The Assistant A Romance

I survived my first five days working for Matt Steiner—start of the TV sitcom

The Single Life.

The job is as glamorous and as exciting as I thought it would be. It is filled with fun and exhilarating moments that only menial labor is able to provide. I met Matt on Monday after meeting with his agent. He coldly shook my hand and said, “hello” without looking at me. He looked upset and edgy. He wasn’t very nice to me.

On my first day at my new job, I got careful instructions from Matt’s agent on how to handle his personal responsibilities such as using his checkbook, his ATM’s pin number, his permission to order items from catalogs using his name (ordering his items, of course), the address to the dry-cleaning place, and a Rolodex with the names of friends and celebrities to reach. I also learned how to forge his signature.

After the brief but thorough training, I was given the address to Matt Steiner’s penthouse. The aforementioned penthouse was predictably located on Park Avenue.

That’s where I met Matt for the first time. There was a woman there, a very beautiful woman who looked as straight-faced and as cold as he did. Perhaps they were fighting and I caught them at a bad time—or maybe they wanted some privacy and I had disturbed them. It wasn’t my fault. I was there to do my job.

He looked beautiful in his flannel shirt and jeans. His blonde hair was sticking up and his hands were in his pockets. He looked the way he does on TV, only more beautiful and less silly. He quietly walked me into a room, which turned out to be his office and my new workstation. The office was simply furnished with a wood-finish desk with a computer and a phone on it; there was also a coffeemaker on a small table and there were three comfortable leather chairs. I put my handbag on the desk and sat awkwardly as Matt gave me contact numbers for his lawyers and crewmembers. He was still treating me coldly. He left the office and went back to the beautiful woman whom I assumed was his girlfriend. They were talking but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was my first day and was already feeling unwanted.

I didn’t do much that day. I spent most of the time in the office, doing his bills. I made large checks for charities he regularly makes contributions to. I made coffee several times that day. I spent the majority of the day alone in his apartment. He went to his daily rehearsal for his TV show. He said he’d call me if he needed anything. I didn’t dare to touch anything or even walk around the place. I only got to see the two living rooms and the kitchen. From what I saw, the place was predictably breathtaking and I was pleasantly surprised to see that he decorated one of the two living rooms with antique furniture. The main room had a gorgeous cherry wood coffee table, wine cellar, and a Victorian-style bookshelf (with not many books on it, it was mostly filled with pictures of him with other celebrities and others with people whom I assumed were his family). The light green sofa and chairs felt soft and cozy (I only know this because I dared to sit in one of the chairs). The beige-colored walls were empty; there were no famous paintings or framed photographs. The living room had two Paladian windows that brightened the whole house. The ceiling was decorated with a gold and crystal chandelier. This living room was a contrast to the other one, which had a leather couch, a 50-inch TV, and other expensive gadgets. If only I could afford half of this stuff.

Matt arrived home around six. He gave me a cellular phone on which he could call me whenever he needs me. (He emphasized that only he could call me.) I went home. He didn’t say have a nice evening or see you tomorrow.

I made it through the first day as his assistant. The job was easy. The job was an insult to my intelligence.

I got phone calls from friends and family that night. They all wanted to know about my first day. But they specifically wanted details about Matt Steiner: Is he as cute as he looks on TV? Is he as funny? Did you see his place? Did he talk to you? Did he tell any jokes? What was he wearing?

The questions were so banal that I wrote down my answers before they even called me. I lied and told them the answers that they wanted to hear. I didn’t bother to tell them what really happened because I didn’t want to talk about it. Only one question surprised me, and it came from my mother: Did you get to see his thing?

My second day as Matt’s assistant was not very different from the first one. I spent most of the day in the office writing checks, ordering things, making coffee, and writing phone messages. And for extra fun, I took Matt’s clothes to the dry-cleaners.

Matt came home around seven and told me to leave. He muttered, “Thanks for everything” before I left.

My third day was a bit different. I got to meet Andrew, Matt’s publicist. Andrew and Matt walked into the office and Andrew hissed, “Do you mind?” at me. I assumed he meant that he wanted me to leave. I glanced over at Matt, he nodded as if to say, “Do what he says.” I left the room feeling like an intrusive bug.

