Disclaimer: I don't own Orlando Bloom or any living person depicted in the story. They deserve my utmost respect.
----------------------------- CHAPTER TWO ----------------------------
Orlando Bloom drove his fingers through his tousled hair for the fifth time.
Fiona hadn't yelled at him She hadn't threatened him with every imaginable torture method known to mankind or even insulted him. She had been calm and collected, cool, almost icy. That was bad, or so he thought. He had never ever heard her like that. And she had only told him to be at Georgina Hammond's office punctually for a meeting with the people of New Line and that she had found a solution to the problem.
He had slept last night in a hotel, not wanting to overstay his welcome at Elijah's.
Well, Elijah had had a rough time with his parents after the incident and had been called back to his family's place, until "he had proven himself worthy of their trust".
Luckily, Orlando was not a teen-fledgling depending on his mother. He rather enjoyed the fact that he was now helping to support the family and that he had a life of his own. Wild, but his life.
He was a grown man, twenty five years old. Many guys his age already had families of their own . But the thought of being tied down made him crazy. There was so much to see, so much to do, so much time ahead.
As the cab arrived in front of the huge steel and glass building, he remembered what he was about to encounter. A beyond-furious Fiona, some annoyed studio executives, and this Georgina Hammond he remembered from the time she had visited Fiona in London. He recalled George as a tiny woman, executive style, the kind you saw in the movies with high heels and power suits making million-dollar deals. The woman freaked him out. These power-chicks, as he secretly described them, gave him the creeps.
Orlando ran to catch the elevator and bumped into, of all creatures, a power-chick. He instinctively tried to steady the woman before she fell, but he didn't really need to. Despite her high heels, she quickly regained her balance and glared furiously at him.
"I beg your pardon, madam," Orlando mumbled flashing at the woman his million-dollar smile, hoping to charm her. She didn't say a word, but she nodded to him and turned to wait for the elevator they had both missed.
Verena Devereaux was way beyond being furious. She was quivering in a silent rage just this side of smashing something. Damn George!
Even though Verena had been ready to do ANYTHING to start over and stay in L.A., how dare George put her in that awful situation. Okay, the pay was going to be significant, almost the equivalent of a year of freelance, and she was going to work. And the job was going to be only for a couple of months, until the 18th of December.
But she hadn't ever done publicist work before, even if she had the education for it.
She hated having to depend on others, and the idea of babysitting actors drove her out of her mind.
Verena kept repeating to herself like a mantra, "I do it for Zoë, I do it for Zoë," as she entered George's office building. She had to meet the studio executives and the actor she was supposed to work with in minutes, and she was barely on time. As she ran to the elevator, she bumped into a young man who was also trying to catch the lift. Even though she lost her balance for a few seconds, she bounced back on her toes and stood firmly.
And then she glared angrily at her the man who'd bumped her. He was young, probably mid-twenties, wearing dark pants, a black t-shirt and a black jacket. Around his neck hung an impressive amount of necklaces.
But her photographer's eye admired his impossibly angelic face: high cheekbones, beautiful mouth, soulful brown eyes, and pixyish dimples when he smiled at her, apologizing. The kid probably had girls melting at his feet with that smile. But Verena didn't have time for girlish melting. She was on assignment.
So she nodded her acceptance of his apologies and turned away, repeating her mantra and concentrating on managing the outrage she felt about the job she was forced to accept.
The New Line executives where about to arrive. Fiona and George stood in the latter's office, waiting for their clients to appear. Verena had called from the parking lot announcing her arrival, and Fiona knew that Orlando wouldn't be late, since he knew she must be upset. He must realize the extent of her pissed-off-ness.
Orlando was a darling, no doubt, but he had to behave now or New Line would sue.
They couldn't terminate his contract, since the movie was already in the can, but they could sue him for damages if he did anything to create bad publicity for "The Two Towers." And New Line would sue for millions.
George served Fiona a cup of tea and got herself a glass of water.
Returning from the minibar, George saw Verena enter the office with sure, quick strides that defied those very high heels. George instantly recognized that her client was angry.
When Verena put up an appearance like that, she must be furious. She wore a black suit, the skirt a couple of inches above her knees, and a white blouse. Her hair was styled and she wore heavy make up. This was not her war correspondent image, the one who shot amazing pictures of whales under water or visited the Afghan refugees. This was a Verena George had seldom seen.
George nodded appreciatively: This was certainly the Verena she'd sold to New Line as the person they needed to take care of their investment, Orlando Bloom.
The assistants in the entrance of the office greeted Verena cheerfully, even though they were dumbstruck by her heels and crisp business ensemble.
"Hey V.!" said Spencer, Verena's own assistant. "We are dressed to kill today, aren't we?"
"Hey Spence! Shut up and work," said Verena passing by his side and caressing his cheek fleetingly. Spencer blushed and returned to his work, sneaking a peek at the amazing legs that were revealed by the short skirt. Leave it to V. to surprise him after so many years working together.
