Greetings from La-La Land!
Hate to sound like a broken record—oops, make that a CD—but as I’ve said before, Hollywood politics are one huge yawn. Here’s why:
It’s the big day, right? My up-close, in-person interview with Damien? Not that I’m the kinda girl who sweats this stuff, but I have to admit, even I had a small case of the jitters this morning. Nevertheless, I arrived early enough to do some more of the bonding thing with my new BFF —y’know, the pregnant knitter obsessed with 18th century poets whom I hope to replace as Damien’s exec assistant. Then she sent me down to personnel where I filled out enough forms to kill a small forest before I zoomed back upstairs.
Finally, at about ten thirty (and thank God not a minute too soon because the BFF's BS’ing was seriously starting to make me nod off), she took me into Damien’s lair, er, suite.
Only he wasn’t there. (Note to self: Damien prefers his office to run like a medical practice—minus the sub-zero examining tables and the hideous open-backed gowns—meaning, he likes keeping visitors on deck.)
Which had its pros and cons, frankly. I mean, sure I didn’t relish yet another delay in the long-awaited meet, but on the upside, I got to scope out the office. Oh, yes. Not a detail escaped my scrutiny. From the masculine muted tones to the simple yet unspeakably expensive sports memorabilia. (See? A jock—new, potentially critical info!) I filed everything away in my Damien memory bank.
Finally…a pocket door slid open, and he stepped through.
Oh. My. God.
A smile more pricey than my BMW…the kind of blue eyes that blind you when they twinkle…I’ll confess. I had a hard time maintaining the infamous Sexy Sacha composure.
But rest assured, I did…which was its own reward because sure enough, as I placed my hand in his and let my lids lower just so, I heard his breath catch.
Is there a sound in the universe more gratifying? I think not.
He settled behind his desk to conduct the interview, beginning with small talk (which I expertly maneuvered to last week’s no-hit Dodger win.) Next we moved on to the job and what it entailed. Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada.
Trust me. I aced the oral exam.
And just when I began dreaming of another kind of oral exam—
The freaking intercom.
With an apologetic glance, he picked up the phone, and listened a moment. “Tell George to wait. I’ll be right there.”
The damn union business again. I was sure of it.
Much to my dismay and annoyance, Damien ran off before I could seal the deal. Interviewus interruptus, if you get my drift.
But I’m not too worried. I know I made an impression. Sexy Sascha doesn’t fly under the radar.
I expect the call any minute.Stay tuned...