I didn’t like Andrew the moment I saw him. Also, the way he said, “Do you mind?” as though I were some nosy, illegal immigrant housekeeper made him even less likeable in my eyes. What gave him the right to patronize me? He looked like the typical celebrity ass-kisser. He was very thin and had short, blonde hair and bright green eyes. His face was creepy. It resembled a cat, a devilish cat at that. He seemed arrogant and shallow, even more so than Matt.

I was sitting in a chair when I heard some arguing coming from inside the office. Something about getting publicity out of something for some movie—something like that. Matt sounded upset.

When Andrew stepped out of the office, he glared at me for a moment and then left. Matt motioned me back inside. He did this without looking at me.

I went home feeling low that day. I felt like an intruder, like someone uninvited, unwelcome. Celebrities get a real kick out of making everyone feel like a complete zero. Condescending, that’s what they are! I may just be an assistant, but I’m by no means inferior.

I decided that night that if things didn’t get any better by the end of the week, I’d quit.

Again, I received calls from my friends and family. I didn’t deign to answer the phone. I screened the calls.

On the fourth day I answered calls from women. They left absurd messages like, “Please, tell Matt to call me. I’m Andrea, the girl he slept with four months ago at that nightclub in L.A. I think he’ll remember me. I gave him the mother of all blow jobs!” I also picked up his dry-cleaning and did his grocery shopping.

When he arrived home that night, he told me I had to be on the set of his TV show the next day at five p.m. He gave me a card with the address and an admission pass.

He didn’t look at me that day either.

I went home and was still determined that if things didn’t improve, I’d quit.

It was finally the fifth day. Friday. I was on the set of his show. They were filming that night in front of a live studio audience. I spent most of the time in his dressing room, watching the taping of the show on a TV monitor.

They spent six painful hours filming a half-hour show. They had to repeat the scenes over and over again. The audience seemed happy to be there. They stared at the actors with awe-stricken expressions and laughed at every joke they said. I was bored. It was getting late. Matt was still ignoring me. I was still determined to quit if things didn’t change.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, a young woman approached me.

“Hi,” she said. “Are you Matt Steiner’s new assistant?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Oh, great! My name is Amanda, I’m Daniel Stevens’s assistant.” (Daniel Stevens is one of the cast members of the show.)

“Nice to meet you,” I said while shaking her hand. “My name is Karla Lopez.”

“Nice to meet you too, Karla. Is it okay if we go out and talk after the show? There’s a café a couple of blocks from here. I want to get to know you, if you don’t mind.”

Why was this woman so interested in talking to me? Even though I was tired and frustrated, I accepted the invitation.

We went to the café. After we each ordered a Cosmopolitan, we started talking.

“So, how do like the job so far?” she asked.

I shrugged and said, “It sucks.”

She looked at me and smiled.

Amanda was very pretty. She had chin-length, dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was wearing a navy blue sweater and black pants. She seemed likeable and easy to talk to. “You don’t say!” she said. “I know it sucks. But what do you find so bad about it? Isn’t this your first week?”

“Yes, but the job’s a little too simple.”

“Well, yeah. You’re right. This job is a no-brainer and sometimes a little demeaning. And you pretty much have a cell phone attached to your ear 24/7. But once you get used to it, you will see that there are many advantages to this job.”

“Such as?”

“You get to go to places like The Rainbow Room, for instance. You also get to go to movie premieres, cast parties, fashion shows, even to other countries, like Paris or London. You also get to meet a lot of interesting people.”

I have to admit that she did make it sound exciting. I would love to go to The Rainbow Room or to Paris or London. I hadn’t thought of the glamorous lifestyle, and when I did, I thought it’d be great to be a part of it. But then I realized that that sort of thing never appealed to me, especially if I had to follow Matt around.

“Well, I don’t like Matt Steiner,” I said stoically.

“Why?”

“Because he’s…mean.”

“Really? He’s

mean

? I always thought he was nice. He seems like a nice guy.”

I took a sip of my Cosmopolitan and said, “That’s because you don’t work for him.”

“That’s true. But he seems really nice. I’ve talked to him a few times and he always seemed quite friendly.”

“Maybe it’s me then. Maybe he doesn’t like

me

.”

“What makes you think that?

“I don’t know. He’s just so…I don’t know.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little sensitive?”

I didn’t answer.

“Relax, Karla. He’s probably having a bad week. He did seem a bit fretful today on the set. Besides, it’s your first week. He’ll warm up to you, you’ll see.”

