The production assistant/Helen's personal assistant, John, carried in two ginseng yogurt shakes, a variety of muffins, and an assortment of flawless fruit. I flipped the pages of an Eddie Bauer catalog that Helen had asked me to look through. She said to order whatever I thought would be good for her, "and get anything you want for yourself." She added.

John had dyed black stringy hair and bad skin. His jeans accentuated his gaunt frame and he allowed his penis to create a small bulge to remind everyone that he had one. Even with his insecure attempt at masculinity, I liked him. He was kind and wanted people to like him and wanted to be needed. I could relate.

As he arranged them on the booth's table that fit snugly between the kitchen and the sitting area, Helen came out of the bedroom from behind the kitchen. John's back was to her when he said, "Fran, the producers said they want to talk to you."

I put the catalog down on the walnut-paneled coffee table and got up to go.

"Did you order anything?" Helen's voice startled John and he jumped when he turned.

"Hi, Helen." He raised his hand to physicalize his hello.

"Heyya, John." And she slapped him hard on the back jolting him toward the sitting room where I was heading out the metal door.

"I didn't order yet, but I will when I get back."

"Hey! We have our breakfast to eat and besides I want things ordered as soon as possible. The producers will have to fucking wait." The edge in her voice vibrated with seriousness.

John and I glanced at each other thinking, what's up with that?

"Don't worry about what the producers want. Both of you."

I was a little unnerved by her divaness that I stood not knowing what to do. John, nodding the whole way, scampered out. The phone rang.

"Get that will you." She picked up her shake and went back to the bedroom.

"Hello." I said.

"Yeah, get me Helen." The female voice lacked patience.

"Who's calling?" I said sweetly with my intonation rising at the end.

"Don't worry about who it is, just put Helen on the phone."

"Helen," I yelled to the back, "It's for you. She won't say who it is."

Helen came back, nervous, and pulled the receiver out of my hand. "Where are you?" She said clutching the black handle.

I tried to stray out the door, but she pulled me back and pointed to the table where breakfast waited. It was truly uncomfortable because I didn't want to know what was going on. Okay, maybe I did want to know, but I didn't want Helen to know that I knew what was going on. Oh shit, I don't know. I just felt awkward.

"No, just tell me where you are." Helen seemed to be pleading and genuinely concerned. Obviously she loved whoever was on the other end of the phone. "I'm sorry," she continued, "It won't happen again, just don't....what...no that's not what I said. I said I wasn't sure."

Wasn't sure about what, I thought. It was vague, but possibly...?

Then Helen looked at me and held the receiver in the air. "She hung up. Women!" she screamed.

"I've said that before," I mumbled and a small smile eluded her. I added, "You want to talk about?"

She shrugged "no," sat down, and we quietly ate while I showed her a few things from the catalog.