As if the day wasn’t going to be draining enough with our Absolut shoot featuring actress Emmy Rossum, I decided to take an early morning swim in the hotel pool. I’d neglected using the pool and instead had concentrated on the weight machines, which was all well and good but I was passing up the opportunity for a great all-body workout program by swimming.

Early morning swims are great especially if you can get the pool to yourself. The last thing I wanted to do was swim laps while navigating around floating kids or a wading grandmother. This morning I was in luck, or so I thought. After two laps I realized why I had the pool to myself. The hotel maintenance staff had over-chlorinated the pool last night. My eyes were stinging. I attempted to hold out for a few more laps but by the fifth my eyes were burning beyond what I could handle.

When I got back to my room, my fears were confirmed: I looked like a fucking bloodhound. My eyes were completely red, and no small supply of Visine was going to fix the problem. This was going to be great – I’d show up at our early morning call looking like a heroin addict.

Downstairs Olivia stopped me, waving me over from her post behind the front desk.

“You look like crap! What happened, a late night? Or are you just coming in?”

“Neither. I went for an early swim in your pool and the staff must have really done a heavy chlorine job on it last night.”

“Oh!” Olivia exclaimed. “They’re supposed to put up a warning sign when they do that.”

“Yeah, well somebody forgot.”

“Sorry. You need some Visine.”

I pulled the bottle from the pocket of my slacks. “Already used damn near half the bottle. You could come by my room later tonight and help my eyes recover. I think the soft vision of your beauty would help.”

Olivia laughed and had to stop herself from snorting. “Gawd, what a horrible line.”

I nodded. “I know, I figured we could use a laugh.” I started for the door. “The offer still stands you know.”

“I’m sure not many women tell you no, but I'll have to be one of the few. Have a good day.”
___________________________________________________________________________________

Emmy Rossum stands under a bank of lighting, surrounded by an army of hair and makeup people. They spray, they feather, they lighten the areas they want ignored and darken those they want underscored. By the time they finish and back away, Emmy is left standing in a red gown with long white gloves one would wear to the opera, her hair teased up high. Her ever-present smile remains, and I can see why Absolut put her on their short list of celebrities for Suleman to look into. She’s a natural beauty no doubt, something easily seen despite the layers upon layers of makeup the crew continually applies and reapplies. Somebody off set says something and she bursts into laughter. I could see how she got her roles in Phantom of the Opera and The Day After Tomorrow.

I stood back and watched Carolyn begin to work. She was sizing things up, looking at angles and how Emmy appeared through her viewfinder while an assistant forever took reading with a light meter. At one point Carolyn stamped her foot on the ground, and the assistant layed out a piece of tape where she stood. The two then took a measurement from the mark to the turntable Emmy was perched upon. It all looked very by-the-book.

Anna, our Los Angeles production manager who accompanied me to Toronto spotted me from the other side of the room and made a b-line for me.

“So, this girl of yours any good? Is she going to screw the pooch on this one?” she asked, her voice raised just high enough for the assistants and PR people around us to hear.

“I don’t know Anna, why don’t you ask her yourself? I hear the newer models of woman can think and speak for themselves, a big upgrade over the old ones.” I loved getting under her skin.

“Fine, be an ass about it,” she replied and walked off, going for her cell phone.

I watched as Carolyn took a couple of test shots and made some adjustments to the lights off to one side. She was in control the whole time, and when ready, she approached Emmy, said something in her ear, and the two erupted into laughter. I guess it was an ice breaker. Then she was off taking photos, switching cameras with the assistant like it was some well choreographed ballet, as Carolyn moved in an arc around Emmy, directing her movement, pushing in and out. She finally stopped and walked over to where some storyboards were propped up on a chair. Looking them over, she nodded. “I got what we need,” she said. “Why don’t we get her into wardrobe while I take some background plates.”

The plates would later be replaced with stills of the Vienna opera, the New York skyline, a movie premiere, and whatever other options the art department had come up with.

While Emmy was attended to by the hoards of makeup and wardrobe people, Carolyn founds me sitting in the back. “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself. How’s it going up there?” I motioned with my eyes towards the set.

“Pretty good I think. At first I felt a little nervous but then I realized I’m the one in charge so I make it however I want it to be. And then as I started getting more comfortable I realized how similar it was to shooting in the wild. It’s not so bad. And Emmy, she’s adorable. It would be hard to make her not look beautiful.” She looked towards the set and saw somebody motioning for her. “Gotta run, we’ll talk later.”

