Hot Docs On Call: Hollywood Heartthrobs

‘It’s Jake,’ Lola said smoothly, as she offered a silent apology to Jake in the form of a shrug and a roll of the eyes. ‘He’s from the clinic, so he’s bound to be good. Excellent, I’ll bet.’

Unable to take this fawning any longer, Jake stepped forward. ‘Miss Fontaine, I’m Dr Kim’s stand-in. There is no question of bringing him back. What’s the problem?’

‘I can’t discuss it with you. Kim knows everything.’

‘Oka-a-ay. It’ll be in your notes then? I’ll remote-access them from here.’ He put his laptop bag on the table next to her and unzipped it. Pulled out his computer and fired it up. ‘Please be assured that I am bound by the same confidentiality as Dr Kim. I am as capable as he is.’ If not more so. And more highly qualified. ‘If you can just tell me what’s wrong, then we can try to fix it.’ Soon. And, yes, he realised his tone was just a little annoyed. But he had very sick patients, a young man with his whole future in doubt—his whole life—and instead of being where he was needed, he was here. Doing this.

The actress began to shake and blink quickly. ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I need health advice and I have the wrong doctor in my trailer, that’s what’s wrong. Please go. Now. I won’t see anyone but Kim.’

What the hell? ‘I can assure you—’

‘It’s Kim or no one.’

‘Then it’ll be no one. He’s not going to be back for months—’

‘So go.’

Jake bit back a curse. ‘I came all this way and you won’t even let me talk to you? Just like that?’

‘Just like that. Now go.’ And with a final flourish she flung herself back against the cushions and closed her eyes. He presumed this meant that the consultation was over.

‘Sorry to have wasted your time,’ he growled, not sorry at all as he slammed down the laptop lid, snatched up his bag and stalked out of the door. Wasting her time? Wasting her time? His fist curled around the bag handle as he strode back towards the set. What a joke. He was definitely going to talk to James about this.

‘Dr Lewis? Jake? Wait, please.’ That English accent again. He swivelled on his heel. Lola was standing at the bottom of the trailer steps, wringing her hands. ‘How about I find you a cup of tea? Would that help?’

‘I doubt it. It certainly won’t get me the last hour of my life back.’

‘But it might help to sit for a while. Calm down before you head back into the traffic.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost rush hour, it’ll be a nightmare.’

‘I think I’ve just had one already. Tell me I’m going to wake up soon.’

Lola raised her shoulders. ‘She has a habit of changing her mind.’

‘So do I. From right this minute. I’m not coming back. I’m not surgeon to the stars.’

‘She may ask to see you again. Soon. Like in five minutes.’

‘I’ll be busy. With patients who actually want my input and expertise. I have better things to do with my time than pander to hypochondriacal celebrities.’

But for some reason he couldn’t really understand, he followed Lola towards a truck dispensing snacks and drinks and waited until she’d ordered two English breakfast teas. Tea—the great soother of tempers, according to the Brits. No serial or costume drama was ever made where the mention of tea didn’t happen at least twice. He hated it.

Then, taking the tray of drinks, he let her lead the way to a marquee and a plastic table and chair set-up. Lola looked dejected while desperately trying not to appear so. ‘I’m so sorry, Jake. Can I call you Jake? Or do you prefer Dr Jake? Dr Lewis?’

‘Jake’s fine.’

‘She’s a bit temperamental, she’s spent her life telling people what to do. And they do it. Just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘I’m guilty of doing it too—but, then, I get paid to. She’ll come round, you just have to let her calm down and think logically.’ She bit her bottom lip, gave a conciliatory smile that lit up her eyes and whispered, ‘She will, eventually.’

‘Whatever she pays you isn’t enough. Leave. Get another job.’ So it was curt, but damn...how could Lola let her boss talk to her like that?

The smile and the light vanished. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s not healthy to be around self-obsessives. Actually, it’s really not worth it. Just because you want to be noticed, a career in Tinsel Town, right? She’s your ticket? Actress, right? Like all the others who come here because they want the bright lights. It’s not worth it, Lola. Find another job. That kind of person will suck you dry, drive you mad.’

Now Lola frowned, eyes wide. ‘And this is your business because...?’

Good question.

