“My plan is to avoid Zebulund all costs. He treats actresses like sex toys. I imagine he treats his staff somewhere on the same level as furniture.”
Roe winces but doesn’t disagree.
“It’s one thing to be floating around in the background serving a purpose,” I add. “It’s another to be on your arm, making small talk and being under scrutiny.”
“True. And harder to disappear.”
“Exactly. At least now I can keep a low profile. Though I do worry about all this.” I gesture to all the makeup covering my face. “If I go Under I don’t know if this’ll show up. We might have to wait to try until my shift is over.”
“You think it’ll be like a floating white mask?” He makes his skeptical face—the one where the right eyebrow peaks and the left one points in, while the rest of his stupid handsome face stays neutral. He must sit in front of a mirror and practice these things.
“I’m imagining my eyelashes floating around the room like little butterflies when I’m Under.”
“That’s an image.” He laughs. “But how noticeable could it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe best if I do have to go Under for it to be in the dark or low lighting.”
“Good call.”
With a little distance between us I see that he’s dressed to kill too.
“It’s a whole themed weekend, then?” I ask.
His three-piece suit is cut in the classic fashion of that decade that I adore. Loose-legged trousers and a low break. A gray suit jacket covers a silk vest complete with tie and pressed white shirt. His fedora sits askew on his head. He could be side by side with Cary Grant inThe Philadelphia Storyand wouldn’t be a hair out of place. He rocks the retro look hard. Something about a man in a suit. I’m ogling before I realize what I’m doing and pick up my phone to cover.
“Yeah, I guess he got the measurements and everything for the suits ahead of time,” Roe says. “It’s extravagant but I dig it.” He does a fancy little spin on his heels and tilts his hat. One dimple pops in to say hello before quickly disappearing. I think I ovulate. “Feel free to compliment my hat.”
“You actors are bursting with modesty.” I busy myself by pretending to check for messages then securing my phone and bag in one of the staff lockers. “So much for a casual gathering.”
“An intimate party with Marty Zebulund and a hundred of his closest friends, on a yacht the size of half a football field.” At least he sounds as annoyed as I feel. “There’s enough money on this boat to finance an entire country.”
“He’s not really known for doing anything low-key. Kinda like the Texas of Hollywood.”
Roe chuckles and I have to stop staring at him. Again. When my eyes flick back, he’s grinning a little too hard for my liking.
“What’s the plan?” He leans against the door, one leg crossed over the other, and I feel like he should be lobbing an apple up and down. The picture of casual seduction.
“Let’s play it low-key until we get a feel for how things are going. I don’t want to do anything risky too soon. You schmooze and do your A-lister thing.”
“Got it. Are you going to search his rooms or anything?”
“Maybe later.” I re-secure a bobby pin into my curls. “If the opportunity presents itself. I doubt he’d have anything incriminating.”
“Why don’t you plant someone as bait and catch him being a perv on one of those tiny hidden cameras? Why go through all this?” He gestures to the yacht around us.
“And then what?” I hold his gaze in the mirror. “A slap on the wrist and he tweets some BS apology. People in this industry don’t care if another pretty girl gets her ass grabbed… or worse.” I focus back on fixing my candy-apple-red lipstick. “So long as he keeps producing the hits and making people money, the world will look the other way. After all, boys will be boys. If anything, I’d be asking for it in this getup.” I roll my eyes hard to show that I’m not on board with victim blaming. “No. When I take this asshole down, it’ll be for something he can’t pay his way out of.”
“What if he’s just a serial sexual predator who preys on innocents?”
“Just.” I scoff.
“You know what I mean. What if there’s nothing else?”
“He’s an evil person. There’s more than one skeleton in his closet. I won’t stop until he’s crawling around rock bottom along with all the other bottom dwellers.”
Maybe I said that a little too vehemently because Roe studies me like he’s a little scared. Or something. He’s focused on me and I don’t know what he sees there.
“Okay. You’re right,” he says finally. “Tell me what you need from me.”
