Have Monster Will Travel Read online

  And she was doing the work on spec, with no guarantee of a paycheck anytime soon.

  And rent was due. Again. It happened every month.

  Jo brushed out the excess paint on a rag draped over the table, then dumped the brush in a cup of mineral spirits before stepping back. She’d been illustrating the “darkest hour” scene, one in which the look of the movie would do more to convey the desperation, hopelessness and eventually determination of the hero than the actor’s crappy acting. She didn’t need the model—the character was almost a caricature, which fit with the feeling and world she’d built. She was working with the model because they’d asked her to.

  Sleeping with him because she wanted to.

  Unclipping the sheet of canvas paper from her easel, she hung it with clothespins along a wire that ran the length of one wall.

  “You need some nudes?”

  The actor—Andrew, no Alex, crap, what was his name?—curled one arm around her waist. He slid her loose, striped cotton shirt off one shoulder. The smock-style top fell to her waist, where it caught on the wide belt she’d added to dress up the comfy ensemble.

  She was naked underneath, her right breast now exposed.

  Whatever-his-name-was cupped her breast, kneading it like bread dough.

  This is why you can’t sleep with actors.

  “If I needed nudes, they’d be of you, not me, and as far as I know the script doesn’t have any nude scenes in it.”

  “Maybe we should write our own.”

  “Unh, that was really, really bad.” Jo knocked his hand off her breast and pulled her shirt up.

  “What’s your problem?” With his arms crossed, helmet on, Jo could almost, almost, see the warrior they would make him into.

  “Not wanting to sleep with you right now isn’t actually a problem. You get that, right?”

  “We’ve been having fun, why’d you get bitchy all of a sudden?”

  Because I know you slept with me for power, not because you actually find me attractive.

  “Keep it up and I’ll make them take my chakra-cleansing therapy out of your pay. You are pissing me off and messing with my ch’i.”

  “Fine, whatever. Crazy—” He turned away so she didn’t hear the rest of that sentence, which was probably good for him.

  “When you call the director to throw an actor hissy fit about this, which I know you will since you’re too new to handle any of it like a grown-up…” Jo plucked down the first of the illustrations she’d done, a landscape showing an idyllic B.C.E. Mediterranean village washed in white sunlight that brought out purples and greens in the scene, “…tell them I won’t be staying on as production designer. They’ll have to find someone to head Art who can execute based on my sketches and notes, or they can start over.”

  “Wait, Jo, sweetheart.” The Greek warrior dropped to one knee beside her, causing the kilt to ride up to his hips. He’d definitely been interested in “writing a nude scene” with her, and his interest was slow to…go down. Ha. Ha.

  Taking her smile at her own bad joke as encouragement, which it most definitely was not, he took her hand, crumpling the corner of the painting in the process. Jo hissed at him and pulled it away.

  “Oh, uh, sorry about that. But don’t quit the movie just because of us.”

  “There was no us, there was sex. We only had sex because your body is ridiculous.” Jo sighed a little as she looked over his nakedness again. Maybe she shouldn’t let this go. “It’s almost criminal that your arms and abs are that cut. I appreciate good art, and your body is good art.”

  “You were…using me?” He blinked. Blinked again.

  “Pretty much.” Jo shook her hand free of his and took her painting over to the massive high-resolution scanner set-up on a desk in one corner of her studio, which occupied an entire floor of a building.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Really?” Jo looked over her shoulder. “You’re going to bitch because I decided to sleep with you because you’re hot? And you think I don’t know why you slept with me.”

  “I…I slept with you because you’re gorgeous.” He tipped his head and kicked up one side of his mouth in a half smile. The effect was ruined when the helmet started to slide forward and he had to grab it.

  “Nice try. Gimme another one.” Jo checked her laptop to make sure the scan of the painting was loading. She’d email over the scans, then messenger or hand deliver the paintings once the production actually got underway and they had a pre-pro team with some office space where the paintings could be posted.

  “No, really, you’re nice and you’re—”

  “You slept with me because this is your first movie but it’s not mine, and you know just enough to realize that I could help your career. Am I close?”

  “Jo, please. If you quit the movie they’ll think it was my fault, and they’ll fire me.”

  “Let me give you a little advice. First, I doubt this piece of shit is getting made. For your sake I hope it does because, really, your body is ridiculous. Second, you don’t actually know where the little man in the boat is.”

  “I…don’t know what that means.” He finally took off the helmet, his dark hair standing on end.

  “So hot, and yet…”

  “They’ll fire me. I’m easy to replace. You’re not. I heard them say so. My agent said this was my big break and not to screw it up by—”

  “Sleeping with anyone? Yikes, time to go get tested since you apparently do this repeatedly.”

  He followed her as she took the painting off the scanner and slid it into a large protective envelope, went back to the drying line and took down the next finished oil painting.

  “Please, Joanna.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “It’s a pretty name.”

  She glared over her shoulder and he slumped. “Please, don’t quit the movie.”

  “I’m not quitting this movie. I’m taking a better job. That’s what you’re going to tell the director, and that’s why you’re not going to get fired.”

  “I’m not getting fired? Thank you. I…wait, does this mean you’re going to go work on that top-secret action movie Calypso is doing?”