He didn’t usually make assumptions and feel the need to sort someone else’s life out. In fact, he usually steered as far away as possible from involving himself in anyone’s life. Particularly women’s. The only thing interfering had ever achieved was a damned headache, and sent out a message that he cared...or was interested...or wanted to commit. He wasn’t. He didn’t. ‘I’m just saying, there are better careers than being someone’s assistant or a Z-list actress. Most don’t get very far anyway, it’s only the top tiny percentage who can make a living at it. If you want my opinion—’

‘Actually, I don’t. But thanks for making my day a whole lot worse.’ She stared at the steam rising from her tea, then stirred two packets of sugar into her cup. Which was refreshing, because most women he knew in this city would rather have eaten dust than sugar. It was the new axis of evil...or something. She looked dejected, and there was a simmering behind her eyes that signalled danger.

There was also a cloud of coiled anger hanging over them and, if he was honest, it was probably due to him. He’d started off this whole debacle in a lousy mood and things had got worse from there. If she was right and Cameron did ask him to return, it would help if he smoothed things between them. Plus, he didn’t want word of this to get back to James, who was insistent that all patients be treated with kid gloves...and that was usually Jake’s mojo. The patient came first—always. But also...and this was the weirdest thing...he felt bad at adding to Lola’s troubles. He’d seen a glimpse of her smile and, strangely, he wanted it back again.

‘Lola—’

‘Oh? There’s more? Which part of me do you want to pick apart now? You’ve done my job and my pathetic-sounding future—how about you move on to my face or my body?’ The joy in her voice had been replaced with irritation. The happy bounce that had seemed to live in her bones—gone. Yes, she was pissed at him. Very. No one ever spoke to him in that tone, and there were flashes of gold sparking in her eyes now. It was...well, it was all very interesting. She leaned forward, waving her teaspoon at him. ‘You don’t know the first thing about me but somehow think you can storm in here and give me life advice?’

‘Er...’ He began to explain. ‘It’s—’

But she jumped right on in. ‘Well, seeing as we’re handing advice out so liberally today, let me give you some, Dr High and Mighty. I don’t care who you are or what qualifications you’ve got, you don’t get to condescend me as if I am worthless. And you don’t get to make assumptions about anything I do or who I am. Okay? I was trying to be nice to you because she can be a bit of a B-I-T-C-H. And I totally understand how you can be angry with her for being a diva too—and now I’ve said it and I promised myself I never would—because she is a very good actress and she can be thoughtful sometimes. Rarely, but it does happen.

‘I thought a cup of tea and a chat would help because in my experience they usually do, but you know what? Forget it. There are plenty of doctors in Los Angeles who would give their right arm to be here in this privileged position, doctors who care. Who want to help. Who are actually nice. So I’ll go phone one of them, shall I? I think we’re done here.’

And with that she scraped her chair in the gravel and stood. Her previously pale face was now a bright beetroot red. The sunny smile a mere figment of his memory. And to his chagrin, he realised Lola Bennett had done what no woman had ever done to Jake Lewis—she’d brought him to a point where he had to chase after her and grovel.

CHAPTER TWO

‘LOLA.’

God give me strength. Some days she really, really wanted to change her name. She hesitated on her path back to the trailer, slowed and then stopped, wishing her burning cheeks would cool down. The doctor may well be dashing and delicious to look at with his cropped dark hair and startling blue eyes, and so what if he had a body that the leading man on set would die for? Jake Lewis was a pompous jerk in a suit and she didn’t want him to think he’d got the upper hand.

But he was the only doctor here so she needed to be nice to him because finding another one might take another couple of hours. And she was pretty sure Cameron would change her mind, again, and insist on seeing a doctor before the day was out. So Lola was stuck between the two of them trying to find a happy place. ‘Yes? What now?’

Dr Lewis’s lips twitched at the corners, but he kept his distance. ‘You didn’t finish your tea.’

‘I don’t want it any more, thank you.’ She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, she really did, but it shone through regardless.

He stepped forward and beckoned to her. ‘But I’m told on good authority that it might help. And it’s going cold.’

‘So?’ She stuck her hands on her hips and waited for his apology.

