In Her Arms (Indigo Lounge #4)

4. Goldie

4

GOLDIE

“ A ccording to article B-6 of Lewis v. Watson, the law states that—no, that’s not it. According to article B-6 of Lewis v. Woodhouse —Woodhouse? Watson?” Goldie reluctantly looked back down at the script she had been handed that morning. “ Wilson. F uck, that’s it.”

She cleared her throat. She had been going over her new lines for a while now, and she was still amazed at the amount of technical detail involved. The series researchers really had their work cut out for them, though she also realized that several of the writers for the show actually had law qualifications in one way or another. Even though Paperweight was, on the surface, just another legal drama, the level of detail in the show had been unrivaled. Goldie had a period of about four months to prepare for filming, which she had expected for a role this big. What she didn’t expect was the sheer amount she had to research herself. A care package of several real legal case files—boxes and boxes worth of files—had shown up on her doorstep a few months before shooting. She would sit on her porch with a glass of iced tea and study the real cases that the cases in the show were based on. At the time, it felt a little tedious. Now, she was grateful that she had context for everything happening on screen. She was a firm believer that an actor’s performance was more believable if they had the same real-life understanding as their character would have. She was more than happy to do the reading.

It was a real labor of love by the cast and crew, and Goldie felt incredibly lucky to be a part of such an acclaimed show. The first season had won a slate of awards and had gotten incredible ratings, and one of the show’s producers had asked her personally to audition. Now, if she could just get her lines right so this episode’s director didn’t go on a power trip, that would be fantastic.

She set the script down on the table in her trailer, deciding to take a short break. The small window was open, allowing a cooling breeze to pass through the stifling heat. She was wearing a vintage robe, slippers cushioning her feet, her hair tied up in her favorite scarf. She wished she had some company, but most of her castmates were on set filming, the hair and makeup crew were there with them, her agent was busy, and Cameron was off grabbing her lunch from a nearby restaurant.

Cameron. What was she going to do about Cameron?

The woman did everything that was asked of her quietly, efficiently, and without complaint. When she spoke to Goldie, she was respectful but casual, without being weirdly intense about her being famous. She didn’t complain when Goldie made comments or jokes about her, which kind of ruined the fun, but honestly, if Goldie was in Cameron’s position, she would be slow to talk back as well. She wanted to see if she would ever get comfortable enough with her to talk back at all or if she would just heel like a dog.Not that that image was unappealing, per se.

Cameron was very attractive. Her looks had stuck with Goldie since the day they had met. She had been a subject of daydreams, and she imagined Cameron finally fighting back against her jabs and hurriedly pinning her to the wall. Cameron was the kind of woman who would have ruined Goldie’s life when she was younger. The kind of woman she would have obsessed over and gushed with friends about at a bar. If she were able to go to bars nowadays, she just might find a group of women to gush with. As it was, she had decided not to tell anybody about this particular attraction. Not only did it seem like an HR nightmare, but she knew if Cameronwent to the press, Goldie was in a world of complications. Not that she thought Cameron would do that. Goldie would just deny it; it wouldn't be the first time.

If she was being honest, Cameron’s approach to assistant work was boring. She had never seen her pull the ‘do you know who I work for’ card when something didn’t happen, and she hadn’t heard about her gossiping with anybody else on set. She had seen her talk to the catering staff a few times, sure, but other than them, Cameron seemed to be happy to keep to herself and only interact with Goldie when asked to do something. She didn’t really like it. It wasn’t interesting. It wasn’t dramatic or scandalous or anything else she had become accustomed to in Hollywood. It was boring. It was just Cameron, who she desperately wanted to get to know, being good at her job.

Speaking of Cameron, at that moment, she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Goldie called, taking the script from the table and throwing it onto the bed. She got up to grab a bowl and fork from her tiny kitchen cabinets.

Cameron came through the door with her lunch in a brown paper bag with a green logo on the side. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a pair of black fabric shorts that ended just above the knee, and a pair of sneakers. It was warm outside, and a sheen of sweat covered her arms and face. She sighed when she shut the door, the aircon hitting her full force. Goldie tried to look away anywhere else but ended up staring at the paper bag.

Here’s the thing. She normally was not this bad. She was normally able to keep her composure around women she found attractive, a near superhuman level of cool, calm, and collected she had honed over the course of several years. Still, between the terrible shooting schedule, how few people she actually had to talk to, and her constant proximity to Cameron, Goldie was willing to admit that she was losing her mind.