Entering the office at a more sedate pace was Orlando, who hadn't known the place and had asked for directions before finding the corner office in the 11th floor of the gigantic building. He saw the woman from the elevator enter the office and hoped she didn't have to do anything with his meeting here. As Fiona walked out of George's office and gestured him inside, he found felt disappointment settle low in his stomach. Yup, the power-chick from the elevator was certainly involved; she sat right there beside Georgina.
Fiona made the introductions. "Orlando, I think you met Georgina in London. Verena Devereaux, this your new protégé, Orlando Bloom. Orli, Verena is your new publicist and guardian angel until December."
This time Orlando took a longer look at Verena. She had a lovely oval face framed by raven-black hair, a straight nose, green almond-shaped eyes. And not the hint of a smile.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bloom," said Verena dryly.
So, this was the brat she was supposed to keep out of media trouble for six whole months. She remembered his heart-stopping grin in the elevator. This was going to be hard work.
"My pleasure, Miss Devereaux," countered Orlando. He didn't like her. Not at all. But the hand in his was soft and warm and gripped his hand firmly. That was good sign.
He dropped a quick glance to their linked hands. The woman seemed to have cut her finger and was wearing a band-aid. But that wasn't the fact that intrigued him. The band-aid was purple with dinosaur comic figures on it. Orlando grinned to himself. Power-chick with dino-band-aid. Maybe there was more to her than stiletto heels and executive frowns.
George interrupted his thoughts. "Fiona and I thought it would be best to set some things straight before the New Line people arrive. Take a seat please."
Orlando sat close to Fiona and Verena sat down in the chair closest to the window. She crossed her legs and Orlando immediately thought of Sharon Stone in "Basic Instinct."
"Note to self: Power-chick with dino-band-aid and great legs" muttered Orli, grinning again, but swallowing the grin as he met the cold green eyes nailing him to his seat. Fiona put her hand on Orlando's shoulder. "Orli, behave," she muttered under her breath.
George continued, "Verena will arrange all of Orlando's daily activities, especially those that involve appearances in public places. Orlando will coordinate his daily agenda with her, and he will comply with her suggestions and instructions."
Orlando sat up sharply.
"I have to do what? You are hiring her as my baby-sitter? I am a grown man, I can manage my life on my own, thank you very much!"
"Orlando-darling, you have become a magnet for the tabloids. There isn't a week in which you don't appear in the press. The studio is worried. For image alone, we must be certain you live a quiet, discreet life until the premiere of "The Two Towers" at least. That will be Verena's job."
Verena was quietly observing Orlando. Spoiled brat. Was he eighteen or twenty? Another hot-shot actor, the new Leo Di Caprio, attracting trouble like flies to honey. And she was going to play chaperone. Things one did for living!
Orlando had settled back in his seat after Fiona quickly explained that the studio had threatened to bring a lawsuit against him if he didn't comply. And he couldn't mess his budding career by being foolish. So he bit his lip and didn't say anything further. They had him. It couldn't get worse. Or so he thought, until George continued.
"To ensure good communication and make your collaboration easier, Fiona and I thought that Orlando should move into the apartment in the top of your house, V."
Now Verena and Orlando jumped at once. Verena faced George.
"You decided what?" she hissed.
Orlando looked pleadingly to Fiona.
"You can't be serious, Fiona. This is my private life we are talking about here. I just can't move in with a total stranger ..."
Fiona waved him off.
"The flat is independent of her house, Orli. It's also in a nice, well-guarded neighborhood. You will not have any trouble there with paparazzi, and you will be able to lead a normal life. You can also invite friends over, if you don't overdo the party."
Orlando opened his mouth to say something, but he stayed silent. He sat back in the chair and studied the sight of LA skyline outside the window. 'Bloody hell.'
Verena turned to Fiona.
"You are talking about MY house here. I am best able to decide what the hell happens under my own roof, am I not?"
It was George's turn to placate Verena.
"Come on V., you don't use the apartment anyway. And Orlando doesn't have a place to crash yet. A close living arrangement will make it easier for you to get to know each other and get along ... besides, it's only for a little over 5 months. V. trust me, it's better this way."
Verena felt trapped. She loved her own space, but having her assignment close to home would ensure her more time with Zoë. She nodded and sat back into the chair.
George sat back also, smiling at both. "Now that that is settled, let's get into the formal details".
************************
Later that evening, Orlando found himself waiting with his luggage in the lobby of the hotel for his new publicist to pick him up and drive him to his new home. 'Or rather to my new prison,' he thought bitterly.
The studio executives had been very clear at the meeting. He should stay in LA for coordination and new contacts; there were also some new scripts they were going to send over to him . But he had to maintain low profile until the promotion of the film began and then be very careful. His recent exploits were jeopardizing his chances in Hollywood.
