“That’s true. It’s set at a hospital, but once we get in scene all the clothes come off and the script isn’t that important. Ya feel me?”
“Fuuuuck me.”
“Exactly.”
“But you didn’t say that in the informational material.” I read Redhead’s sheet. It sounded likeGrey’s Anatomy.
He shrugs. “Whatever. It’s a job.”
“It’s exploitative.” I look at the line of women. “Do you all know this is an audition for a porno?”
Some of them look surprised. No one looksthatsurprised, though.
“That’s messed up, dude. You know these women are desperate for a job and will do anything once you dangle a few false promises.” I look to the line of women. “Who’s walking out with me?”
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. I’m trying to make a movie.”
I scoff. I can’t believe he thinks I’m the problem. “For real? Is it even legal to make a porn?”
He nods. “It’s a highly regulated industry. Do I need to call the cops?”
“Maybe. Someone needs to stand up for these women.” When I realize he’s serious, I backtrack. “Sorry, I’m going.” I look at Redhead and stage-whisper, “Do you still want that date?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
Dammit. “I’m not crazy. I just want better for us.”
She averts her eyes as if she’s scared of me.
All I want is one woman to pretend to be Crystal for a night. How fucking hard can it be? This guy has women lined up to get naked on screen and do who knows what. So I throw a Hail Mary. Projecting like I’m on stage, which I’m apparently great at, I say, “I’m leaving, but I want to offer one of you women a job. I run a matchmaking service and I need someone to go on a date with a rich man tomorrow night. It’s a great deal.”
A woman who’s close enough to have heard everything says, “Lady, that sounds way scarier than what he’s offering.”
“It’s just the way I phrased it,” I say. “I set up millionaires with regular people. I’ve been written up inSoCalmagazine. I just need one pretty girl and any of you would qualify. For me, you’d be Pretty Girl Number 1.”
The director has his phone out. “I have a situation here.”
“Got it, I’m leaving!” Maybe one of the wannabe actresses will meet me in the parking lot. As quick as I can in my heels, I walk to the Ferrari and open the passenger door.
“That was quick,” he says. “Does that mean it worked?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not. The cops might be coming.”
Max looks over to see if I’m telling the truth. “You’re kidding, right?”
“One hundred percent serious.” I’m shaking a little. How many interactions with the police can I have in one day?
“Roger that.” He starts the car and high-tails it out of there.
On our way out, a police cruiser turns into the lot. I groan and sink lower into my seat. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not an idiot.”
“You told me not to do that.”
“True. And I turned out to be right, but you gave it a shot. If you were a scientist, I’d probably think you were doing a lot of harebrained experiments, but you take a lot of risks. You’d be the one to make the big breakthroughs.”
Max has silenced me with his sincerity. That is the nicestcompliment ever, especially coming from him. Normally I would prefer a comment about how great my ass looks, but from Max all I want to hear from now on is, “If you were a scientist…”
