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The next morning, a new, fresh-faced guy appeared in the makeup room. “Hi, I’m Kurt, your new personal assistant.” His voice radiated so much enthusiasm that it almost hurt Darcy’s ears.
Darcy’s head whipped around, creating a smear of highlighting on his check. “Sit still!” the drill sergeant complained.
“What happened to Elizabeth?” he demanded. “Is she sick?” She had left early the day before. Maybe it was something serious.
Kurt shrugged. “She’s been reassigned, I think to the director.” In chinos, a button-down shirt, and a goddamned bowtie, he was seriously overdressed to be a PA.
Darcy’s stomach plummeted into the basement. Perez already had an assistant. Did she need two? “Why?”
Kurt shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to learn directing?”
Was Elizabeth upset about Darcy’s words the day before? Throwing cold water on her ardor had been his intention, so he should be relieved. But relief didn’t materialize. He hadn’t expected her to go this far. Maybe he’d hit her harder than he’d intended.
Well, that was inconvenient. She was a good personal assistant, and he didn’t want to break in someone new. He was simply experiencing a mild sense of frustration. That was all.
“Stop scowling!” Marge barked.
“I’m not—”
Marge twirled his chair to face the mirror; deep scowl lines were etched on his forehead and around his mouth. “Stop it!” she commanded. He did his best to arrange his face into a neutral expression while she finished contouring.
Had Elizabeth somehow managed to turn off her crush like a light switch? Shaken off her infatuation just like that? Was that even possible? Surely not.
Obviously when she’d heard Darcy’s remarks Elizabeth had realized that he couldn’t be hers, but her feelings were too intense. She must have determined to put some distance between them as a way of sparing her tender heart.
It was just a shame her reaction was so…drastic. Her infatuation had been unfortunate, but it had also been rather endearing. He hadn’t meant this…
At least she would still be on the set. He would see her; they would chat. He was actually looking forward to it. Of course, he couldn’t apologize, but maybe he could make it up to her somehow.
Kurt interrupted his reverie. “Sir, what would you like me to do?”
The “sir” sounded rather foreign to Darcy’s ears. “Er…yeah. Can you give me today’s shooting schedule and then ask wardrobe when they need me?”
“Sure!” Kurt grinned agreeably but didn’t move. After a moment he asked, “Uh, what’s a shooting schedule, and where is wardrobe?”
Darcy sighed. “Just go get me a cup of coffee.”
***
Elizabeth didn’t miss being Will’s personal assistant. Not one bit. Okay, he wasn’t painful to gaze upon, and she missed seeing those sky-blue eyes in the morning, but it wasn’t like she needed it.
She had more interesting responsibilities now. Roberta had asked her to develop a charity partnership. Her father’s company had a policy of working with a different charitable organization that coincided with each film’s theme. For The Zombies Ate My Homework, they had worked with afterschool educational organizations, and for Captain Succotash, they had given to charities that benefitted migrant lima bean and corn pickers.
A bit frazzled, Roberta had admitted she didn’t have any ideas for charities relating to In the Shadows, but apparently the screenwriter did. So Elizabeth set up a meeting with the guy. He was a first-time screenwriter and rather young; his big break had come when Tom Bennet picked his script out of the slush pile. Elizabeth hadn’t met him before, but Jane had talked to him about the script once over coffee, gushing afterward about how nice and smart Ricky was.
She met him in the studio canteen mid-afternoon when it was all but deserted. On the short side, Ricky McWilliams had sandy brown hair, soulful eyes, and a personable manner. Elizabeth regarded him over her turkey sandwich. “So, what made you want to write this screenplay?”
His eyes didn’t waver from hers. “It’s actually based on personal experience.”
“Really? What part?” Or was that too personal a question given the content of the screenplay?
Ricky stared at his coffee cup. “I was homeless for nearly four years, although I was in a shelter for two of them.”
“And now you’re a Hollywood screenwriter.”
He smiled. “I guess I am.”
There was a long silence. Elizabeth’s brain bubbled with questions, most of which she deemed too intrusive. After all, Ricky’s gender identity was his own business.