We talked of other things. I told her about my desire to become a journalist and my lack of success in finding a suitable job somewhere. She then told me that she actually wanted to become a software analyst, but she quit college and started working for Daniel Stevens instead. She’s been working for him for two years.

She told me stories and anecdotes about her job. She told me that Daniel is very easygoing and down-to-earth. She even told me that she sometimes snaps at him if she feels his demands are humiliating or come across as cocky or arrogant. She also informed me that sometimes Daniel flirts and is a little too playful.

“Do you reciprocate his flirting?” I said, smiling.

“I do,” she said, blushing, “but he does most of the flirting. And it doesn’t come across as offensive or that he’s taking advantage of his power. He sometimes gently compliments on my clothes or my hair or whatever. He’s very sweet and respectful. I guess I’m lucky.” She paused. “If you’re free tomorrow, would you like to join me and a couple of my friends for dinner? Since neither of us have dates, we decided to get together. Are you free?”

I took my calendar out of my purse and pretended to check if I had any engagements. As predicated, it was empty.

“I’m free,” I said.

“Great! I’ll be in a restaurant called

Vincent’s

—a few of blocks from here at seven.”

Saturday evening and I’m getting ready to meet Amanda and her friends. I don a dark-green top and black pants. It’s kind of chilly outside (it’s October), so I grab my black suede jacket and leave the apartment.

I’ve been so depressed. That was my first week as Matt Steiner’s assistant. That’s how it went. The job, of course, is not difficult—I can do it with my eyes closed. Matt was so rude to me the whole time. I don’t like to be treated that way. I’m not saying he has to be nice to me all the time, but still. He could have at least acknowledged my existence a little more. Evidently he doesn’t like me. Either that or he’s an anti-social freak.

My friend, Ben, called me this morning and asked if something was the matter. I told him I was fine. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. I’ve been screening calls all day.

Riding on the subway train, I try to read Jane Austen’s Persuasion but an old Hispanic man is staring at me. I hate it when people stare. I can’t concentrate on my reading because the man’s wrinkled face is looking right at me. It’s very distracting. I always encounter a weirdo whenever I ride the train. I should take cabs more often. The man is still looking at me. I wish I had enough courage to say, “What the

fuck

are you looking at?” But I simply look back at the man who’s staring at me and smiling persistently. The train finally reaches my stop, and the man slowly bobs his head rather rhythmically and says, “Have a lovely evening young lady!” I smile back at him, feeling stupid for being so paranoid.

I can see Amanda from outside of the restaurant. Another woman is sitting next to her. I take long strides toward the table and as I sit in one of the chairs, Amanda introduces me to Lauren, her friend.

“You’re late!” Amanda says, smiling.

“I’m sorry. The train was slow today.”

“My other friend canceled. She has a date,” she informs me. “So it’s just the three of us.”

This is a nice restaurant. It is dimly lit and there’s a man playing the cello. The place is small, very intimate, a place I’d like to be in on a date—instead of with two women who obviously have nothing better to do.

We order our food. After a full day of bingeing I’m not very hungry, so I order a pasta salad and garlic bread. Amanda orders a dinner that consists of salmon, caviar, and wild rice. Lauren orders a steak dinner. The three of us order Cosmopolitans.

“Lauren, Karla is Matt Steiner’s new assistant. She started last Monday.”

Lauren nods and smiles at me sweetly. “How do you like the job so far?”

I smile sheepishly and glance at Amanda.

“She told me the job sucks,” Amanda says with a chuckle.

“Why?” asks Lauren.

“I don’t think Matt likes me very much.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

“I don’t know. He hardly said a word to me. He didn’t even look at me. He was just…I don’t know…not very nice.” I really don’t feel like talking about it. I try to change the subject by asking Lauren what she does for a living.

“Same as you and Amanda. I work for Joseph Blake, the one who plays Tony on

The Single Life

.”

Oh, great. The three of us are the assistants of the three guys from the show. Now all we’ll do is talk about work. I’m beginning to regret coming here. I roll my eyes at Amanda for not telling me.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, Karla. I just thought it would be fun for us to get together like this. We can talk about work and make fun of those guys. I think it takes some of the pressure off. That way you can call us every time you feel uneasy—frustrated. I know how it is. It’s not easy, this job. People treat you like you’re nobody. Working as an assistant doesn’t have the same cachet as an agent or a publicist.”

