my pay packet does not suck. I just try to be realistic about my position in her life and precisely how secure it is. And in the spirit of keeping my position as personal assistant to the stars, I need to make sure the studio sends over the contract for this film (whether or not she'll sign it is another question), remember to pick up her dry cleaning and her Starbucks later, and then I have to call Pedro to break up with him for her.
After I've made him sign a confidentiality agreement so she can sue the hell out of him for any kiss and tells. Do it the other way round and they're strangely un-cooperative. Can't think why.
