“Hi.” Sol shook his hand warily. “What’s a Baldemar and why did its hip fall off?”
“Ah!” Ralf wagged his finger, almost hitting her in the face. “That’s funny. You’re funny.”
“Baldemar is RJ’s assistant’s fiancé,” I explained, suddenly feeling sorry for Sol.
“So not really that funny then.” Sol was visibly uncomfortablewith Ralf’s overly familiar manner and I cringed on Ralf’s behalf.
“Ralf, RJ needs you,” I said smoothly, even though RJ was contentedly following Michelle out of the green room. Ralf bestowed an oily smile upon Sol and hurried off after RJ.
I turned back to Sol. “Don’t mind him,” I said.
“Is he as big an asshole as he seems?” Sol asked as we made our way out of the green room.
“He’s okay,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I even believed that anymore. “He’s a hard worker.”
“I like that answer,” Sol said with a giggle. “You always so diplomatic?”
“Not if I’ve had a few drinks,” I said, concentrating fiercely on not stepping on her dress.
“Oh, I like you,” she chuckled and I failed miserably at playing it cool in response.
“It’s parky out there,” I warned her as we approached the door, which swung open to reveal a deceptively perfect cobalt sky.
Sol stopped at the top of the stairs, framed by daylight as she looked back over her shoulder. “Parky?” she repeated in a perfect British accent. “You mean cold?” She smirked, “please.” She then sashayed out on to the rooftop like it was a catwalk and everyone stopped to watch the way she moved across the space. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, Sol Rodrigues just exuded that undefinable quality, that gravitational pull that made her a star. To be this close to it was as exhilarating as it was hypnotic.
“God, she’s amazing,” I gushed as I watched her greet the photographers with air kisses.
“You’re telling me,” Naya muttered as she ran after her client with a huge puffer jacket.
Group shots began, with different arrangements and poses.Some were serious, some smiling, jocular even as the group pretended to talk among themselves, with RJ looking over the cast proudly like some kind of father figure. Sol easily eclipsed the men. Although Jason and Cy were great looking, she was magnetic, and the photographers couldn’t get enough. After about thirty minutes of this, the individual shots began, with RJ going first. Sol threw on the puffer jacket and stood to one side as her glam squad fussed around her.
“Hey, Lucie,” she called over to me, snuggling deep into her coat. “Keep me company.”
I glanced at Michelle, who grinned her approval.
“Go!” she whispered.
I nervously made my way across the rooftop and stood next to Sol, trying to act as if this was entirely normal. As her hairstylist tried to mitigate the damage of the wind, I racked my brain for interesting discussion topics, but my mind was blank. What did you say to the most interesting, luminous actor of this generation? Sol lived a life so far removed from mine, it was hard to imagine we could have anything in common to discuss.
Turned out, I needn’t have worried, as one thing Sol knew how to do was talk.
“So what’s your deal?” she asked.
“My deal?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning forward so the hairstylist could smooth some hairs on her crown. “Like, how long have you worked at RJF?”
“Um, not very – like, two weeks,” I said. “It’s just a temporary thing.”
“You’re here on work experience or something then?”
“Actually, I was seconded here to help edit a script,” I told her. “But Michelle offered me the chance to shadow her today, so here I am.”
“What, theUntitled Love/Warscript I’m attached to?” she asked.
“Yeah, that one,” I said. Mindful of the Melroy disaster I hurried to qualify. “It’s amazing, don’t worry, this will be the perfect project for you.”
“Why would I worry?” She smiled sweetly. “I trust RJ. And you seem like a down bitch, so I bet you’re a great writer.”