  Jo tapped the edge of the envelope against the desk. If she was totally honest with herself, she’d realize that she’d known since the first phone call that she’d at least talk to them. If they really were making a summer blockbuster—and that was what all the industry papers were saying—they had money. Money meant a paycheck for their production designer, who would be able to keep her studio space downtown.

  “Hey, if they’re looking for actors, would you pass my head shot along?”

  Jo slid her gaze sideways to what’s-his-name, who was hopping around pulling on jeans.

  This is why you can’t sleep with actors.

  “You must be Joanna. Welcome to Calypso Productions.”

  A perky, flaming receptionist in paisley silk and boating stripes skirted the reception desk to greet her. Jo reigned in the wave of self-consciousness and held out her hand to complete the shake. From the way the receptionist’s eyes darted to her hand and back she guessed he’d seen the ink she hadn’t been able to get off. Caught up in sketching, she hadn’t had time to do more than wash her hands before heading out the door, which left plenty of black smudges across her fingers.

  “She prefers to be called Jo. Thank you, Kurt.”

  Lena, all blonde perfection in a tailored black skirt and draped royal blue blouse, stood in a doorway behind the reception desk.

  “Jo, it’s good to see you. I’m really glad you came.”

  “Lena, you haven’t changed much. Thank you for thinking of me for your project,” Jo said. They shook and Lena invited her past the reception desk and into the back offices with a graceful sweep of the hand.

  Knowing the other woman was behind her as they went through the doorway, Jo took a moment to tug at her clothes, making sure they were all in place.

  Jo had accepted lon
g ago, strangely right around the time she’d gained a bunch of weight she’d never lost, that she would never be one of those polished business-types. That wasn’t her personality, her career path and wouldn’t be her aesthetic. Jo had embraced the artist look. She liked to think of herself as a living parody of how an artist should dress, a walking mockumentary, but she had a bad feeling she was the only one who got the joke.

  Today she was in black jeans with a Celtic design painted on her right calf, a tight black tank top and a loose gray cashmere sweater that stopped just below her breasts but fell long on the sides to brush her hips. A heavy owl pendant swung from a suede thong around her neck. Her mess of frizzy hair was pulled back on one side to show off the feather extensions she’d had put in the other day.

  “We’re meeting in the conference room. Right down here.”

  “Who exactly will I be meeting with?”

  The hall was short—it was only a few feet before they were at a frosted glass door. Rather than open it, Lena put her hand on the vertical stainless pull and turned to face Jo.

  “You’ll be meeting with all the Calypso partners. Myself and Margo, who both called you. Cali, who you also know from the production program.”

  Jo bared her teeth in a smile. “Of course. Cali.”

  Lena’s only response was the slight raise of a brow. “There’s also Akta and Jane, who were at USC with us, but not in our program.”

  “I remember both of them,” Jo said, and it was only a partial lie. Jane was a quiet, girl next-door type who liked to dance and Akta an Indian girl with all the exotic looks of her ethnic background but the confidence and mannerisms of a Los Angelino. The prestigious and intensive film production program Jo had been in with Cali, Margo and Lena often led to all-night sessions in editing bays. Everyone relied on their friends to provide food, water and eye drops. Cali and Jo had been editors on their senior movie and practically lived together in the editing bay. Luckily, when Cali’s posse of friends showed up to bring her food, they usually brought something for Jo too.

  Remembering her socially awkward college years—she’d been so far behind she’d been awkward in college instead of high school—made Jo want to curl up on the floor and die. Pushing those memories down in a little box in her brain where she could lock them away, Jo gave herself a quick imaginary slap and tuned-in in time to hear the end of Lena’s sentence.

  “…and is currently out recruiting a lead stuntman for the fight scenes, but Luke, Michael and Runako are here.”

  “And they’re all in the movie?”

  “We’ll answer all those questions inside.”

  Lena opened the door, again using an oh-so-graceful gesture.

  Jo stepped inside and stopped. She was pudgy rag lady walking into a room of glossy mannequins. The women were all older, updated versions of the girls she remembered from USC. The men were something else.

  One guy was clearly Native American, either from the U.S. or from Central America. The blond had the coloring of a surfer—gold skin, sun-bleached hair and blue eyes. The last man was black, with a shaved head and pile of muscles.

  She’d seen two of them before, in photos, standing in front of a backdrop at some Hollywood event or another. In photos they were hunks of hot man candy.

  In person they were ridiculous.

  “Jo, please have a seat.”

  Jo took a seat at the end of the glossy conference table. Lena walked to the far side. Jo saw Lena brush her fingers against the dark-haired guy’s shoulder as she passed him. Interesting.

  “Jo, on behalf of the group I’d like to thank you for joining us. While some of us,” she smiled, a little too widely, at Cali, “know you from USC, the gentlemen don’t, so we’ll go around and introduce ourselves.”

  One by one they made introductions, and Jo was able to piece together the information she’d missed out on when she spaced out in the hall.

  The black guy was Runako—he must be African, with a name like that, though his accent didn’t seem African. Actually, his accent didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard before. From the way he touched Margo’s shoulder it was clear they were something.

