A Silent Endearment

I know how you like your coffee

I really hate my job. I mean, I know I should be thankful. Anybody would be thrilled to be working for StarGate Films, kill even. I don't really hate my job. Probably.  It's just one of those days. The type of day when you dread getting up out of bed the moment you wake up, then proceed to spill coffee all over yourself, resulting in your morning running late, and then everything goes to shit. Maybe I'm over-reacting? Probably. I'm allowed to ruminate in my own misery every now and then. 

I sit in my makeshift desk in the studio. A movie set is the least permanent place you can imagine. People, "places," and things are constantly on the move. All of my other employed friends brag about their new offices or bayside views. I'm lucky to find a free space by the refreshment table most mornings. Maybe I do hate my job. I don't know, sometimes it's awesome. I keep telling myself that if I work really hard, do everything I can, then maybe, just maybe I can see my name roll through the credits. Maybe one day I'll be up on stage in an uncomfortable suit accepting a shiny award for best original soundtrack. 

That sort of future is a long ways away. For now, I'll have to settle for being a measly assistant, a glorified copy-machine runner really, but an employed one nonetheless. 

I close my laptop lid, I can't concentrate at all enough to form anything that resembles a proper sentence. Thinking about it, I wonder where he is? It's almost eleven. Maybe drooling over possibly the single most, hottest man on the planet can cheer me up. 

Gawking is rude, I know, my mother did teach me a few things. But staring at him in his brooding, teenage wet-dream glory has become apart of my daily routine. It's not just me, either. The entire production team and staff just alike can't help but stare when he's in the room. Just like in any terrible accident the onlooker just has to sneak a peek. It's weird, I get it, he's an asshole who've I never had a single interaction with. The latter part I should actually be thankful for. I can usually avoid getting caught in the crossfires of the notorious Vetrov set rage. Apparently, he's set many interns to tears over his tantrums throughout the years. 

My luck ends today, though. Adrien sent me an email this morning: "Emergency in Bali. Be back soon." Said email was actually the cause of my surprise and consequently spilled coffee. Usually, Anton prefers interacting only with the higher-ups. But with Adrien's absence, I'm technically the "higher up" for now in the Music Coordination Department. 

I'm nervous. My Uncle said he would introduce us this morning. But its nearly lunch time and Anton is not here yet. Actually, all of this is sort of odd. The constant buzzes and rumbles of shooting day have stopped. It's been surprisingly quiet, calm on set today. Even the director is standing still. 

All of a sudden, everyone is hesitantly looking towards the door. Vetrov is finally here. He shakes off the dew from this morning's drizzle as he slowly takes off his bomber jacket and shades. He looks towards the nearest person, poor Lauren (an assistant in the costuming department) and asks with perfect enunciation: "where is my coffee?" 

This shitstorm of a day was every producer's worst nightmare. Every single assistant and intern was offset today. Apparently, there is a bit of a mono plague being passed around and the interns certainly don't shy away from interpersonal work relationships. Hence the shitstorm that even my stoic Uncle was bemoaning. How could they forget? The set prince needs his coffee. Or there will be hell to pay.

One producer scrambles, frantically asking around if somebody can go get his coffee, a few people volunteer but no one knows his order. Vetrov was carted off to hair and makeup just now. His stupidly perfect face needs little work and he'll be out in mere minutes. Not to mention, the prince does not like to be disturbed before shooting. This shit storm is nearing a crisis designation.

Finally, the producer says aloud, "does anybody know his order." For whatever reason, maybe for the sake of first impressions, I offer myself up.