During the next wardrobe change, which was also a set change and an adjustment to the chroma screens, I found Carolyn and Emmy talking over by a makeup table.

“Did you know Emmy here was doing opera at age seven?” said Carolyn.

“I only did it until I hit the teens, then I went to television,” clarified Emmy.

“Anything I’ve seen?” I interjected.

“A soap in the States called As the World Turns,” replied Emmy. She smiled her ear-to-ear grin at me.

“Oh yeah, my mother loves that show,” I said.

“It was a very good show for me.”

Carolyn introduced the two of us and then one of Emmy’s PR people called her away.

“She’s such a sweetheart,” said Carolyn. “It’s like being around a younger sister. I wish they were all like that.”

Margot had arrived late and found us waiting on the set crew. I introduced Carolyn to Margot and like the mother hen Margot was, she started right in.

“So where’d you two meet?”

“Valentine’s Day, Margot, she was at the same restaurant you and the girls skewered me alive at,” I replied.

“Oh.” Margot looked at Carolyn. “And how long have you been going out with Reed?”

Carolyn paused and turned a little red. “We aren’t dating. We’ve just hooked up for coffee and to talk about music a few times.”

“Oh. Pity.”

“You know Margot, if I didn’t know better I’d say you are sounding like a matchmaker,” I commented. Margot shrugged.

“Excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work,” said Carolyn. She found her assistant and started motioning to something on one of the cameras.

“Fucking fantastic,” I told Margot. “Thanks for scaring her off.”

“I didn’t scare anybody away from anything. Did you see the way she was looking at you? That wasn’t the look somebody who gets together just to talk over coffee gives.”

“Whatever. I can’t deal with that kind of stuff now. I might be going home in a few weeks.”

“I heard there’s a chance you might be sticking around, too,” replied Margot.

“Maybe, I haven’t really pursued it.”

“Well nobody is going to hand it to you, Reed. If you want it then do the work.” She nodded in the direction of Carolyn, who was changing film rolls. “That applies to her, too.”

The shoot continued along until everything was shot and Carolyn was confident we had it all. Suleman came strolling through the set just as they wrapped, walking with the swagger of a proud new parent.

“What I tell you, money in the bank. I knew this would go smoothly!” he lied. He made his way over to Margot and me. “Two for two!” he said as he smacked me on the back. “I sense good things. Have you thought any more about the Coca-Cola account?”

“Sorta...not much, really.”

“Well stop fucking around! We’ll need a decision soon. And L.A will want to know too. Start mulling it over.” Suleman strolled over to Emmy’s people to do a little glad-handing.

Carolyn stood off to the side with Emmy, who was now wearing a Juicy Couture track suit and a Ralph Lauren Polo hat. The two chatted a bit longer and then programmed some numbers into their cell phones. After a parting hug from Carolyn Emmy left with her people, waving as she exited.

Carolyn went over to a table and started breaking down her equipment. I joined her at her side.

“Thanks a lot for believing I could do this, it means a lot,” she said. Then, laughing, “the money is going to be sweet too.”

“Did you get all the releases and contract mumbo-jumbo out of the way?” I asked.

“Yeah, already taken care of. Emmy says she wants to see my picks first, not the client's. That’s flattering isn’t it?”

“Looks like you’ve made yourself a new friend.” I looked over my shoulder and saw Margot approaching. “Oh great, here comes one of mine.”

“Hey you two! I just thought of something. Reed, you know Angie in production services, right? Well she’s getting married next weekend and though the ceremony is limited seating she’s invited the entire office to the reception. You should come.”

I mulled it over for a moment. “The entire office? Why haven’t I heard about it?”

“The invites went out about the same time you arrived in town. I’ll jog her memory, I know she’ll want you to be there. I’m bringing Corrine with me. That’s my date – how sad is that – but it’s fine because Angie and I have been friends forever. She’s known Corrine since she was this tall.” Margot held her hand flat just below her waist.

“I don’t know...”

“Oh, it would be fun. Hey – why don’t you bring Carolyn here with you, since you are both friends and all.”

I frowned. “Gee, that idea just pop into your head?”

I started to say more but Carolyn put her hand on my arm. “It might not be so bad. I don’t think I have anything better to do that day...what the hell.”

