Chapter 3: The Meeting

"I'm going to need you to start coming in more, we're going to get busier in the next couple of weeks," Steve barked from his office as I made my way in, after taking the hardest economics test of my entire life. I sighed and shook my head.
"Just let me know when, sir."
"Tough day?" I heard from behind me, as I put my things in my locker. I turned around to see one of the girl's from the other director's office that I'd see from time to time. She was yellow floral skirt which was to her knees, a black tank, and a red cardigan. It all complimented her ebony skin nicely; gave her a sun-kissed look. Very spring time. I smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, it's been a long day."
"It's not going to get any better here," she said, shifting her eyes towards Steve's office, laughing lightly.
"Tell me about it," I said, rolling my eyes, "I don't know how I do it, honestly."
"He sure is a handful," she added, grabbing folders. "It was nice chatting with you, but I need to get back to my director!" She straightened herself out and slowly made her way out of the door. She stopped, stuck her head back into the doorway and smiled. "Forgot! My name's Megan. Yours?"
"Zara," I replied, with a smile, "nice to meet you!"
"You too, see you around," and she was gone. Finally, someone friendly. It had been way too long since I had seen a smile on someone's face around these parts. I saw Steve coming out of his office from my peripherals with another client, and immediately turned around so I wouldn't have to endure another rude remark.
"What are you doing just standing there?" he began, his voice stone cold, "Go make use of yourself, instead of standing around."
I walked away as fast as I could and began filing paperwork. Look up the client's name, fill in information, print out hard copies, stamp them, put them in file folders, and file them in order of when they were coming in to shoot. Today's list of clients? Seventy-two. It was going to be a long, long, day.