As she rambles on about the importance of our meeting, I can’t help but notice that Amanda and Lauren are a lot prettier than I am. Amanda has high cheekbones and full lips. The kind of lips I wish I had. I hate my lips. The bottom lip is fuller than my top one and when I smile the top lip almost disappears. I don’t like to smile because of it. Lauren is also very beautiful. She is black and has green eyes. She resembles that supermodel, Tyra Banks. They have flawless skin, and they look like TV stars in their own right. I feel dwarfed by their beauty.

The food arrives. As we drink the Cosmos and eat our respective meal, we discuss work.

“You won’t believe what some assistants do,” Lauren says. “They sell information to the press. Especially the tabloids.”

Amanda nods in agreement.

I wipe my mouth with a handkerchief and say, “I bet they do. But it’s terrible, isn’t it? I mean, celebrities have the right to some privacy, don’t they?”

“I agree. It happens all the time,” Amanda says. “And not just assistants, but also the housekeepers, publicists, even their family members. It’s kind of sad. Not being able to trust anyone.”

“If I were famous I wouldn’t trust anyone,” I say.

“They don’t, really. It goes with the territory. But still, I’d rather be an ordinary person and know that the people I meet are trustworthy,” says Amanda.

I know all about people selling information to the press. I’ve even heard that the celebrities are in on it—cheap publicity or something. I lean forward on the table and whisper, “Have either of you ever sold information to the press?”

They glance at each other silently. Judging by their silence, I can only assume that they have. “Wow,” I say with a snort.

“I did once,” says Amanda. “I felt guilty after I did it. It happened a few months after I started working for Daniel.” She clears her throat. “A tabloid newspaper offered me a lot of money—and I

needed

the money. I owed college loans! I spoke on the condition of anonymity. I told them a lot of personal stuff about Daniel. I cried when I saw Daniel’s disgusted expression while reading the article. He looked so hurt. He’s entitled to his privacy, and I had no right to invade it.”

There’s an awkward silence. I wish I had a tape recorder right now. This could make a very interesting article. But then again, we’re discussing betrayal and selling stories to the press—not exactly an exposé. But maybe I could make it look interesting and readable on paper! But no. It doesn’t seem appropriate to quote Amanda’s confession considering we’re discussing invasion of privacy.

“Anyway,” Lauren says, breaking the silence, “you made one tiny mistake, Mandy. People do stupid things. And if you needed the loot, you needed the loot.”

“I guess you’re right,” Amanda says.

I wave my hand dismissively at her and say, “Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past.”

We spend the rest of the time talking of other things.

This little get-together makes me feel a whole lot better. I actually enjoy the company of Amanda and Lauren. And I have decided not to do undercover work on Matt. I will not betray him. Even though he is not a very nice person, he’s entitled to his privacy.

I don’t know if I should quit. I will give the job another week. If Matt doesn’t look at me or speak to me again next week, I will treat him with the same coldness. I’ll be one of those bitchy assistants who don’t take crap from their superiors. He won’t intimidate me,

I’ll

intimidate him.

Back home, I check my messages. Only mom called. I open the refrigerator—nothing. Just a gallon of water and a bottle of vodka I picked up earlier today at the liquor store. I have no food—I ate it all during my binge.

I take a nice, long bath and drink vodka. I need to unwind and digest my thoughts and feelings about Matt and work. I love the pleasure of a warm bath late at night. The bubbles soothe me.

And the vodka sedates me.

Despite the difficult week, I made two friends. And I got to see the live taping of a TV show. I also got to meet Matt Steiner. For better or for worse, he is now my boss and I guess I should make an effort to get him to like me. Although I did say that I would treat him coldly, I don’t think I can. Instead of being rude to him, I’ll be sweet and charming. I hope against hope that he’ll reciprocate.

***

Just a little while ago, I was enjoying a moment of peace reading the

New York Times Style

section and eating a scone in the comfort of my living room-slash-bedroom when the phone rang. It was Matt Steiner—telling me that he will be attending an art gallery for a charity tonight and that I should be there in case he needs me. He told me that Andrew has put my name on the guest list. He also told me that I should wear something formal and elegant for the occasion. The gallery is located in SoHo.