The Devil Wears Leather Part 1 and 2

Author: greenbrownblue
Title: The Devil Wears Leather Part I and II
Date: 23 August 2008

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2008

The Devil Wears Leather

It was for retail. But I could do retail. If it meant I could stay in Los Angeles longer, if it meant I could prolong returning to the Midwest, if it meant I had more time to try to break-in to the film industry, then yes, I could do retail.
My interview was at three o’clock, but I was at Century City’s Twin Towers by two. I wanted to make sure I’d have enough time to successfully navigate one of Los Angeles’s biggest skyscraper compounds. Plus, there was no telling what traffic was going to do. After circling the Twin Tower’s surrounding blocks three times, I finally found the parking garage entrance and found a spot next to a Chrysler black convertible with black leather seats. The striking sleek curvy lines of those low cars always reminded me of something Cruela Deville would drive. I struggled to find a pedestrian exit out of the parking lot or some sort of entrance in to the towers. I dreaded going in to the wrong one. Beyond the garage’s full service car wash, I found the entrance. The whole layout was all so processional. Heavy industrial concrete gave way to sleek escalators and small gift and coffee shops. Random patterns of people soon formed in to processional lines going up in to the upper base of the towers. A good looking young man in an expensive suit was in front of me; a stylish model like woman in stilettos was behind me. After three floors of alternating escalators, I found myself at the lobby. Being only 2:15pm by now, I decided to veer out of the procession and instead make my way through heavy glass doors that broke in to the triangular courtyard between the two towers. I perched myself on a bench and reviewed my well-thought answers to the most frequent and tough interview questions.
At 2:40, I made my way back in to the lobby and headed towards the elevator banks. I was halted by security. A well built guard in his late 20s had noticed I was not a regular and that I lacked a security pass, which other’s had dangling from their hips. The guard simply asked if I needed help with anything; but, his body language expressed a lot more. He was hovering over me as if about to pounce. I told him I had an interview with Alias Property at 3pm. He lowered his shoulders somewhat from ‘pounce’ to ‘standing guard’ position. With a smug look on his face, he leaned in to his nearby post and pulled out a clip-on visitor’s pass. Surprisingly, he then leaned in to me and attached it to my front right pant’s belt-buckle loop. I wondered if it constituted sexual harassment. Regardless, the way towards the elevator banks was clear now and I hurried past the guard and stopped at the last bank: 33 – 36. Within minutes the elevator arrived dumping off a handful of people. About ten high-class people made-up of hot looking men and model-like women and I hurried in to the elevator. I noticed “33” was already pressed so I maintained my position awkwardly toward the front and center. Within minutes the doors opened and a woman towards my left and I stepped in to a hallway. The woman veered right and disappeared. I looked left and saw the imprint “Alias Property” above double glass doors. Nervously, I pulled the heavy doors open and walked in to a plush reception area. The place was carpeted with two heavy brown leather couches. A short young guy with brown hair and blonde highlights sat behind the desk. He eyed me eagerly and I said I was “Joseph Tayvin” to see “Josh Kline” for an interview at 3pm. He nodded enthusiastically and said I should take a seat and that Josh would be with me shortly. I perched myself on the edge of one of the brown leather couches too worried I would sink in and be swallowed if I neared the middle of the couch.
A few minutes later a gentleman, who was a little bit taller than the receptionist but still shorter than I, walked in to the reception area from a hallway behind the desk. He approached me, extended his hand, and introduced himself as Josh. I returned the “nice to meet you” pleasantry and followed him in to the inner hallway, which had the same vibe as the reception area: low-key and cozy. The floor was also carpeted and the wall hangings were filled with rich earth tones. We passed several opaque doors before entering the last glass door at the end of the hallway. The name “Cameran Ayvan” was etched in black lettering on the door.
Once inside, Josh sat behind an average sized wooden desk and directed me to take a seat in one of the two chairs opposite the desk. A tan leather sofa sat against the far wall. Directly behind the desk were floor to ceiling shelving and file drawers. On either side, there were two open doorways, which both lead to a larger room. While there were no windows in the room we were sitting, radiant sunshine glimmered in from the back room.
After reexamining my resume and asking me a few standard initial interview questions, Josh explained more about the position. They were looking for a new manager to run their company’s small shop of the same name: Alias Properties. The shop was located along a Santa Monica boardwalk and sold properties from movies for various Hollywood Movie studios. It was a way of selling left over ‘junk’ for a quick buck. The store was low key and mostly served to drive up business for their website, which auctioned off a majority of the inventory. All of this I had known. What I didn’t know, was that Alias Properties’ actually had a parent company named “Alias” which also owned “Alias Premieres,” which produced its own movies and, of course, sold their movie props through the Alias Properties Company. As soon as I learnt of this, my stomach filled with butterflies. If I landed this “retail” job, I’d actually be working for a film company, albeit indirectly. Before I may have been just going through the motions, but now I was a little bit more perked up.
After answering a few more questions about my work ethic and college involvements that I somehow managed to twist in to activities that showed how a “career in retail management was right for me,” Josh surprised me again by saying he was actually trying to fill two positions. Besides the manager position with Alias Properties, he was also trying to find a replacement for himself as an assistant with Alias Premieres. After a year of being Cameran Ayven’s assistant, Josh was being promoted to the Ecommerce side of Alias Properties. I instantly expressed interest in the position without letting on that I had no idea who Cameran Ayven was or what kind of assistant he needed. All I knew was that it was in the film industry, which I so desperately wanted to be a part of. As Josh interviewed me further, I learned that Cameran was a producer and that the job was for his office assistant. I could always work towards being his production assistant I thought to myself.
