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The assistant tossed his head. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Garrett is particularly interested in sound design, so make sure you introduce him to DaVon and Harry.”
Kurt stared. “Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll do it the next time I’m on the set. Right now, I need you to go to wardrobe and get my jacket for tomorrow’s scene.”
It always took Kurt a minute to process instructions. “Okay,” he said finally, turning toward the door.
“And take Garrett with you so he can see that part of the building.”
Kurt heaved a sigh and then gestured for Garrett to follow him. As he watched the two young men leave the trailer, Darcy wished—for about the millionth time—that he hadn’t driven Elizabeth away.
Chapter Eight
Charlie Bingley really was the ultimate party guy, Elizabeth thought as she stepped into his house. It was surprising that he hadn’t thrown a party for the cast and crew before now. His house was fairly modest by Hollywood standards, only a little larger than Elizabeth’s parents’ home. But it was in the posh Hollywood Hills area, with its leafy green trees and houses perched on terraced hillsides.
It had obviously been designed with entertaining in mind—at least the 1970s version of entertaining. There was even a sunken “conversation” area in the living room. However, the whole place had been updated and remodeled, with nary a shred of shag carpeting or splash of avocado green paint in sight.
The house wrapped around the patio and pool, with curtains of glass providing a spectacular view of the infinity pool, and beyond it, L.A. Elizabeth didn’t particularly long for the house, but she would have loved to have that view every day.
The party was in full swing when she arrived. Supplied by three separate bars—two outside on the patio and one in the living room—just about everyone had a drink in their hand. However, she didn’t notice any food. She sighed. Apparently it would be one of those parties.
The floor-to-ceiling windows gave a great view of partygoers outside on the pool deck. People relaxed around or in the pool, drinking and chatting while they floated in inner tubes or lazed on lounge chairs. Many of the women Elizabeth didn’t recognize were tall, thin, and beautiful. Charlie must have spiced up the party by inviting some models, a not uncommon practice in Hollywood.
Elizabeth had brought her swimsuit but wasn’t sure if she would change into it. There was nothing like partying with models to make you body conscious. Why did I even bother to come? This had all the hallmarks of one of those parties that were tailor-made to make you feel inferior. She wasn’t hip enough. Or wealthy enough. Or pretty enough.
She just didn’t belong.
Her job didn’t depend on schmoozing with the glitterati, thank God. Maybe she should just leave. At the same time Elizabeth was a little nostalgic. The movie industry had always been integral to her life, but soon she’d be in medical school and it would be part of her past. She would miss it—at least parts of it.
Ricky also had two more kids at True Colors who could use mentors, so Elizabeth was searching for someone from In the Shadows who didn’t already have a mentee. Although she was beginning to wonder whether she could stand the party long enough to fulfill that mission.
All right. If I’m not having fun in half an hour, I’ll ditch it.
Navigating through the crowds, Elizabeth turned a corner to find herself in a den-like area with a wide-screen television at one end and lots of big pillows on the floor. Huh. And there was George Wickham playing an acoustic guitar, singing an Ed Sheeran song as if his heart would break. Some of the partygoers lounging on the pillows sang along while others just watched.
Not a model in sight. Perfect. Elizabeth sank onto a big cushion, belatedly realizing that she was sitting beside Lydia, who was gazing at George with rapt attention. His voice was good, and he was an accomplished player. He noticed Elizabeth with a smile containing only a little leer. She couldn’t help comparing it unfavorably with Darcy’s smile, which was always…gentlemanly. But comparisons were stupid, she reminded herself. Darcy was irrelevant, and his smiles were meaningless.
When the song came to an end, applause was followed by several requests for other songs, but George demurred. “I need to give my voice a break.” Most people drifted away; a few stayed, apparently mesmerized by the music videos on the huge screen, while a smaller group huddled in conversation in one corner.
George clambered over a few pillows to reach Elizabeth. She couldn’t help smiling as he landed on a big beanbag chair with a thud. “Ugh! I may be getting too old to sit on the floor,” he said.
Lydia laughed raucously. “Don’t be silly! You’re not old!”
He chucked her under the chin with an intimacy that surprised Elizabeth. Was something going on between them? “Older than you, my dear. Would you be a sweetie and get me a whiskey on the rocks. I’m parched.” His slurred speech hinted that he had already imbibed a bit. Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, Lydia bounced up and hurried out of the room without another word. She must really like George.
George lounged back in the beanbag chair with a lazy grin. His pupils were tiny, suggesting he’d been using something a bit harder than alcohol. Well, it wouldn’t be a Hollywood party without drugs; they were impossible to avoid. Doing coke probably added to his coolness factor in Lydia’s eyes, but Elizabeth had studied enough biochem to know what drugs did to the human brain. She stepped hard on the desire to give him a lecture.
“I didn’t know you knew Charlie,” she said.
He shrugged. “I don’t, really. I met him waiting for my audition last week, and he invited me. He seems like a great guy.”
“He throws great parties.”
“That he doesh,” George slurred.
“I’m sorry the audition didn’t work out.”