‘So, they’re going to clear it away if we don’t go back.’ The jerk jerked his head towards the canteen seating area. Two forlorn cups sat on the empty table. And, God, she was parched. With all this running around she hadn’t had a chance for a drink in ages. Dr Lewis just carried on as if an apology was the furthest thing from his mind and that he hadn’t just insulted her every which way he liked. ‘Come on, come back and finish it before they take it away.’

But no way would she sit with him again until— ‘No, Jake, I’m waiting for an explanation.’

‘I see.’ The twitch at the mouth turned into a thin line as he pondered her words. He really was very lovely to look at—but, then, so was everyone in LA, even the set carpenters were beautiful and always screen-ready. It was like living in a magazine or on an episode of Entertainment Daily.

This guy, though, he had an arrogance that shot through the better-than-good looks, a haughty jaw and a manner she didn’t particularly understand—it was as if he really didn’t want to be here. Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by all this wonderful Hollywood chaos?

She tapped her foot. ‘Still waiting...’

‘Ah. Well, I haven’t ever waited tables, Lola, but I think it generally works like this: when customers leave a table—or rather stomp away—it indicates that they’ve finished and it’s okay to clear their used cups away.’

‘Too clever for your own good.’ She couldn’t help the smile. ‘And I didn’t stomp.’

His gaze ran from her face, down over her body and lingered a little at her backside. Which made her face heat even more. Her stomach suddenly started with a strange fluttery feeling and she wondered if she was coming down with the same thing as Cameron.

He nodded. ‘You so did. Little angry stomps.’

‘Condescending too? Great.’ He’d been watching her that closely? ‘Well, it’s hardly surprising given the circumstances. And I meant I’m waiting for an explanation of why you were so rude.’

‘Oh.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘That.’

‘Yes. That. An apology would be nice.’

He actually looked surprised, as if saying sorry was something he’d never ever thought about, let alone done. But he walked back towards the table and she felt intrigued enough to follow him. She just about caught his words, more of a mumble really. ‘I apologise if my words upset you.’

‘Not sorry you said them. Not sorry you jumped to conclusions. You’re just sorry I was upset? Where did you learn the art of apologising?’

‘You’re supposed to learn it? Is that what they teach in British schools? The art of apology?’ He stood at the table while she sat down—no doubt a play for power. ‘Figures.’

‘By which you mean?’

He lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip. Grimaced. Put it back down again. ‘Look, things got a little heated back there. I think we need to start over.’

Hallelujah. Because she didn’t dare face Cameron and admit she’d scared the doctor away. Even if he did deserve it. ‘Yes, yes, we do.’

‘Excellent. First things first.’ He turned and walked over to the café truck, chatted briefly with the chef—even laughed! Laughed. The man had a sense of humour...but clearly had no intention of sharing much of it with her. Then he returned with a steaming cup of coffee. He sat, sipped and smiled. ‘Great. Now, where were we?’

‘You don’t like tea?’

‘No.’

‘So why didn’t you say anything before?’

‘You ordered and assumed I’d want it. I was being polite. It is possible.’ He leaned back in his chair and smirked. ‘I admit, I was an idiot.’

Still no I’m sorry. Interesting. ‘To be honest, Cameron can be difficult. I have to bite my lip an awful lot.’ She didn’t tell him about how she screamed into her pillow when she was so frustrated and utterly exhausted by her demands, or had fantasised about a jellyfish attack on that Hawaiian beach, while she had been knee deep in doggy-do with three over-excited, totally over-pampered Chihuahuas at the grooming salon.

An eyebrow peaked. ‘So why do you stay?’

‘Have you tried to get a job here, with everyone else all vying for something in the industry? She pays reasonably well—although it’s long hours. And because she’s the closest I’ve got to a film director since I arrived here. That’s my target, really. The longer I’m with Cameron the more I’ll meet the right people. I need her. I need this job. I know that sounds mercenary, like I’m using her, but I really need the contacts and exposure. Does that make me a bad person?’

He looked at her for a moment or two, and again she felt a strange rising sensation in her stomach, a need to look away but a compulsion to keep staring into those bluest of blue eyes. ‘Lola, I don’t know you, but from what I’ve seen so far I couldn’t imagine you’re a bad person. A little full on, maybe—’

‘My dad says I’m a chatterbox.’