Josh became very content with my candidacy and asked if I would like to meet with Cameran. I said yes, of course. Josh left the room through the left back doorway and walked up the back staircase. A few minutes later he shouted down to “come on up.” I gathered my portfolio considering myself lucky I brought along extra copies of my resume and headed in to the backroom to near the stairs. It was there that I first saw the magnificent view. Floor to ceiling glass windows lined the large office showing all of miracle mile, the Hollywood Hills, and downtown L.A.’s skyline. This office was much bigger with a larger wooden desk with a giant plush tan leather chair. Two tan leather couches sat opposite each other in the center of the room. I started up the staircase and met Josh at the landing.
The thirty-fourth floor was a whole other world. Everything was white, steel, and sterile. The floor was hard white tile and the walls were a very light grey. The landing of which we were standing haphazardly broke in to a short hallway. The layout of this floor seemed much more complex. I could tell that most of the walls I was seeing had been added in make-shift fashion after occupancy. There were sharper turns and unexpected doorways at acute angles. At the end of the hallway, I could make out a small interior office similar to the one in which Josh interviewed me. Much closer to us, tucked in to the side of the small hallway was a large double glass door propped open. Josh led me in to this room. Once again I immediately took in a view of Los Angeles framed by similar floor to ceiling glass windows. However, the most striking aspect of the room to me was Cameran. I knew it was him immediately. Framed by the back of his light modern black leather chair, the man projected an aura that overtook the airy steel and glass desk in front of him. I instantly became nervous again. But it wasn’t the nervousness of whether or not my ability would be accepted for a job. It was the nervousness of whether or not my being would be accepted by this man.
Somehow Josh moved towards Cameran and somehow I managed to fumble towards one of the steel chairs in front of Cameran’s desk. I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the chair because my eyes stayed locked on Cameran, who was now lifting himself out of his chair and extending his hand across his desk towards me. I don’t recall Josh introducing me to him but with my peripheral vision Josh was looking at me as if he had just introduced me. I wasn’t close enough to the desk yet to correctly shake Cameran’s hand but I tried to do so anyway. I ended up having to arch and extend my back more than is usual for such a task but our hands managed to meet. He supplely and firmly clasped my hand and I melted. The melting of myself didn’t stop until I was seated in the steel chair, at which time Cameran had already let go and had seated himself back in to his chair. Josh was somehow seated in the chair next to me although I completely missed him doing so.
Cameran’s hair was the same as his chair: black, supple, and shiny. It was a little longer than “short” and curled around the edges as well as at the very front. He wasn’t particularly beach-boy, backstreet-boy, or gym-muscle-boy ‘hot.” In many ways he was unattractive. He had green eyes that pierced like a cat or a snake and his facial composition reminded me of a lizard. Yet he was tanned, had a dark complexion, and had an aura about him. The way he was, the way he sat, the way he carried himself wasn’t as if he knew he was important, it was as if he was important.
Somehow I was in the middle of an interview again and I think I had already answered a few questions; and, since I didn’t remember what I had just answered, I hoped it was small standard background stuff.
“Why should we hire you as opposed to someone who just graduated from UCLA?” Cameran asked.
Still overwhelmed by the entire situation combined with the fact that this question was too left field to have been on any of my “Most Frequent Tough Interview Questions,” study guides, I somehow managed to articulate the strong Midwest work ethic as well as the top rankings of my Midwest Public University.
Cameran smiled.
I smiled back with glee.
He then seemed to be justifying myself to himself by pitching me ‘soft ball’ questions such as asking me what kinds of really good things I had been in such as Honor Society. He seemed to be projecting an image of “wholesome Midwest geek” on to me. If it made him like me, I was all for it.
Soon a vibe started and subsequently increased that the interview was coming to an end. Cameran and Josh began talking solely to each other until Cameran finally looked back towards me and said they would be letting me know probably within the next few days.
With that, we all stood up and Cameran reached his hand towards me again. I was standing closer and thus was more prepared to adequately accept his hand, but it was short and quick and much less magical. I followed Josh back downstairs where he repeated the same ‘goodbye’ pleasantries and instructed me that the receptionist, ‘Jeffrey’ would validate my parking.
As I walked alone from Josh’s small interior carpeted office to the brown reception area, much of what I had not managed to process came flooding in to consciousness. Cameran had spent a great deal of time comparing and contrasting the positions; and while I had expressed more interest in being his personal assistant, I had made sure to point out my suitability for either.
Jeffrey was more energetic than ever and happily validated my parking. As I rode down the elevator, turned my guest pass in to security, went down the three flights of escalators, meandered my car out of the parking lot, and drove home to my Hollywood studio apartment, I kept replaying the interview over and over in my head. But it wasn’t until I laid my head on my pillow for the night that the majestic image of Cameran’s blazer exploded in my head. It was rich, shiny, and black. It was supple, thick, and radiant. Cameran was sporting a material of clothing in the sweetest way I had ever seen before; his blazer was leather.





