Read Online Skinnydipping by Bethenny Frankel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bethenny Frankel
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no wedding ring.
“Well then, why don’t you come on inside?” he said. I put the folder on his desk, but he didn’t look at it. He just kept looking at me. “Are you the new production assistant?”
“The one and only. Or… not the one and only, if they hired more than one …” I stuttered. So much for being at ease.
“Relax, darling, you are the one and only!” He gazed at me for a long moment, winked, then looked down at the folder and opened it. “Ah, yes. Well.” He reached for a gold pen and signed, then held thefolder out to me. When I leaned in to take it, he pulled it away, just out of reach.
“Not so fast. First, why don’t you tell me a bit about you?”
I smiled. I knew this game.
“What do you want to know?” I said coyly, subtly tossing my hair back behind my shoulder.
“For one thing, what’s a pretty New Yorker like you doing in a place like this?”
“How do you know I’m from New York?”
He shrugged. “Accents don’t lie, sweetheart.”
I blushed, in spite of myself. I did not want to seem taken in by someone so obvious. “Then I have to ask what an Aussie is doing in a place like this?”
He laughed. “Touché. So let me guess. We’re an actress , are we?” He enunciated the word actress in a tone I was sure was condescending. I hated the sound of it, but decided I could play along.
“I don’t know about you … but I’m trying to be an actress.”
He laughed. “And a bit of a smart ass, eh?”
“That I can cop to,” I said.
“Well then, here’s your form, Miss Brightstone. You can tell Mia I approve.” Holy shit, did he mean he approved of me?
“How do you know my name?” I asked, flattered. He really was cute. A player, obviously, but definitely cute. And obviously doing well financially. I made a mental note never to ask him what he drives. If I was lucky, I’d see for myself.
“I make it my business,” he said, inscrutably.
“Hmm,” I said flirtatiously. “What will you find out next?” I turned and walked out the door, conscious of my posture. Proud of myself for handling the interaction without coming off like a complete idiot, I strutted to the copy machine. The receptionist watched me.
“Careful with that one,” she said.
“Yeah, I can spot them,” I said conspiratorially. She gave me a second look, like maybe I wasn’t clueless. “Can I fax this?” I asked.
She held out her hand. “I can do it for you.”
The beach club was a much different place than it had been at five a.m. Inside and out back, it was crowded with cameras, lights, big boxes of equipment, cords running everywhere, dollies loaded with props, and people—tech guys and directors and producers and actors, beautiful actors.
Linda Heath, who played Brighton, the powerful business-savvy blonde who ran the hotel, lounged in a wicker loveseat next to Chris Thomas, the dark, devil-may-care actor who played Jayden, the philandering husband of Isabel, aka Donna Shannon. A leggy teenager with long blonde hair who played Bliss, Brighton’s illegitimate teenage daughter, sat on the floor with her legs crossed, wearing a bikini. A woman who looked like her mother hovered nearby on the periphery.
I looked around for Donna Shannon—there she was, standing by the wide French doors that opened onto the beach, staring out at the water. Too good to talk to anyone.
“There you are!” Mia startled me, coming up from behind. “Thanks for the coffee. And the scripts. And the fax.” She took things out of my arms, one at a time. “Ogling the cast? Who wouldn’t? Such pretty people.”
She winked at me, and somehow I didn’t think she was all that impressed with any of them.
But I was. I soaked it all in. I watched plain-looking people go into the makeup trailer and come out looking fabulous. I watched the set go from dark and shadowy to perfectly lit, the cameras sliding by on their dollies, and most of all, I watched the actors.
They were living the dream. Sexy,
“Well then, why don’t you come on inside?” he said. I put the folder on his desk, but he didn’t look at it. He just kept looking at me. “Are you the new production assistant?”
“The one and only. Or… not the one and only, if they hired more than one …” I stuttered. So much for being at ease.
“Relax, darling, you are the one and only!” He gazed at me for a long moment, winked, then looked down at the folder and opened it. “Ah, yes. Well.” He reached for a gold pen and signed, then held thefolder out to me. When I leaned in to take it, he pulled it away, just out of reach.
“Not so fast. First, why don’t you tell me a bit about you?”
I smiled. I knew this game.
“What do you want to know?” I said coyly, subtly tossing my hair back behind my shoulder.
“For one thing, what’s a pretty New Yorker like you doing in a place like this?”
“How do you know I’m from New York?”
He shrugged. “Accents don’t lie, sweetheart.”
I blushed, in spite of myself. I did not want to seem taken in by someone so obvious. “Then I have to ask what an Aussie is doing in a place like this?”
He laughed. “Touché. So let me guess. We’re an actress , are we?” He enunciated the word actress in a tone I was sure was condescending. I hated the sound of it, but decided I could play along.
“I don’t know about you … but I’m trying to be an actress.”
He laughed. “And a bit of a smart ass, eh?”
“That I can cop to,” I said.
“Well then, here’s your form, Miss Brightstone. You can tell Mia I approve.” Holy shit, did he mean he approved of me?
“How do you know my name?” I asked, flattered. He really was cute. A player, obviously, but definitely cute. And obviously doing well financially. I made a mental note never to ask him what he drives. If I was lucky, I’d see for myself.
“I make it my business,” he said, inscrutably.
“Hmm,” I said flirtatiously. “What will you find out next?” I turned and walked out the door, conscious of my posture. Proud of myself for handling the interaction without coming off like a complete idiot, I strutted to the copy machine. The receptionist watched me.
“Careful with that one,” she said.
“Yeah, I can spot them,” I said conspiratorially. She gave me a second look, like maybe I wasn’t clueless. “Can I fax this?” I asked.
She held out her hand. “I can do it for you.”
The beach club was a much different place than it had been at five a.m. Inside and out back, it was crowded with cameras, lights, big boxes of equipment, cords running everywhere, dollies loaded with props, and people—tech guys and directors and producers and actors, beautiful actors.
Linda Heath, who played Brighton, the powerful business-savvy blonde who ran the hotel, lounged in a wicker loveseat next to Chris Thomas, the dark, devil-may-care actor who played Jayden, the philandering husband of Isabel, aka Donna Shannon. A leggy teenager with long blonde hair who played Bliss, Brighton’s illegitimate teenage daughter, sat on the floor with her legs crossed, wearing a bikini. A woman who looked like her mother hovered nearby on the periphery.
I looked around for Donna Shannon—there she was, standing by the wide French doors that opened onto the beach, staring out at the water. Too good to talk to anyone.
“There you are!” Mia startled me, coming up from behind. “Thanks for the coffee. And the scripts. And the fax.” She took things out of my arms, one at a time. “Ogling the cast? Who wouldn’t? Such pretty people.”
She winked at me, and somehow I didn’t think she was all that impressed with any of them.
But I was. I soaked it all in. I watched plain-looking people go into the makeup trailer and come out looking fabulous. I watched the set go from dark and shadowy to perfectly lit, the cameras sliding by on their dollies, and most of all, I watched the actors.
They were living the dream. Sexy,
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