Read Online Skinnydipping by Bethenny Frankel - Free Book Online Page B

exciting, beautiful, rich. And here I was—making photocopies and getting coffee. I had to catch up; I felt a sense of urgency, my career clock ticking. I turned to Mia. “What now? What would you like me to do next?”
    “I need you to call craft services and confirm the vegetarian order, which we didn’t receive yesterday. Here’s the number. Ask for Martha.Use the phone over in that room. I’ll meet you in there in fifteen minutes. I’ve got some more errands for you to run.”
    “OK, I’m on it.”
    “What did you think of Vince Beck?” Mia asked, while looking over one of the scripts.
    “He’s a man,” I said lightly.
    “Yes he is.” She laughed. “I’m sure he was quite interested in you.”
    “No more than any other twenty-something girl who walks by his office, I imagine,” I said, although I couldn’t help being flattered yet again.
    “He’ll probably hound you for a while, just so you know. It’s his pattern.”
    “I’ll consider myself warned,” I said.
    But I couldn’t help looking forward to it. I was getting to know all about L.A. power guys from Brooke. They never commit … until they do. It was mogul roulette. When they stop spinning, if the ball goes into your number, you’re the one they marry. They don’t go out looking for gorgeous, amazing women. They have plenty to choose from, and they marry the one who happens to be there when the time is right. When they’re ready, and it’s good for their careers, they get themselves trophy wives. If you happen to be the number it stops on, there you are. It usually isn’t the best-looking girl. It’s rarely the hot model they’ve been dating for years. It could be an assistant, another producer, someone totally unexpected. Maybe it was going to be Vince Beck’s time, and I would be there. Brooke once told me, “You might have a shot if you’re the girl who’s slept with the fewest of their friends.” Well, Vince Beck … here I am. New in town. I don’t even know your friends.
    The next few weeks flew by quickly, and it didn’t take me long to realize that I wouldn’t be interacting with the cast members, like I had imagined. I was too busy running errands for the crew. At the main studio, I was more often in the office making photocopies or in the commissary getting coffee or food than anywhere near theset, although I often peeked in and watched for a few minutes when I passed by and they happened to be filming.
    I watched Donna and Susan in particular with jealousy, but tried to get past it. Time would be my ally, I told myself. My day would come. I caught Donna looking at me sometimes, and I tried to ignore her, but sometimes I couldn’t help holding her stare with a cold stare of my own. She always looked away first—one of my small victories.
    I quickly developed a routine. At three, I headed back home. I tried to nap until six, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. In either case, I was chronically sleep deprived. Then I would get up, shower, have some dinner in or out, flip through the trades looking for auditions, circle anything promising, then go out to the clubs.
    Most often I went with Brooke. We would go to bars or go dancing, and she was always trying to find me the perfect guy. She also advised me on the L.A. dating scene. For instance, she told me to watch out for what she called “trick guys.”
    “They look pretty plain,” she warned me, “like they wouldn’t be an obvious catch. But that’s the trick. They tend to be short, maybe balding, maybe Jewish or maybe not, but clever and articulate. They have a lot of money and power, and they’re charming, but because they aren’t flashy or obviously handsome, you think you’ve found a diamond in the rough, someone that no other girl has noticed. You think you’ve got the secret winner, disguised as a guy without any flash.”
    “How is that a trick?” I was thinking about a guy I’d met the night before who almost perfectly fit her