I smiled sweetly and tried to make her feel good about giving me news that didn’t sound so good. A disaster? Because of me, no doubt. Coked-up starlets who showed up hours late were probably just fine, as long as they were skinny. But curvy me was going to ruin everyone’s reputation.
“I understand,” I said.
I understand.
The same phrase Dalton had sent me was so simple, yet vague enough to fit any heartbreaking situation. I understand, you say, as your heart and happiness shatters under the brutal sledgehammer of reality.
I closed my eyes and focused on not flipping out as she continued to work on my makeup. Flipping out now would get mascara in my eye, and I didn’t want that.
She wanted to tell me more details about Monday’s meeting, but I changed the topic, saying, “Are you from here? And if not, how long did it take you to get used to LA’s smell?”
“Oh, you have to get soy-based candles,” she said.
“For eating?”
“For burning. Regular candles put more toxins in the air.”
As she talked about the wonders of aromatherapy, I got more and more nervous about the one change she mentioned. What was the change?
Please, please let it be more airbrushing, I prayed.
My suspense over the big change didn’t last long.
I walked onto the set in my snazzy purple underwear to find the tallest, blondest man I’d ever seen. He wore a pair of purple briefs that were the size of a bow-tie, and he seemed to be smuggling an entire daschund inside the briefs. His golden abs went on for miles, like a giant, Christmas-stocking-sized, white chocolate Toblerone bar.
Reaching out to shake his hand politely, I said, “I didn’t know the human body had that many abs.”
“These ones are implants,” he said, pointing to the top row.
“No way! They look real.”
“You can touch,” he said, his accent sounding Swedish.*
*I watched all the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movies in their original Swedish versions, plus that creepy-kid-vampire movie, so I’m practically an expert.
Just as I reached out to touch the round bumps, Mitchell grabbed my hand and said, “He’s full of monkeyshines. Those are real muscles, but Sven here is quite the prankster.”
I turned to Mitchell. “Thank you for saving me from the horror of touching this man’s abs. Can I buy you dinner?”
We grinned at each other.
“Good to see you again,” Mitchell said. “We ordered Pop Tarts, just for you. Shall I toast one for you now?”
I threw my arms around the short blond man and squeezed him. “Thank you so much. I had a parsley smoothie for breakfast.”
I didn’t tell him who made the parsley smoothie, because it wasn’t his business. I looked around for Keith, who’d come into the building just behind me, but I didn’t see him.
One change.
Catching the attention of a person with a headset, I asked if she’d seen Keith Raven around.
“He won’t be in today,” she said curtly, and then left.
The crew on set all started laughing behind me, amused by something Sven was doing. He strutted around with his bare chest stuck out, saying, “How about this? It’s not a tumor. Arnold Schwarzeneggar, you know? I’ll be back.”
Sven was a real jokester, all right.
I knew he wasn’t to blame for Keith being let go, but I still wanted to karate chop him in his ridiculous abs. How dare he push out Keith?
He opened his mouth wide and stuck his whole fist in, to everyone’s amusement.
Something told me it was going to be a very strange day.
Big-mouthed Sven was truly gorgeous, no doubt about it, but posing with him felt like a competition, not a collaboration. Any charm or charisma he had was funneled straight into the camera, bypassing me.
“You’re in my light,” I had to keep telling him.
He gave me a suspicious look. “I thought you were an amateur.”
“Not after Sunday, when I worked with the immensely talented Keith Raven.”
Sven responded by rubbing his trouser anaconda against my hip.
“Excuse me,” I said as he prodded his wang into me like a bratty kid poking all the fresh loaves at the bakery.
“Am I in your light?” he asked innocently.
I started to wave my hand in the air, to call for Mitchell’s help, but then I caught a look at all the bored and irritated faces around me. The horrible truth of the situation sunk in. If I complained, I’d be the girl who went to a sexy underwear shoot and couldn’t take the heat. Was I overreacting? I mean, sure, if I was working at Pizza Hut and my coworker stuck his barely-covered wang into my back, I’d have him fired. But this? Gray zone.
Mitchell came running, having caught enough of my wave.
“Bottle of water?” I asked.
He ran off for water.
We took a short break, and I said to Sven discreetly, “I don’t care where you put your hands, but my body is penis-free and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“I do not control him,” he said.
I turned away in disgust, only to feel a familiar body part grinding into my back once more.
Mitchell returned with a full water bottle. “Ooh, nice and cold,” I said, turning to smile sweetly up at Sven.
“How cold?” he asked.
I held the bottle to the center of his smooth chest. He closed his eyes, grinning.
And then I let go. The large bottle sailed straight down the front of him and ricocheted off his overly-intrusive semi-chubby.
“Fuck my ass tits!” he howled, clutching himself.
It was the first time I’d heard such a colorful expression, and—judging by the laughter—the first time for everyone in the studio as well.
I apologized profusely, of course, blaming my sweaty fingers. He kept whimpering, so I told him, “Maybe if you loosened the Velcro strap and let a little air out of the tires, there wouldn’t be so much sticking out to get caught on things.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he said, giving me a wary look.
We got back to bright lights and photos, and Sven behaved himself. In fact, he seemed almost frightened of me, because when I suggested we take a few pictures of me slapping him—the classic rom-com slap—he cowered and pleaded for me not to.
“How about a nipple twist?” I asked. “Or love bites?”
Poor Sven looked like he was about to cry, which was an interesting look for a seven-foot-tall man.
We finished the shots with both of us, and then I did a few more solo pictures, thankfully some of them with a chair, because my feet were killing me in the high heels I’d been wearing to bring me closer to Sven’s height.