The studio agreed to pay for a publicist that would supervise his agenda. Of course, said "publicist" was just a nice way of describing the highly offending babysitter Fiona and Georgina had saddled him with. Blasted power chicks!
After the meeting, Verena had left in a hurry and promised to pick him up at the hotel at 7:00 pm.
So, here he was, sitting in the lobby like a chastised rebellious child waiting for his mommy to pick him up. At 19:01 pm a small black jeep halted in front of the hotel and Verena climbed out of it, still wearing her power-chick outfit. She said a curt hi to Orli and opened the back of the jeep so that he could put his luggage inside. Orli entered the jeep and found it was a pretty cool car. Somehow it didn't fit to a power-chick like Verena. She got in and fastened her seat belt, looking at him to do the same. Orlando did, then leaned back in the seat as she smoothly drove out the parking space in front of the hotel and into the crazy traffic of LA. She didn't say a word but turned on the CD player to some rock music mixed with Latin rhythms. Orli decided to break the ice.
"Nice music. What is it?" he asked.
"Santana," she said. Verena recognized she should give the kid a break. They would be working together for many months and she really should try to get along with him.
"I love to listen to Santana when I drive, it relaxes me. Do you know Santana?"
Orlando looked at her, almost shocked by the first sentence he had heard coming out of her mouth that wasn't reeking with contempt for him or the job.
"Of course I've heard of Santana. He played at Woodstock, right?"
"Yes, and then won the Grammy 2001 for best Album. He is a genius. What music do you like to listen to, Mr. Bloom?"
"Almost everything, depends on my mood," he said.
"In the apartment you have your own stereo, TV, and cable -connection. It's pretty independent. We will work this thing out, okay?" Verena asked.
"It will have to be, Mrs. Devereaux. Would you call me Orlando?" he suggested.
"Sure, Orlando. I am Verena, but most people call me V. And I am not married," she said.
Silence settled between them, until they reached the gated neighborhood where Verena lived. She stopped at the guard's booth.
"Evening, Ramón!" she greeted the guard. "How are Graciela and the kids?"
"They are fine Miss V.. Coming home early?" the man asked.
"Yes, you will absolutely see more of me around from now on, Ramón. May I introduce you to Orlando Bloom? He is a friend of mine and will be staying for some weeks at my place. Some journalists might wander around, asking about him ... if they do, you know the procedure!"
"I know Miss V., don't worry," the guard smiled and lifted the barrier at the entrance so they could drive in.
Orlando was intrigued. "Procedure?"
"There are some fellow actors of yours living in this neighborhood. Security knows that paparazzi who enter the perimeter are toast," Verena explained.
"How come you live here?" Orlando asked.
"I am ... I was absent most of the time, so I wanted a little extra security at home," she said.
They reached a two-story house that looked typically suburban, if you forgot the heavy security surrounding the whole neighborhood. Verena drove up the driveway and stopped the car.
"Okay Orlando, let's get you acquainted with your new place," she said, jumping down from the Jeep.
Orlando got his luggage from the back of the jeep, and Verena helped him pick up his backpack. She led him up some stairs on the side of the house that went directly to the top floor.
"You have a private entrance, and you may come and go as you wish," she said, feeling instantly silly for sounding like a real state salesperson.
Orlando entered the apartment and liked what he saw. From the walls to the furniture, everything was in warm colors, ranging from light beige to caramel, simple lines but very cozy. He almost felt at home.
"You have two bedrooms and also a pull-out couch here. Now, let's get to the fun part: rules," Verena continued.
Orlando turned around to face Verena, who was lazily leaning against the doorframe. Verena's smile didn't reach her eyes. Man, this lady was a tough nut to crack.
"Rules?" he asked.
"Yes, rules. As in you-keep-them-or-I-will-kick-your-butt rules. Let's get things very straight. I am not your nanny, and I will not waste my time getting or keeping you out of trouble. I am like an insurance policy to support your good behavior. That means I'll help you to manage your public appearances and activities until December and in exchange you behave. I am not your employee; I work for New Line. And they will still pay my fee even if they sue you. So, make our life bearable and cooperate, honey, or it could be very unpleasant for both of us." She shrugged before adding, "Rules are simple: no orgies in the house, no overloud parties in the house, no drugs in the house. No more, no less."
Orlando was rendered speechless. 'Bossy bitch!' he thought. Before he could say anything, she continued.
"If you wish, you may have your meals downstairs. Rita, the housekeeper will enjoy cooking for more people. You're vegetarian, right? Just come down for the meals. This door connects the apartment with the rest of the house. You may lock it from the inside if you wish. If there is anything else you need, just ask. Goodnight Orlando." Before he could say a word in reply, she left through the door she had just shown him.
Alone, he wallowed in his fury.
"Witch! How dare she? I am not a rebellious teenager in a correctional! I am a grown man with a life, for heaven's sake! And she had the nerve to treat me like a bloody child! Sod off, bossy bitch!" he swore and kicked his luggage. These were going to be the longest five and half months in his life.
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