“Goody, a wedding AND the chance to go as the consolation prize. You two really know how to win over a guy.”
____________________________________________________________________________________

As cosmopolitan and built up as Toronto was, I had no idea finding an apartment would be such a difficult challenge. Transitory rates were low in most Canadian cities and as a result people held onto their apartments. Initially I laid out a two mile radius from work as my net for finding a place, but condos for sale and rooftop penthouses way out of my price range were the only choices. Unfortunately not many rented out their condos. It was one of the prime income makers for condo owners on the west side of Los Angeles, by contrast.

After getting no results on my first sweep I widened my diameter to five miles. I’d still be able to take metro to work and minimize the use of my car. I’d planned to drive my car on weekends only or whenever I left town. When that search turned up nothing and I’d exhausted all possibilities I realized that Toronto might be like the San Francisco area when it came to finding a place to live. The high occupancy rates were killing me, so I branched out once again. I tried Brampton. I tired Vaughan. I tried Richmond Hill, and Markham. The available apartments weren’t stunning. Most were between 650 and 800 square feet and badly showed their age. I knew I wanted to err on the smaller size of size because it would allow me to save some money. I didn’t need to live lavishly. For all I knew I would be living there for a year, maybe a year and a half. I shouldn’t look past that time frame and foolishly buy something that needed to be filled with pricey furniture and electronics. I needed something large enough for my dog, myself, and some of the more important belongings I would haul over from Los Angeles.

With that new focus in mind I returned my search to the city limits, concentrating on the areas of Bickford Park, Grange Park, and Alexandra Park. Everything in the city was identified by the park it was closest to. Just when I thought I’d run out of options and would have to consider the lowly suburbs of Pickering or Ajax, a landlord called me with an opening on a one bed one bath with a garage near Grange Park. It sounded promising, but after looking decided it was at best a plan B option. Another few days went by and I received another call and once again it was another plan B. The backups were piling up, but I really was in needed of a first option, and fast.

My research into the residency requirements of the land proved cumbersome too. The rules were relatively easy to find and laid out in black and white – something Canada did much better than the United States – but what drew my attention was a blurb about needing a sponsor, usually the company you worked for (and you must work, showing proof you contribute to the system, i.e. paying your taxes, or back to whatever country you came from you go) and they must contribute additional taxes to an impound account should my immigrant ass become lazy. Canada felt it of the utmost importance everybody worked and payed taxes. It was understandable, how else would they fund their socialized medicine programs?

If I stayed past August I would need to file for alien residency, and in the 60 days it took for the application to be processed and checked I’d have to ensure employer participation. That was as difficult as it sounded.

“No way, there’s no way,” said Catherine, our brand manager. “Why would this place go to the added work and expense of sponsoring you? They’d just as soon hire a Canuck to do your job.”

“There’s got to be a way around that rule. If not, then I don’t think we’d process the transfer,” added Suleman days later. “I like you and I’ll go to bat for you, but when push comes to shove the brass will look only at the dollars and cents of it. Sorry.”

My meeting with naturalization services didn’t fare much better. “I’m sorry Mr. Becker, but if you wish to remain in Toronto and work as a citizen of another country then you will need your employer's sponsorship and you will need to be listed as an employee of the company. It’s the law,” a clerk told me.

“Wait a minute. You just said ‘listed as an employee of the company.’ What if I weren’t.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What if I weren’t an employee. What if I were a consultant or free-lancer?”

“Oh, oh. That’s different. A person working on a consulting basis pays their own payroll taxes, meaning it’s not deducted automatically from your check. You must handle that yourself in the country in which you claim citizenship. It also means that since you are not contributing to the Canadian tax base you can not claim any of its benefits.”

“But what does it mean with regard to employer sponsorship and legal stay in the country?” I asked.

“It frees the company from sponsorship because technically you are not their employee. It’s for the same reason they wouldn’t be obligated to pay anything should they lay you off. But under the law...” the clerk paused as he referred to some text on his computer screen, “you can legally stay within the country for eighteen months maximum without having to file for alien residency. It would be akin to being on an extended holiday as far as the government concerned. But go one day after the eighteen month period and you will have to file. You’ll be right back in the same boat as you are now.”

That was my in. All I’d have to do in the coming weeks was convince the brass at TWBA of my value as an independent contractor rather than as a full-time employee, and I would be able to stay on with the Coke account.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Angie was a beautiful bride. She glowed with a happiness and level of content that added a special something to her look. I know what women would say, that all brides are beautiful, but I disagree. Many pick the completely wrong gown for their body frame and instead of looking like a beautiful princess they look like a troll with too much makeup and an overdone hairdo. And don’t get me started on the hell they put their bridesmaids through with those horrendous teal and burgundy dresses.