  The blond was Michael. When he looked at her during his introduction, Jo was struck by his intensity. The surfer dude look must be a carefully calculated front. He should be dressed in a power suit with a lawyer haircut.

  The Native American guy had kind eyes and a great smile. Strangely, he had the same odd accent as the African. Which made almost no sense, but there it was. He seemed to be the leader of their little group, and when they were done introducing themselves he passed the conversational ball back to Lena.

  “You know why we’ve asked you here—we’re looking for a production designer.”

  “You said that in the million and one messages you left me.”

  “Well, I’m glad they all got to you. We know you’ve done some PD work—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there.” Jo leaned forward. Her owl medallion clanked into the table. Around the table everyone shifted. Some leaned forward—Margo, Cali and Lena—while the others leaned back—Jane, Akta and all three men.

  Jo looked around, assessing everyone’s reaction to her interruption, before she spoke. She opened her mouth, and—

  “Were you going to say anything else, Jo?” Cali, seated at Lena’s right and about as far away from Jo as she could be, said.

  “I was, but clearly it’s been too long since you heard yourself speak, Mercedes, go ahead.”

  “Don’t call me that, Joanna.”

  “Seriously?” Margo asked. “I have nieces better behaved than this.”

  “Are you toying with me?” Jo demanded, staring across the table at Cali, a girl she’d once desperately wanted to have as a friend. “Is that why you brought me in here and then dared to review my credentials, when you’re the one making some top-secret movie that, frankly, may not even exist.”

  “And do you realize that this is a job interview? We’re trying to hire you.” Cali leaned forward. Her hair, which Jo was used to seeing up in a quick ponytail, had been styled, blow-dried or something, so that it swung softly against her cheek in a glossy mahogany wave. She wore a fitted mock-corset top with a suit jacket, which made her look like an expensive hooker or a lawyer trying to get her client off the old-fashioned way. Her boobs swelled above her top when she leaned forward.

  “Put those things away. I’m not about to buy whatever it is that,” Jo wagged her finger at Cali’s cleavage, “is meant to sell.”

  “Ladies, please calm down. Clearly you two have some issues—”

  “This is a custom Victoria Whiteland,” Cali screeched.

  “Oh, you spent a huge amount to look like that? I’m sorry.” Jo cocked her head and frowned in mock sadness.

  “Cali, stop, you’re being a pain.” Jane had a restraining hand on her friend, though she was fighting to hide a smile.

  “I’m being a pain? She—”

  Luke turned to Michael. “They’re practically the same person.”

  If it had been a movie there would have been a comical screech as the ping ponging five-way conversation ground to a halt. As one the women turned to look at Luke and Michael.

  “Um…” Luke said, looking desperately at Lena.

  “I’m afraid you’re on your own for this one.”

  “Jane?” Michael said. “I love you, and I’ll come back for you.”

  Jane laughed. “Don’t you dare run out of here.” She released Cali, who sat back in her chair.

  “There went my plan.” Michael scooted his chair away from Luke’s. “For the record he said it, not me.”

  “You are both stupid,” Runako added. “I’ve been around human women far less and even I knew better than to say anything.”

  Margo rolled her eyes. “What do you know about human women?”

  Jo shook her head slightly. It was probably just the fact that she was riled up from the mini fight but she would have sworn she heard t
hem both say human women. That was one hell of a qualifier.

  “Maybe we could take Cali to the zoo.” Akta was sitting closest to Jo and as the bickering started, Jo had been vaguely aware of Akta rolling her eyes and pulling an iPad out from under the table. She looked up from the tablet and added, “There’s a white tiger running around Hollywood, so the L.A. zoo probably has an empty cage.”

  “A tiger?” Michael asked.

  “Oh, you actually read now? I figured you were just playing Angry Birds like always.” Cali leaned forward to snarl down the table at her friend.

  “A white tiger?” Michael asked.

  “Clearly I’ve lost control of this meeting.” Lena tapped her pen on the table and the women looked to her. The moment Akta’s attention was diverted, Michael stood up, reached across the table and snatched Akta’s gadget.

  “Michael, please.” Lena frowned.

  “Lena,” Luke said nothing more, just her name, but Jo watched as the power shifted, the atmosphere darkened. If this were a movie, a little wind would swirl through the room, the sunlight streaming through the glass exterior wall would dim and they would all be washed in blue and indigo.

  This was real life, so none of those things happened, but Jo felt the shift.

  “‘Residents of the Hollywood Hills and Griffith Park area have spotted a massive white tiger,’” Michael read, finger flicking to scroll down the page. “‘Some accounts claim the tiger is taller than a full-grown man and as long as a shipping container. Police are investigating these reports. At this time the L.A. Zoo states they are not missing any animals and do not have a white tiger. They’ve agreed to work with animal control to find the animal, which may be an illegal pet.’” Michael stopped reading, set down the iPad, put his elbows on the conference table and his head in his hands.

  “Michael, what’s wrong? What does this mean?” Jane was half out of her chair.

  “Fuck, fuck.” Runako jumped to his feet. “Why are you sitting there? We need to find him and explain to him that he’s been seen.”