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He acted honestly curious and he’d no doubt drag it out of her anyway, so she just told him. “I was overweight—a fat girl all through college, actually. So guys were my friends, not my boyfriends, okay? I wasn’t any guy’s type.”
“You’re thin now,” he said simply.
“That happened by accident. I was working days at a news station in Fresno and making films at night—too busy to eat and jogging to boost my energy and all of a sudden, guys started looking at me instead of through me.”
“You sure that was it?”
“Oh, yeah. I was the same lively, interesting person I’d always been, but no guy noticed until I got skinny.”
“That must have pissed you off.”
“Royally. I got over it, though.”
“Not entirely, right? Hence, the comment?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“The past colors the present, JJ.”
“Ah, so this is why they call you doctor,” she said, deflecting his analysis with a joke. “You’re analyzing me.”
“I charge $150 an hour and accept most insurance.”
“Please. What kind of therapist practices in his underwear?”
He laughed. “My more traditional clients sometimes insist I wear pants.” He sighed.
“I see,” she said.
He smiled, moving close to her. “If it makes you feel better, JJ, I don’t sleep with my crew. Even moral reprobates have some standards.”
“Good to know,” she said, startled by his frankness.
“So now can you drop your shoulders? They’re up around your ears.” He squeezed her muscles there with such perfect pressure that tension peeled away like the skin of an apple under the sharpest of knives.
“Oooh,” she said.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
She did and he began to rub in earnest.
“Wow. Oh, wow,” she said. “That feels great.” Not suggestive at all. It was pure physical relief. She let it go on entirely too long, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a massage and it was just soooo nice.
“That working for you?”
“Oh, yeah.” She tried to collect her thoughts, say something funny or sensible. “You give shoulder rubs to all your crew?”
“Only the cute ones.”
“Kirk? Never mind. Too hairy, right?”
“You’re catching on.” He patted her shoulders, signifying he was finished. “Now what was I doing? Oh, yeah, putting on my pants.” He went to the side of the bed, whistling softly.
There was a knock at the door. Figuring it was room service, Jillian answered, but instead she found a short woman holding a stack of multicolored file folders in the hall. Eve Gallen, Brody’s producer, no doubt.
Her eyes widened when she saw Jillian, but when she looked past her to where Brody was pulling up his pants, they narrowed, along with her lips, and her face took on an ah-ha expression. She thought that Jillian and Brody had been…oh, damn.
Jillian reached out a hand. “I’m JJ. Filling in for Kirk on this shoot?” She hoped her tone cleared up the false impression.
“I know who you are,” Eve said, with a businesslike handshake and a brief smile.
“I got here early. I thought noon meant noon.”
“Then you don’t know Brody.”
“She’s learning,” Brody said. “I answered the door in my shorts and shocked the shit out of her.” He was clearly trying to show that nothing sexual was going on.
Eve paused, seemed to accept that, then strode to the window to fling open the curtains. “You live like a vampire, Brody,” she said, dusting off her hands. She had bird-bright eyes and a restless energy, and she took over the room, putting a third chair at the table, shifting Brody’s laptop to one side, taking legal pads and stapled pages from her messenger bag and laying items at each place.
Jillian raised her gaze to Brody, who shrugged. “Eve’s the boss. I’m just the hired help.”
When the food arrived, Eve signed the check, too, then lifted off the cover plates and stacked them. She looked over the omelets, sausage, granola, yogurt and pastry Brody had ordered, then grabbed a bear claw and bit into it. She made a face. “This isn’t blackberry, Brode.”
“They were out. It’s fig. Sorry.” Brody poured orange juice into a glass of cranberry juice and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said.
Jillian was impressed. Brody had ordered his producer’s favorite foods, including a juice combo he’d prepared for her.
Eve sipped the juice, nibbled on the pastry, then nodded slowly. “Goes good with the juice.” She scooped ice from the water glass into Brody’s coffee, taking care of him, too.
“The tea yours?” she asked Jillian, sounding almost offended by the presence of an alien beverage at the table.
“Yes,” she said, preparing her cup.
“Brody guess what you liked to drink and eat?” Eve asked.
“He did, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s the Brody Treatment. You’ll get used to it.” Her words felt like a subtle jab. He does this for everyone. You’re not special.
Brody circled the food cart, moving with an athlete’s grace in bare feet, loading his plate with an omelet and sausage and fruit. He looked like a Calvin Klein ad, his chest still bare, his jeans low on his hips, his boxers peeking out.
A sigh escaped Jillian.
“You okay?” Eve shot her a look.
“Fine.” Stop staring at the man. Her cup rattled in its saucer as she took her place at the table with Eve.
“Top sheet is the itinerary,” Eve said, then flipped to the next page. “The second is a shot list for tonight and tomorrow.”
“Looks good,” Jillian said. Eve was clearly organized. Her folders were color-coded by city, Jillian noticed, reading the tabs. They would be on the road for nearly a week—spending two days in L.A., two in San Francisco and two in San Diego, before returning to L.A. for postproduction work.
Jillian wouldn’t be needed for that.
Brody joined them, but he didn’t look at Eve’s pages, just dug into his food.
