Two planes touch down within minutes of each other on neighboring runways at LAX International Airport. One plane holds a man hung-over on margaritas who has made every other passenger and flight attendant in First Class aware of his discomfort. The other plane holds a quiet, tall man who just flew First Class for the first time and thoroughly enjoyed the extra leg room.
A third man in a chauffer's uniform stands by the baggage claim holding a large sign that reads, "Dr. William Jones and Mr. Bobby Smarts." He waits patiently and is rewarded when two men approach him simultaneously.
Bobby glares at the sign but turns to Dr. Jones and sticks out his hand. "Hey, Buddy. Bobby Smarts. Nice to meet ya. I didn't realize you were a doctor. I thought you were some sort of teacher."
Dr. Jones is a bit taken aback, but he shakes Bobby's hand and says, "William Jones, and yes, I teach at New England University."
"Oh, so you're not really a doctor then. Like the cutting kind, I mean," Bobby laughs and pushes his suitcase toward the chauffer. "Here you go. Be careful with that, will ya? It's worth more than you make in a year, I'd guess."
Dr. Jones ignores Bobby's comment and introduces himself to the quiet man in the uniform.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jones, " the man responds with a thick British accent. "My name is Henry. I'm going to be your chauffer during your time here in Los Angeles, but I'd be happy to help you in any way I can." He turns to Bobby. "That goes for you, as well, Mr. Smarts. Right this way, gentlemen."
Henry takes Bobby's suitcase and reaches for the garment bag slung over the shoulder of Dr. Jones.
"No, thank you, Henry. I've got it," Dr. Jones says. The three men walk outside and are immediately greeted by a gust of warm California air. The professor pauses and tilts his face toward the sun.
"First time in California, Billy Boy?" Smarts asks as he puts on his sunglasses. "I'm from the Sunshine State, so I'm used to this climate—only more humidity!" He laughs but doesn't wait for an answer as he climbs in the back of the large black Cadillac Escalade of which Henry has just opened the door.
Dr. Jones reluctantly hands Henry his bag and sits next to Smarts. "You ever been in the back of one of these babies?" Bobby asks. Dr. Jones shakes his head and leans back against the soft material of the luxury car's interior.
Henry appears in the driver's seat. "It's about an hour's drive to your hotel, gentlemen. Sit back and relax. There are snacks and bottles of water back there for you if you'd like."
"Where are they putting us up, man?" Bobby asks.
"We are headed to the Sunset Marquis. I believe you each have your own villa booked there," Henry tells them. Bobby Smarts lets out a low whistle.
"I love working on projects with deep pockets!" He says more to himself than anyone else. He closes his eyes and adds, "Just wake me when we get there."
Within five minutes, Smarts is softly snoring. Dr. Jones looks at him with disbelief. He catches Henry's eye in the rearview and chuckles. Henry shakes his head but doesn't say anything. The professor pulls out his phone and texts his daughter to let her know he arrived safely. Then he closes his eyes and silently wonders, again, what he has gotten himself into.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Cynthia Plath pulls into the valet station at the Sunset Marquis at exactly 4pm. There is already a crowd of reporters waiting for her. She quickly ducks into Cavatina's, the hotel's swanky restaurant, and asks the maître d' to let her know when her colleagues arrive. She takes a seat at the bar and orders a vodka martini with a twist. Fifteen minutes later the maître d' lets her know a William Jones is on his way to meet her.
Cynthia stands and turns to see a tall, black man walking toward her. She smiles and feels her legs turn to jelly. He is even more handsome than his voice implied.
"Dr. Jones! It's so nice to meet you in person!" She goes to hug him and accidentally spills the last drops of her martini down his light blue polo shirt. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry! It's my first drink. I swear!" She blushes, but the professor just laughs.
"I can't wait to tell my teenage daughter that I got a drink spilled on me during my first celebrity run-in," he says as he takes a napkin being offered to him by the bartender. "And please, call me William."
"Of course. And I would prefer Cynthia," she replies. They sit next to each other at the bar and order a fresh round of drinks. "Maybe you should put mine in a sippy cup," she says to the bartender. She turns back to William. "So have you met our fellow judge yet?"
William nods, but he isn't thinking about Bobby Smarts; he's thinking about how nice Cynthia Plath smells—fresh, if he had to describe it. There's a hint of citrus, but he assumes that's from the drink remnants on his shirt.
"I've heard he's quite a character!" Cynthia says. "Have you read his book? It's a best seller. He seems pretty knowledgeable on the subject."
"I have not read his book, but I can tell you he is definitely a character." William strains a smile. He wants to tell her about how Bobby threw a fit earlier because he was booked in a villa with only one bedroom. Why does one man need that much space, he thinks, but he says nothing else.
He does not want to spend their few moments alone talking about Smarts. He knows Bobby will be joining them soon enough. Instead, he asks about her life. "I understand you're an accomplished research scientist. So do you prefer the acting world or the academic world?"
"Hmmmm...interesting question," Cynthia responds. "I suppose if I had to choose, I would pick the Hollywood life," she finally says. She can read the disappointment on his face. "But not for the reasons you may think!" She quickly adds. "It's not the attention or the perks, although those are nice," she admits. "It's because I have these rare opportunities to make a difference in a social circle where there is a lot of disposable income."
