The Assistants by P-HarpercollinsPubl


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									The Assistants
Author: Robin Lynn Williams

The compulsively readable and sinfully gossipy tale of five Hollywood personal assistants who band
together to turn the tables on their celebrity employers – written by a former personal assistant to a
star.In this wicked, laugh–out–loud debut novel, five miserable souls struggle to make their mark on
Hollywood, the city of the soulless.Rachel, a starry–eyed and clueless Texas transplant accepts a
position as assistant to an aging television diva. Michaela has spent years on the casting couch, and the
last pilot she almost got, a decade ago, went to that little nobody, Lisa Kudrow. Jeb has been fired from
more assistant jobs than he cares to count, and he currently teeters on the edge of insanity under one of
the sleaziest agents in Hollywood. Griffin assists a crass A–list manager who has a tanning bed in his
office. Kecia, a no–nonsense Pisces pining for love and Krispy Kremes, works for a hot teen heartthrob
who is always looking for the next good party – until his ex–con brother shows up at the front door. Once
a week, the assistants meet to commiserate. When the system spits them out, they must learn to
succeed through sheer determination, hard–won industry savvy, and luck.

I feel like I'm in an Old Navy commercial. You know,the ones where there's a bunch of hip minors dressed
in similar outfits, dancing around merrily—as if their lives actually had meaning? Except here, nobody's
dressed alike, nobody's dancing, and I'm the oldest one in the room—by more than a decade."Michaela
Marsh?"Everyone in the waiting area turns around and gawks. I raise my hand. "Right here."Standing up
always presents a challenge because the black slim skirt I'm wearing is very short and very tight, so tight
I have to sit on the edge of my seat with my knees pressed firmly together to avoid giving away the
goods. You see, the skirt is about the size of a washcloth, and it gives the illusion that I'm taller. At a
whopping five-two, I need all the help I can get.I extend my hand to the casting assistant. Stunned by my
professionalism, a strange look appears on her pockmarked face. It's obvious that no one ever wants to
shake her hand. After all, she is just the assistant. She offers her hand anyway and shakes mine limply.
She definitely has to work on the handshake.What's even more disturbing than the limp handshake,
however, is that the assistant looks sixteen. In fact, everyone at this casting call seems extremely
juvenile. They belong in a tenth-grade geometry class if anywhere, certainly not here, competing with me.I
can't help shuddering when I think of my own age, but then I quickly put it out of my mind. Bad vibes. I
won't let anything distract me. This audition for Coral Gables (or The CG, for those of us in the know) is
way too important. I hand the assistant my head shot and résumé."Follow me," she instructs, leading me
into a barren windowless office that's ablaze in fluorescent light. Great. I can't begin to tell you how
horribly pale and decrepit I look under this light. The few tiny lines on my face—and I stress few—
probably look like they were drawn with a Sharpie fine-point. To make matters worse, one of the bulbs is
flickering like a strobe.A woman and two men sit behind a conference table. In the middle of the room, a
young tan guy with highlighted curly hair sits in a chair, flipping through slides. Directly facing him is an
empty chair. I study it, trying to figure out how I'm going to ease in and out of it in my tight skirt."This is
Michaela Marsh," the assistant announces as she hands over my headshot."Hello, Michaela," the panel
murmur in unison, glancing at the photo. When they look up at me, I smile a perfect I'm-not-desperate
smile. And I'm not desperate. Not even a teensy bit. I have classic Southern Californian looks: tan, with
blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. Traveling southward, I have perky breasts and a flawless, rock-
hard body. I'm basicallya midget Tai Bo Barbie. It's definitely too much perfection for one person. Too bad
I'm completely man-made. Only the best for daddy's little girl.The woman clears her throat. "My name's
Erin Malone. I'm casting this pilot. On my right is Jason Carr, the executive producer of The CG, and on
my left is Bill Bond, head writer."Both men nod their heads and smile. I smile more broadly—a perfect,
toothpaste-commercial smile filled with white, bonded teeth. And it has the added benefit of stretching my
skin just enough to hide the few lines in my face. I had to practice in the mirror for several days to get it
just right."This is Brandon East, who plays Rico, the lead of this show," Erin...
Author Bio
Robin Lynn Williams
Robin Lynn Williams managed to survive 12 months as a personal assistant to several Hollywood
luminaries. When not in therapy or suffering recuring nightmares, she enjoys not having a pager, cell
phone, or blackberry attached to her. She is an English/Creative Writing graduate from UCLA and her
work has appeared in Biography and the New York Times syndicate. She lives in New York City.

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