‘I’m not commenting on the grounds that I may incriminate myself further.’ But he gave a wry smile in agreement. ‘Basically, you’re just doing what everyone else does—feathering your own nest. Making things work for you. It’s the way of the world. It’s why I’m here instead of back at the clinic, or back in Van Nuys, where I grew up. Networking, making connections. How are you going to get on in life if you don’t use your contacts?’

Well, that certainly made her feel a little better. Although he’d clearly given it a lot of thought and justified it all down the line. Was he one of those true workaholic types? Or was he just completely self-focused?

She’d met a lot of people like that here—really, she’d thought she was highly ambitious, but her over-achieving tendencies paled into insignificance compared to those of some of the men she’d met. The ones who had stood her up because of a last-minute audition and hadn’t bothered to call her and had left her sitting in a bar, like a lemon. Or who had used their in-between-jobs actor badges to repeatedly make her pay for everything on dates. Or—the very worst—the one who had slept with her as a way of getting to meet Cameron. That one had really stung. She’d fallen heavily for that guy and all he’d wanted had been an introduction to her boss.

Her love life had taken a serious dive since she’d moved here, and now she was totally off dating anyone. Definitely. It was going to be just her and her scripts and, she thought with a sigh, Cameron and her three little Chihuahua babies.

Having drained his coffee, Jake gave her a small smile. ‘So you’re an actress, then?’

‘No. God, no. Although I did study drama from being about three years old and did my time on stage at university, but I fell in love with words, creating characters. Making things up. I’m a writer. Screenplays.’ What a buzz to say that out loud. Finally...finally! She’d escaped the endless expectations and was chasing her own dream, instead of being forced to live someone else’s. Although, she realised, freedom did come at a price—guilt, mostly.

He sat upright. ‘And you came all the way from England just for that?’

‘Just? People have done things that are far more rash. I wanted to be part of the scene here. This is where screenplays get made into movies. This is where someone can take my work, my idea, and make it a reality. Besides, my dad’s from LA and he always talked it up.’

‘So if he liked it, why did he leave? I presume he left?’

‘He met my mum and married her and they moved back to her home, which is London. Basically, he gave up his career here for love.’ He’d taken second best for a job, moved countries, given up dreams. She was not going to follow in his footsteps—she was going to mould her own. Chase her own dreams. Hard.

She wasn’t going to give anything up for love—when she was ready she was going to have it all. She just wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready—how did you know? Her plan was to achieve all those things her father hadn’t. To be a success. Because when he’d watched his daughter performing on stage all she’d seen in his eyes had been the light of regret. Lola never wanted to have any regrets. Or to walk on a stage ever again.

Jake looked startled. Shocked. As if the whole idea of love was alien and somehow absurd. ‘Why would anyone would do that? Why take a chance on something that could just as easily fall apart? What does he do now?’

‘He teaches drama, which he loves. And I’m sure he’s happy where he is. I know he adores his family. Too much at times. But he used to tell such amazing stories about living here and the films he was in. Did you see Big City Drive? No? It was about life in LA in the eighties. He said it was really accurate. The whole city vibe. I think I fell in love with this city just from that film. Although it does help that my dad was in it.’

Jake gave her a look that made her think he didn’t much like it at all. ‘And how’s it working out for you?’

She couldn’t look him in the eye and lie, so she spoke to the air around them. ‘It’s going just fine. Great! Look around you—isn’t this brilliant? Over there is Alfredo Petrocelli, the best director in the world, as far as I’m concerned. And I’m breathing the same air as Matt Ringwood and Cameron Fontaine—although her air is usually infused with some weird aromatherapy combinations depending on her mood, and they change—a lot. But, all things considered, it couldn’t be better.’

‘And yet your body language says the opposite.’ Those blue eyes narrowed a little. ‘Tell me the truth, Lola. It’s not all glitz and glamour, is it?’

Why did this man make her feel simultaneously nervous and yet eager to talk? How did he read her so well in the space of...what? Half an hour? She wanted to brush everything off with a big happy shrug but, well, she was a little sick of lying about how much fun it all was and how wonderfully exciting it was, when really sometimes she felt so despondent she wanted to cry. She was lonely. She was poor. She wasn’t making the right connections quickly enough. She was running out of money. She couldn’t bring herself to show her script to anyone. It was bad enough that she had to lie every time her father phoned.