"I'm not sure what you mean," William says. He doesn't want her to stop talking. He remembers years ago when he went to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra play. The music soothed him in ways he had never felt; Cynthia's voice reminds him of that feeling.
"I just mean I can fundraise for scientific research in so many different fields from Alzheimer's to autism. The Hollywood elite are actually a very generous group of individuals, and, because they're my colleagues, I'm able to access their time and attention." He wants to ask her more about her current research—her life fascinates him, but a familiar voice interrupts the quiet conversation they've shared.
"Cynthia Plath, as I live and breath!" Bobby Smarts walks up to where the other two judges sit at the bar and slaps William on the back. "Thought you'd get first dibs, did you, Billy?" Cynthia's eyes widen as William shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"You must be Bobby Smarts," Cynthia says to him as she stands up. She remembers to put her drink down first before she greets him. Bobby leans in and kisses her on each cheek. Cynthia stiffens and plasters a smile on her face. "Well, I think it's good we all get a chance to chat before our press interviews tomorrow. I know Julie, the production assistant, originally orchestrated this meeting, but I'm afraid she can't make it."
She grabs her drink and takes a big gulp. Then she leads the two men to a small cocktail table in the corner. The bar is starting to fill up with customers, and Cynthia wants as much privacy as they can get. She feels the need to take control since Julie isn't here. After all, Cynthia knows she has the most experience with Hollywood. She also worries that Bobby Smarts could be trouble.
Bobby quickly flags down a waitress and tries hard to flirt with her as he asks about her "specials." Cynthia watches in disgust as he fails miserably. She admits he's not a bad looking guy...until he opens his mouth. What an ass, she thinks.
She glances at William and can't help but notice he looks absolutely miserable. She gives him a big smile, and he physically relaxes a little. She throws back the rest of her martini, decides she's going to call a car to take her home, and orders a third.
"Julie asked me to go over some of the basics for the press interviews tomorrow," Cynthia tells both of them. Bobby rolls his eyes, but William leans in for any advice she can give him. "Bobby, I'm sure you're used to interviews, but William here could probably use our expertise."
"I wrote a best-seller, remember? I'm also a motivational speaker. You can save your breath with me, Sweetheart." Bobby gives Cynthia a wink, and she's relieved when her martini arrives. She debates excusing herself for a cigarette, but she doesn't want to leave William alone with this clown.
"So tomorrow we'll be stationed in the hotel's Presidential Suite, and we'll basically have a stream of press coming in to ask us about the show." Cynthia looks at William. "Any questions?" He has plenty of questions for her, but none of them relate to the press interviews. The last woman who caught his attention this much was his wife. He clears his throat.
"I can't think of any right now, but I'm sure I'll have some tomorrow," he tells her.
"If I could give you a piece of friendly advice, try not to be so smug," Bobby tells him. "You kind of come off as, " he pauses to think of the word, " pretentious." Bobby throws back a shot of Fireball whiskey and slams the glass on the table. "You just gotta loosen up a little. Shots?" He looks at Cynthia.
"No, thank you," she says.
"Hey, more for me, " Bobby says with a shrug. "Will you order me another round if that little waitress comes back? I gotta hit the head." He walks off in search of the bathroom.
"Listen, Cynthia, I don't know what Bobby was referring to when he said 'first dibs,'" William says as soon as Bobby is out of earshot.
"Oh no, William. Don't even worry about it," Cynthia says after she takes a generous sip of her drink. "Hollywood is filled with men like Bobby Smarts. I wouldn't be able to survive if I got offended every time someone like him said something so stupid."
She looks off into space for a moment. "At least he shows his true colors up front. Some people in the business work hard at pretending to be someone they're not. I guess it comes with the job description," she adds.
"Yeah, he does seem pretty comfortable being exactly who he is," William admits.
"He's a buffoon," Cynthia says, and they both laugh. "But the audience is going to love him." She shakes her head. "Listen, I'm going to get going before he comes back." She pulls out a small card from her purse. "Here's my personal cell number. Call or text me if you think of any questions. Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow."
She doesn't try to hug him this time but walks off quickly. William watches her leave and can't help but notice most of the male patrons in the bar do the same. He's not watching her for the same reasons, but he turns away anyway out of respect. What he doesn't notice is when she pauses at the door and turns around to catch one last glimpse of the handsome professor. She sighs and pulls out her phone to find a ride home. Then she anxiously lights a cigarette and waits.
"Damn, that is one sexy woman!" Bobby says as he reappears at the table. He's holding two shot glasses full of a murky liquid. "Here, Doc. This one's for you." Bobby slides one of the shot glasses across the small table. William picks it up and smells it.
"It smells like stale coffee," William says. Bobby turns away and watches as his new favorite waitress walks by. William takes the opportunity to dump the shot in a nearby plant. "Sorry," he whispers to the plant, hoping the foul liquid won't kill it. "Well, I think I'm going to retire to my room," he says to Bobby who still hasn't turned back around.
"Mmmhmmm..." Bobby says absently. "See you tomorrow."
William heads to his one bedroom villa and smiles at the thought of spending all day with Cynthia, even if it does mean Bobby Smarts and half of California's journalists will be there, too.