"Roll the cart out here that has the set design on it," he said, sipping his coffee as if he was the best director on earth. I finished moving wires from one side of the set to the other. "NOW," he commanded, shouting so loud that the cameraman jumped a little in his seat. Yeah, scary. I ran to grab the cart but couldn't find it. Steve placed it in his office the last time I worked, it couldn't have gone anywhere else. That's when I started panicing. I rushed from room to room, unable to locate the damn thing. Seconds began passing like hours and there was no trace of it. I decided to take the chance and let him know. I ran back onto set, circling to find Steve. I walked backwards looking in every direction, when I hit something and stumbled over. I heard papers falling to the floor.
"What the hell is wrong with you?! Can you not see?" a loud voice screamed. Guess who? You're probably right. I turned around, getting ready to open my eyes to see a towering Steve getting ready to yell me to pieces. I opened my eyes to see an unfamiliar person picking up papers off the floor, Steve helping him. "I'm so-s-o," I stuttered quickly," I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't see you there," I rambled on.
"No worries, it's fine, happens to all of us," he said, with a smile.
"Obviously," Steve added sarcastically. He got up and shouted for me to hurry up with the set design.
"It's not in your office," I sighed.
"You can't do anything right, apparently, go look again," he said. I ran back and eyed every room on the floor down as fast as I could. I eventually found it behind the receptionist's desk. I rolled it out to the set. Steve was conversing with a young man, with shaggy black hair that fell to the side of his face. He was staring intently at the papers Steve was brown-nosing him with, nodding occasionally, making his hair fall into his eyes. I figured he was the one I bumped into a few minutes earlier but couldn't remember. He looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't have the time to make out who he was. I ran up with the cart, almost out of breath.
"Here's my lazy assistant, who obviously needs some excercise," Steve noted, laughing, nudging the anonymous guy next to him. A look of confusion and "I-can't-believe-he-just-said-that" showed on his face. I stood there, in shock. I held tears of anger back as I put on a fake smile and added a fake laugh. I gained my composure (I would surely cry like a baby afterward) and snapped back to reality.
"Is there anything I can get you two?" I asked. The young man shook his head, his hair swaying away from his eyes.
"No thank you," he added, smiling.
"You, sir?" I asked.
"Yeah, speaking of getting me something, where's my coffee?"
"You asked to have it taken out because you wanted something new," I replied. He really had. He threw a hissy fit the other night because all the "other directors had gourmet coffee." A little childish, no? Welcome to the industry.
"No I didn't," he said, firmly.
"Well..the coffee isn't here anymore. You'll have to wait until it comes in," I stuttered, getting extremely nervous.
"Excuse me?"
Silence.
"Get out of my face, now," he began, getting a little wild, "NOW."
I instantly turned around and headed for the office, when I he coughed loudly. I stopped and turned around.
"Yes?"
"You're a lousy assistant."
Silence, once again. I had nothing to say to that. I walked back into the office and got back to my work. After a few hours of the redundant routine of typing, printing, stamping, and filing, I heard a group of guys walking by. I assumed they were moving to another location, when I heard a knock on the door. I looked up from my work, to see the same young man, in the doorway. Images of bumping into him earlier, like an idiot, flooded my head and I could feel myself sweating excessively. I definitely got a better look at him this time. He was a little bit taller than I was, built, dressed nicely. A mole was placed on his cheek, complimenting his entire appearance. His light skin, with a hint of tan to it, almost glowed in the lighting. He had what seemed to be tiny black gauges. His hair falling into his eyes, spiked in every direction in the back. He had a little stubble, lightly scattered around his chin. He was completely unique..and extremely good looking. I had seen him somewhere before, I just couldn't put my finger on it. While I eyed him down aimlessly, he smiled and began speaking.
"So...?" he asked.
"I'm really sorry, I zoned out. What can I do for you?" I asked, sitting up from my monotonous office work.
"Can you please let me know when the choreographer will arrive tomorrow morning?"
"Oh, of course, hold on a sec," I said, pulling up schedules, "I'm really, very, truly sorry about the run in earlier today."
He lifted his head alertly, "That was you?" I nodded, trying not to turn red.
"Unfortunately, I'm sorry again."
"Oh, that was nothing, really. No need to stress about it," he said smoothly.
"Well I can get the time that you need, under one condition," I said with a laugh.
He smirked. "And that condition is?"
"I need your name," I added, with a laugh. He laughed lightly and raised his eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"That's it," I confirmed.
"Well in that case, Garland. Travis Garland," he said slyly, leaning up against the side of the doorway. I was a little bummed that the mission impossible theme didn't start playing out of the sky. After that, it hit me. I had read his name somewhere online, when I was browsing for new music. He was an upcoming star. "I'm good," I thought to myself, pulling up his file.
"Seven-thirty, tomorrow morning!" I finally said, turning away from the computer. He nodded, thanked me, and closed the door. I returned to stamping, hoping this wasn't going to turn out badly like some of the celebrity clients before him. Ali Lohan, a prime example. After putting away my imaginary drool bucket while getting a better look at Travis, I went back to the paper work that was calling my name. I got home at around midnight and was expected to be back on set at six in the morning.

I struggled to unlock the key to my room again, turning the key from side to side. Note to self: get another doorknob after work tomorrow. "Oh come on, Kelsey," I heard from the room down the hall. Shortly afterward, I'm guessing Kelsey ran out with her things and headed for the stairwell.
"Don't do this!" the-culprit-behind-the-late-night-parties shouted.
"Screw you, Josh," she yelled back. I laughed in my head; I had my very own Jerry Springer episode playing out in front of me. He stood at the stairwell and looked back at me. I was still struggling to get my door open.
"Need help?" he asked, getting closer. I shook my head, getting a little nervous, and continued trying.
"Whatever," he mumbled, walking back to his room. The lock clicked and I ran in, locking the door behind me. That kid seriously gave me the creeps. There was a new girl in that room every night. I wondered what was going on. I sighed and opened my eyes to my bleak and breaking-down place. The water pipes combusted the night before and pretty much flooded the bathroom. It took a grand total of thirty-four towels to get the mess cleaned up. The place was falling apart, but it was all I could afford. Tons of Apartment Finder magazines scattered the floor. I kicked them aside and changed into my PJs. I managed to brush my teeth in the kitchen sink and fell into bed, blocking thoughts of worry from my mind.