Angie and her freshly-annointed husband Tony (apparently there was a little drama during the ceremony as he winced when called Anthony by the priest) finished a much-rehearsed twirl as Natalie Cole’s rendition of It Had to be You - their wedding song - drew to a close.

“They’re a good looking couple,” remarked Carolyn, clapping while trying to hold her wine glass in one hand. Carolyn was simply but elegantly outfitted in a spring dress with a modest shoulder wrap. Carolyn always seemed to be a simple, understated dresser. She was probably a tomboy growing up and never got used to being a girlie girl when it came to fashion.

She finished her wine and put down the glass. “It says on the menu the wine is from California. What is it?”

I looked over the list. “It says it’s from Churon Wineries,” I began. “I think that’s in the south, maybe Temecula. They make crisp Chardonnays. The region produces grapes that taste almost like they are being used a bit ahead of time.”

Carolyn followed along and then suddenly laughed. “Oh my God, I just had a quick flash of who you remind me of.” She covered her mouth in surprise.

“Are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“You totally remind me of Patrick Bateman, the character from American Psycho. Well dressed, well-versed in cuisine and music, pretty up on world events.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been told I’m more like Heath Ledger or one of the dudes from Blink 182.”

“I don’t see it. Hmm, maybe the Heath thing. But you so are Patrick Bateman. Well, without the psychotic killer part,” she added.

“Thanks, I guess. I’ve been called worse.” Carolyn flagged down a waiter and ordered another glass of wine for herself and Margot.

On the other side of the room Corrine was talking and giggling with some of her friends. Every so often she’d look back our way. Once she waved but when Margot waved back, Corrine frowned and turned away. By the time the dinner was served Corrine returned to our table.

“Who’s your girlfriend?” Corrine asked while her mother and Carolyn were using the restroom.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Corrine. Just a friend.”

“Do you like her?”

“Undecided.”

“Well, I can see why she likes you,” Corrine replied.

I stopped eating and turned my attention to Corrine. “Explain.”

“She looks at you like, like...”

“Like you do?” I asked.

Corrine's face started to redden. She reached for her water glass. “I guess.” After a big gulp she added, “and she’s talks about you when you aren’t around. And when my Mom mentions you, even just your name gets her all happy. I think she likes you.”

I tried to remain indifferent. “Interesting theory Corrine.”

Margot and Carolyn returned and as if on cue, the band resumed their playing. I put down my fork and stood.

"Who amongst you would care to dance?" I asked.

“You dance?” asked Margot. “I thought men loathe dancing.”

“Men who can not dance loathe dancing,” I declared. “Those who can, do.” I looked over the bunch. Carolyn was smiling, likely in part to the pace with which she was tearing through the wine. Margot had the same look on her face that she normally did, the one that says I've had my fun as a youth, now it's time to be the concerned parent. Corrine looked like the nervous high school student at her first dance, both thrilled and horrified at the prospect of anybody asking for a dance.

I turned back to Corrine. “I think somebody has been waiting a long time to be asked to dance.” I held out my hand to her. "Would you do me the honor?"

Corrine took my hand and we walked out to removable parquet flooring. As I turned to face her I caught Corrine making a face at her friends.

“They think I’m stupid.”

“For dancing?”

“No, for having a crush on you,” Corrine said. “You know that, right?”

“Yes. And though I’m flattered you know it doesn’t mean anything, don’t you? You know it’s not real. It's not anything you can act upon. I'm more than ten years older than you.”

“Yeah, I know. My mom keeps telling me that. But why can’t guys my age be more like you?”

I swung her around. “They will be soon, you’ve got to give them time. I wasn’t like this when I was your age."

Martin came by with Janet in his arms, spinning her in my direction. "Ha ha, you dog!" he said when he came within earshot. "Hey, check out the girl Les brought. Have you ever seen knockers on display like that?" He laughed and dipped Janet, clearing the area.

"Some men are still like kids even now," I admitted. "You want to hear a story? When I was your age I had a crush on my sister’s friend Monique. I was 12, and she was 17. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And she was so cool. Anything she did was automatically the greatest thing in my eyes. When she said hi to me – when she just said my name – it would give me shivers. But nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever does, and I felt lucky enought that she even noticed me for ten seconds out of the day. What you’ve got to understand, Corrine, is the best thing about a crush or puppy love or whatever you want to call it is that it’s the first time you realize you can have feelings for somebody other than yourself. It's exciting and it's scary all in one. Later on, when you find somebody who returns those same feelings, it's really something.”