“Thank you for grabbing that for me,” she said as she took the bag from Cameron. “Is it that hot outside?”

“Yeah, it really is. Can I get myself a glass of water?”

Cameron had never asked anything of Goldie before. This was a development. Minor, sure, but still a development. She hoped she didn’t sound as airy as she felt when she said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

Goldie became very invested in carefully, meticulously opening her lunch, peeling off the sticker holding the bag closed and taking the box out. This was her favorite dish from this particular restaurant: a feta, spinach, and pear salad that always filled her up until dinner. She was never one to skip meals for filming—she found the idea counterproductive—but especially during a busy film schedule like this, she wanted to make sure she was as close to one hundred percent as possible. She may have been sleep deprived, but the last thing she needed was to be too hungry to do her job.

Cameron was an absolute godsend for Goldie.

Her last assistant, Adam, had proved to be a bigger problem than they had first assumed. Goldie admitted that her own personal sense of humor may have rubbed him the wrong way, causing him to walk, but when he was searched by security on his way out, they had found some of her things in his bag. They were returned immediately, and charges weren’t pressed because he technically no longer worked for them. Goldie would never be sure if he stole because of her or because he had just wanted to do it anyway. It didn’t make much of a difference, she supposed. She hadn’t lost her job, anyhow.

As she emptied the salad from the box into her bowl, she looked up and realized that Cameron had sat down across the way from her, sipping from a tall glass of water like a lifeline. Her hair was messy, and Goldie noticed that freckles had appeared on her face from her exposure to the sun. Her skin gleamed with sweat from the intense heat, the white tank top clinging to her body.

Goldie had spent long enough trying to suppress her thoughts of Cameron. Sure, she had indulged a few, but one thing she wanted to really comprehend was if the attraction was even the slightest bit reciprocated.

“Cameron, can I ask you something?” She knew that her voice, expertly trained, would not betray her anxiety. Sometimes, very rarely, acting had transferable skills.

“Sure thing,” Cameron replied as she settled comfortably into the space across from Goldie. She had put the glass down and smoothed her hair out of her eyes. A flush had appeared on her cheeks, with soft patches of pink dotting the skin from her chest to the tips of her ears. Goldie tried very hard not to notice this as she spoke again.

“Why did you take on this job?”

Goldie had only intended for this to be the leading question. She would take whatever answer Cameron gave and twist it or pretend to misunderstand it, and based on how Cameron reacted, she could work from there. This was how she safeguarded herself. She tested people. She hadn’t tested Adam, and that had been a mistake. A mistake she couldn’t make again.

It turned out that one question was all it would take for Cameron because she went quiet. Bingo.

“What? Oh, don’t get cagey on me now, Cameron. It’s only a question.”

“It’s a job. I’ve already signed the contract, and I’m doing the work. Is there something wrong?” Cameron questioned.

“Oh no, there’s nothing wrong. I just want to know. That was a last-minute gig, and I can’t believe they were able to replace Adam so quickly. How did you find out about it?”

Again, silence. Cameron was becoming increasingly difficult to read, her eyes sliding right off of Goldie. Whatever was outside the window had suddenly become very interesting.

“Oh, c’mon, you can tell me. Who will I tell it to? Clarissa? It would never leave the costume department; she’s got too much to do to care about incredibly juicy gossip like how my replacement assistant got hired.”

“I’m going to go take my break. I’ll be on set when you’re filming later. You can call me in an hour if you need anything. You don’t need to know about my personal life. I’m your assistant, and that’s that.”

“Cameron, don’t be like that. You’re hardly some random woman the studio plucked up off of the street. Not in those shoes. Can I not be curious? You’re different than the others.”

“I’ll see you later.” Cameron got up from the table and began making her way out.

Goldie realized that she had not gotten any useful information from the conversation at all. Nothing had come of it. Instead, her assistant was angry from being pushed.

“Don’t be such a little lapdog, Cameron. Argue with me! You haven’t got an ounce of?—”

The door shut behind her. Cameron was gone, and Goldie was laughing into her salad. She couldn’t cope well with guarded people. She wanted to know it all.

“She’s so stuck up,” she mused out loud. “I cannot believe her. I really can’t.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry. Instead, she picked at her salad and got back to learning her lines.