“I don’t know how familiar you are with Doctor Nite, JJ,” Eve said, “but men watch our show for the hottest clubs, the sexiest events and the wildest women. When you’re looking for shots, you’re going to have to think like a man. Maximum skin is what we’re after. Short skirts, serious cleavage, all the tongue kissing you can score. Think Mardi Gras. Think spring break.”
Think vulgar, woman-hating, exploitive. “I get it,” she said, Eve’s condescension annoying her. “I’ve watched the show.”
“Studied it, you mean,” Brody said, shooting her a wink.
“Then let’s dig in,” Eve said. “First I wanted to show you some new stuff I’ve got going, Brody.” She whipped a paper from a red folder and gave it to him.
He read down the list. “You’ve been a busy girl.”
“I’ve barely begun. Most of this can wait for Kirk, though.” She shot Jillian a patronizing look.
“You don’t need to do extra stuff. We’re fine.” There seemed to be tension between them. Had Eve disappointed him?
“We can’t dial it in, Brody.” She glanced at Jillian, almost as if she wished she were gone, then back at Brody. “Your fans count on you. We can’t take anything for granted. It’s good to shake things up.” The two watched each other for a moment.
Jillian shifted and her leg jarred the table, making Eve sit straight, then tap her folders straight. “So! Moving on. Today’s shoot.” She flipped to the second stapled page.
Jillian was watching her, wondering what was really up.
With an impatient huff, Eve flipped Jillian’s papers to the correct page. “You’ll get used to how we work,” she said, her tone suggesting Jillian was already hopelessly behind.
“School of Bondage?” Jillian read from the page.
“We’re filming the dominatrix class,” Eve said, as if it were an everyday thing to do. “Then we’ll hang in the bar where the students and teachers mingle and practice.”
“I’ve planned out the Top Ten S&M Tips,” Brody said.
“Good. We need to save time if we want to get footage at the condom factory before they stop the machines for the day.”
“Will I be able to scout these places?” Jillian asked.
Eve’s gaze shot to her. “Traffic’s brutal and we have lots to discuss. Kirk always wings it.”
“I’m sure JJ can wing it, too,” Brody said. “Speaking of Kirk, have you talked to him today?”
Eve’s face softened. “He’s great. They’re releasing him this afternoon.”
“He was higher than a kite when I called last night.”
“He’s already doing physical therapy.” She smiled. “I’m so glad that’s over. Kirk was so flipped out.” She paused, lost in thought for a second. “Oh, yeah, he wanted me to remind you about some DVD. The guy’s supposed to call you tonight?”
“Sure. Yeah. I’ll drop it off for him.”
“Anyway, okay, so let’s see…. Back to San Francisco.”
“Did that tip from JJ work out with the tourism office?” Brody asked, shooting Jillian a wink.
“Yes, actually, it did.” She lifted her gaze to Jillian and said a quick, begrudging, “Thank you.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help.” Even if I’m not Kirk.
Eve hunkered over her notes. “Turns out we have to revise the San Francisco segments, since the show will run on Valentine’s Day. We’ll use ‘Raunchy Romance’ as the theme. All we have to do is add some V-Day bits. I hate Valentine’s Day.”
“Why is that?” Jillian asked.
“It’s death for single guys,” Eve said. “Girls get all gooey and want promises, and guys get stuck with the bill.”
“It’s a racket,” Brody added. “Guys forking over a fortune for a fat diamond floating in Cristal, flaming dishes in restaurants where even the busboys are snots, and for what? If that’s what love is, save your money.”
“Good stuff, Brody,” Eve said. “Use all that. Also, how is a single guy supposed to get laid on Valentine’s Day? Do a riff on that. You know, how all the available chicks are home moping, eating Chunky Monkey from the carton, watching sappy movies in their sweats, wishing they had a boyfriend.”
Jillian needed to contribute something to the brainstorming. “Why not hang out at the video store where the women are renting their sappy movies?”
Brody and Eve stared at her, blinking.
“Say, fiveish, after work,” she continued. “Stand in the romantic comedy aisle, holding When Harry Met Sally or Sleepless in Seattle.”
“Too gay,” Brody said. “Maybe American Pie II or There’s Something About Mary.”
“I guess the movies don’t matter, as long as you look harmless and lonely. Oh, and buy snacks. Popcorn and M&M’s?”
“The doctor is in,” Brody said. “Good one, JJ. So, Eve, score us a video store we can haunt? We can get opinions on our theories, too, while we’re there.”
“Video stores are chains. I’ll have to deal with corporate permissions. It’ll take time.”
“You’re the queen of pulling rabbits from hats.”
Eve sighed, but a smile teased her lips. She grabbed Brody’s laptop and began clicking away.
Brody leaned close to Jillian. “You are good,” he said.
She was glad she’d impressed him. Now she had to get through to Eve. While they worked, Jillian complimented the woman’s planning, her filing system, hell, her acrylic nails, but the producer remained distant with her.
Two hours later, Eve looked at her watch. “The crew will be here soon, Brody, so let’s wrap up.”
“Time for Red Stripe and beer nuts,” he declared, picking up the phone to call room service.
“I’d like a club soda, please,” Jillian said.
“Do you believe this woman, Eve? Club soda?”
