Hollywood Is like High School with Money by Zoey Dean

Author:Zoey Dean [Dean, Zoey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Oh my God, did you hear?”

Julissa marched into the kitchen, where I was sucking down a Red Bull. She was wearing a cute little jumper dress I recognized from Gap, Fall 2007 (I had tried it on back in Middletown, but it made my thighs look terrible), and an eager, almost scandalized smile.

Boy, that got around fast, I thought. Newsflash: sycophantic first assistant finally gets her comeuppance.

“About Melinda Darling!” Julissa hissed.

I rolled my eyes. “Friday Darling Rubenstein, I know. It’s absolutely insane.”

“No, not that,” Julissa said, tossing a bunch of scripts I’d asked her to read onto the counter. “She’s not coming back after she has the baby. She just announced it.”

I perked right up. It could have been the Red Bull, but more likely it was Julissa’s news. “So Metronome’s going to be needing a new CE,” I mused.

“Totally,” Julissa exclaimed. “And you know it’s going to be one of the assistants. All they have to do is package a movie or discover a great screenwriter or something, and they’ll get the promotion. And Iris gets to make the final decision about who gets it, so you’re already a step ahead of Wyman or whoever. Wouldn’t it be great if you got to be a CE and I got hired as an assistant? I’d actually get a paycheck!” She was practically bouncing up and down.

I smiled gently. “In a perfect world,” I said. Meanwhile I was thinking, Yeah, right—I’m the newest hire and Julissa is a total spaz. What, really, were the chances?

“Melinda’ll be gone in two weeks. You should see it out there. Wyman and Amanda are already in a fight. It’s like Game on.” She giggled. “Oh, and I did those scripts last night. Coverage is clipped to the front.” She waved and skittered away down the hall.

I got another Red Bull out of the fridge and popped the top. I’d always prided myself on having high but reasonable expectations about life, and usually I’d been justified. I wasn’t valedictorian, but I was salutatorian (which was better, really, because I didn’t have to give a speech); I didn’t get into Princeton, but I did go to Wesleyan; and I hadn’t driven down the Sunset Strip with the wind blowing through my hair, but I had at least learned how to find the damn street in my car. To hope for a promotion to CE after only a few months of work seemed pretty unreasonable to me, and I told myself to put it out of my mind. I pretty much had too, until I went into the copier room and saw the Holden MacIntee Vanity Fair perched on top of a pile of scripts, including Psycho Killer Pigs, in the recycling bin.

Holden MacIntee, I whispered. Journal Girl. Michael Deming.

Everything became clear in an instant. All I had to do was pitch Holden a movie with Michael. Hot Hollywood stud, meet your reclusive idol. Reclusive idol, meet critical acclaim.

And Taylor, meet your new job title: creative executive.

Okay, Holden

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