Corrine moved her arm closer around my waist. “I know. I know it’s just a dumb crush. But the only cool guys are older than me.”

I spun her away from me, slowly, and gently reeled her back in. “When I was in school the only girls who I thought were cool were the older ones too. Sometimes I still think it’s that way. But you are going to keep growing, getting more and more beautiful, and as long as you keep thinking with a level head like you are now, by the time high school is over I guarantee you’ll find somebody special. You’ll probably break a few hearts on the way there. And the day will come when you'll think of me and laugh - that's right, laugh - at ever having a crush on me to begin with. I'll be just another speed bump on your way to womanhood.”

I held her closer to me and I could hear her inhale deeply.

“It’s Michael Kors,” I said.

“What?”

“The cologne. You’re about to tell me I smell good – it’s the Michael Kors.”

“Oh. How did you know?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been there.” I continued to hold Corrine close and danced with her until the final note from the band hung in the air.

"Thanks for giving an old guy an ego boost." I leaned forward and softly kissed Corrine on the cheek. She immediately turned beet red. Her friends gawked and pointed from their table.

When we returned to our seat Margot grabbed my arm. “Well well, you two were very chummy.”

“If only I was half my age and she was older, we’d live on ice cream on Coney Island,” I softly sung. “I think your daughter will be over me soon enough.”

I excused myself, and as I left for the restroom I swore I could hear Corrine start saying to Carolyn, “I can see why you like him...”
____________________________________________________________________________________

A walk in the night air before driving home seemed like the best thing. Carolyn was smashed, not to the degree that causes sickness and blacking out, but certainly too much to allow her to drive home. I told her I would drive her and when she protested on the grounds I’d not be able to get back, I joked that she'd have to do better if she was trying to lure me to her apartment. I stole a glimpse of her smiling when she thought I wasn’t looking.

“I can take the rocket back to my room. I figure there’s got to be a station near your place,” I said.

“Take off your shoes and walk in the grass, it’s so fun,” she said as she slipped off her heels and made for a patch of grass. “It’s exhilarating when the night moisture has just kissed the tops of the grass blades.”

I took off my shoes and socks and followed suit. Not bad.

Carolyn came up beside me and held my arm for balance. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Reed Becker: How come you’ve never tried to put the moves on me?”

“’The moves’? That sounds so sleazy. I wouldn’t put ‘the moves’ on a person I respect.”

Carolyn moved her hand along my arm until she found my hand, and held it. “Well I’ll tell you something. I like you. I like you a lot. And it’s probably because I took the time to get to know you.”

“That’s likely the same reason why I haven’t tried anything with you. I liked getting to know you. I liked not having sexual tension in the way. It always seems to be in the way. This felt different, and it felt good, so I let it play out.”

“Wait, does that mean you’re not attracted to me?” She let go of my hand and started drifting away. I reached for her arm and spun her around.

“What it means is...look. I had just spent the past couple of months seeing a woman I had no business seeing. She was the last person on Earth I should have been dating. It was draining. It was hateful. It was something I had no reason being in yet I couldn’t find myself getting away from her. It was unlike anything I’d ever been in before. Every night I'd come back to my room hating myself for being with her. So when it was done I told myself no more women. You know, break time, slow down. Meeting you didn’t exactly come with good timing, you know.”

“You can’t always pick your time,” Carolyn replied. "Sometimes two people meet and the connection is made. The sparks fly no matter how much you try to hold back. You can't deny what you feel." When she sensed I wasn’t going to add anything, she continued. “Well I’ll tell you what. I am going to kiss you. If you aren’t going to grab the bull by the horns then I will.”

I laughed. “Announcing it isn’t exactly the most spontaneous way of – “

She charged me and took me down to the grass. I was surprised I went down that easily, and even more surprised she was able to bowl me over like that. Then, as promised, she went in for her kiss. Soft lips. Very fleshy. She rested her head on my chest as we laid on the grass, her sandy blonde hair scattered about my shirt.

“You know this is making the back of my suit wet,” I announced.

“Shh. Don’t talk. Let’s just lay here and enjoy the moment.” She kissed me again. “I’ll pay your dry cleaning bill.” We laid there for a few minutes. When I again tried to speak she hushed me once more. "Let the sparks do their thing."

We waited a few more moments, and then Carolyn did what any girl who has had too much to drink does: She passed out.