“Well, we’re doing some very minor tweaks on the script to beef up his character’s arc. Arlo is a huge draw, especially for young male audiences.”
The doors opened on a movie lover’s paradise. Posters for Mobius movies past and present lined both sides of the hallway. Desks sitting outside executives’ offices bustled with activity. People on calls, typing up emails, chatting with their co-workers. This was the real world, right in Cameron’s face.
Brad stopped at the second-to-last desk in the row. There sat a computer with basic office supplies on a desk, a small file cabinet, and a shelf against the wall. “This is your new home.”
Cameron ran his fingers along the desk. He had his very own desk, his own mini-office.This is so cool.
“You’ll meet with HR in an hour, and they’ll go through all the paperwork and insurance stuff. But let’s talk responsibilities.”
“Answering phones, reading scripts, setting up emails,” Cameron rattled off, proud of his already existing knowledge.
“Right. Your main job as an assistant is to make your boss look as good as possible at all times. Everything you do needs to come back to that.” Brad leaned in. “But also don’t forget about yourself.”
He gestured for Cameron to sit in his new office chair, and Brad sat on the desk.
“This town is all about relationships. In this position, people will want to talk to you. Use that. Set up drinks with assistants you talk to on the phone or over email. Build that network, build those relationships. That’s how people rise up in this business.”
“My roommate is an assistant at CAA. His boss represents Arlo Falconer.”
“You’re living with Porter?” Brad smiled and nodded. “Very cool.”
The phone rang. Cameron froze. His first Hollywood phone call. He couldn’t screw this up. Brad reached up and picked up the line.
“Arthur Brandt’s office…Alan! What’s up?...He’s in a meeting, but I’ll leave word. No, I really will leave word.” Brad hung up. “That was Alan Septor. He’s this nobody agent who keeps trying to schedule a lunch with Arthur. Arthur obviously has more important things to do, but he doesn’t want to flat-out reject the guy. He could rep a big-time writer or get a job at a real agency one day. And then he might be valuable. I keep them playing permanent phone tag.”
“Got it,” Cameron said. It seemed that relationships in this town worked a lot like dating, where people were too nice to be outright mean and hoped you got the hint.
“Technically, the hours here are nine-to-seven. But that’s only half your job. When I was an assistant, I worked nine-to-seven, then met another assistant for drinks after work, then read scripts when I got home. Crashed around midnight, woke up, went to the gym, came to work and did it all over again. Nobody gets ahead working standard hours. Always be hustling. Is there a girlfriend or boyfriend back in Iowa?”
Cameron pictured Walker. He didn’t want to, but that was the first thing that flashed into his mind at the mention of boyfriend. It was in the past.
“Boyfriend, Pennsylvania, and no,” Cameron answered resolutely.
“Good. I dumped my college girlfriend within three months of my first assistant job. It was too much. Some people do manage it, but it’s tough.”
Arthur stormed down the hall in a crisp blazer and jeans. He stopped at Cameron’s desk and slapped Brad on the shoulder.
“Has he scared you away yet, Cameron?”
“He tried, but failed miserably.”
Arthur’s death grip handshake nearly crushed Cameron’s knuckles.
“Welcome aboard,” Arthur said with a blazing smile. “Now let’s roll some calls.”
He went into his office and shut the door. Cameron’s eyes darted to Brad, who laughed reassuringly at his newbieness.
Brad rested a comforting hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Let’s roll some calls.”
CHAPTER thirty-four
Walker
Walker was the first car in the pick-up line at school. He’d perfected the science of getting to the school early enough to grab this honor. One of the benefits of being unemployed. Walker would worry about what to do next with his life later. Those fears and concerns and second-guesssings faded away as soon as he watched his son run to his car.
A picture flopped in Hobie’s hand. “I drew this today, Dad! It’s a picture of a bunny rabbit and a rabbi.”
Walker examined the piece of art. Hobie was telling the truth. A human-sized pink rabbit sat on a park bench with a man dressed in a khakis and button-down shirt wearing a prayer shawl and yarmulkah.