But, then, she didn’t know Jake from a bar of soap, so why should she spill her guts to him? ‘It’s fabulous, actually. You should see Cameron’s house in Bel Air. It’s amazing. And she has great parties.’ Which Lola organised completely but had to keep a ‘low profile’ for. No partying for the assistant, just background work creating the illusion that Cameron had done it all on her own. ‘Really. Fabulous. Now, I think I should probably be going.’

Jake frowned. ‘Where? Back to Cameron? Won’t she yell if she needs you? That seems to work.’

‘Yes, she will. But I do have other things I should be doing. Besides, she needs me to go over her lines.’

But he didn’t seem to want to move, so she was kind of stuck here, being polite. Although that wasn’t too much of a hardship. After the initial bad beginning, things had started to smooth out a little—largely, she mused, due to her never-ending search for the positive in things, which was starting to falter a little.

He leaned back and crossed his legs. From what she could see of them they were toned, strong, clothed in expensive fabric. A dark suit, very professional. In fact, from this angle she could see the stretch of linen across his chest, the bunched muscles in his arms. He clearly did more working out than lifting a scalpel. And that was so none of her business. She looked away—only this time it was at his face.

His eyes met hers again and she felt a shiver of something strange as he said, ‘So, what’s it about, then, your screenplay?’

Wow. The first person to actually ask.

She’d prepared her elevator pitch, she knew exactly how to sell it to a director or producer in one sentence. Perhaps she could try it out on him?

‘Lola! Lola!’

No such luck.

She gave him a little nod. ‘See. I have to go. But, please, don’t disappear on me, she’s probably—’

‘Lola!’ The pitch was high, the voice wobbly.

‘Oh, she really does sound upset. Maybe you should come too?’

‘Okay. Sure. Once more unto the breach and all that...’ He closed his eyes for a second and then breathed in deeply, as if summoning up courage. ‘Do we need hard hats?’

For a moment Lola felt as if she had an ally. Everyone else took Cameron so seriously it was nice to share a confidence. She laughed. ‘Only if she throws something at you.’ At his worried grimace she laughed again. Harder. ‘She has terrible aim. She hasn’t actually hit me yet.’

* * *

Jake watched as Lola again clothed herself in her positive jolly guise and entered the trailer. For a few seconds she’d let him see past that façade to the real woman—she was an interesting character. Clearly driven, if not a little spirited. Still, there was nothing wrong in chasing a dream. She was articulate and had a self-deprecating sense of humour, which was infectious.

She almost ran over to Cameron and Jake had a suspicion that there was some affection there for her boss despite what she said. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’s the problem?’

The actress wiped tears from her cheeks. ‘I don’t know. I feel...well, I don’t feel right. I’m so...out of sorts.’

Jake stepped in. ‘Are you in pain anywhere, Miss Fontaine?’

‘No. Not pain exactly.’

Great. Not helpful. ‘Can you describe what this out of sorts feeling is? Is it anywhere in particular? An ache? A stabbing pain? Nausea? Headache? Dizziness?’ It was like playing lucky dip.

‘No.’ Tears fell faster.

‘She was nauseous earlier.’ Lola looked from one to the other as if that was the complete answer.

‘It’s gone now, I’m just a little upset. Something I ate, no doubt.’ Cameron sighed. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be able to do much today. Lola, honey, can you tell them I won’t be out for the rest of the day?’

Lola frowned, but quickly wiped it from her face. Her voice was soothing, soft and positive. ‘Maybe you’re just a little over-tired? You’ve been working very hard recently with only one little break in Hawaii. That wasn’t enough—you need to make sure you book in a longer break between shoots next time. I’ll put it in your diary.’ While she talked she brushed Cameron’s hair back from her face and held a glass of water out for her to drink. ‘I think they’re on their break now, anyway. They’ve been doing some stunt rehearsing to fill in—Matt’s big fight scene, you know what a perfectionist he is, so don’t worry, everyone’s fine about it. How about we see how you feel in a few minutes? Perhaps Jake could give you a tonic or something?’

A tonic? Did people still have those? He was all clued up on brains and, after his stint in ER as an intern, could manage most emergencies. But general non-specific malaise? He wasn’t sure about that. He knelt in front of Cameron.