Cameran called me that night. It was just after six. He asked if I was sitting down. I lied and said that I was. Sure I had just made it in to the film industry; but, was being his assistant that important. I still I had a long way to go I thought to myself. In any event, he mentioned my schedule: ten to nine.
I arrived back at the Twin Towers at 9:30 am. Security gave me trouble again. The same hard-ass guard said he would have to clear my access officially this time. He led me in to a small room with a bolted down metal bench. One cuff from a pair of handcuffs was latched on to one of the bench’s thick rails. The other cuff dangled freely awaiting its next victim. The guard simply ordered, “sit,” and then left the room and bolted the door shut. Twenty full minutes later he returned and presented me with my very own standard issue security pass. He simply barked, “stand,” and then leaned over me to attach the pass to one of the loops in my pants.
“So you really are Cam’s new assistant,” he contemplated. I nodded. After a short awkward moment of silence, the guard stepped out of the way of the door and allowed me to pass. As I left, he added, “You’ll have lots of fun.”
It was now just a few minutes to ten and I hurried to the elevator banks and towards the last elevator. Once on the familiar brown carpeted thirty-third floor, I swiftly walked in to the reception area.
Jeffrey’s eyes popped wide open when he saw me. Before I could get a “hello,” out, he shouted, “Joey, we didn’t think you were going to show up!” Looking at my watch, I questioned, “But it’s only a minute after ten?”
“Cam said he told you to be here ten to nine,” he answered.
Confused, I responded, “I know, ten to nine, and it’s ten right now.”
Jeffrey and I still did not understand each other. He added, “Joseph, ten to nine, you’re an entire hour late.”
I was finally beginning to understand. “Ten to nine? You mean 8:50? I was supposed to be here at 8:50?”
Jeffrey nodded enthusiastically.
What kind of start time is 8:50, I thought to myself.
“Jeffrey, I thought he meant I was supposed to work from ten o’clock to nine o’clock,” I desperately explained.
“An eleven hour work-day?” Jeffrey skeptically questioned. “You’d better get up to Cameran and explain yourself,” he added.
I nodded and quickly made my way down the hall. Josh was just coming down the backstairs and darting towards his desk in the small brown interior space with the big tan leather couch. He looked to be in a state of distress.
I relived the same conversation with Josh as I had just completed with Jeffrey. Josh was also skeptical and dismissed me to face Cameran on my own upstairs.

Cameran was not happy. He coldly swiveled his black leather chair back and forth as if having trouble deciding what to do with me. As I was desperately trying to explain myself, I noticed a certain spark twinkle from inside him when he contemplated the eleven hour work-day I had been expecting. After letting out a deep breathe, he pushed me back off downstairs to Josh, who filled me in on the course of action Josh and I would be taking to successfully get me trained.

This was Josh’s last week as Cameran’s assistant; and thus, I would be spending as much time with Josh as possible in the hope I would be able to fully take the reins starting next Monday. I would shadow Josh for the first few days and gradually start performing his tasks. By the end of the week, I would work as much as I could on my own and consult Josh only if need be. I was expected to not have to interrupt Josh starting next week because he would be tackling his new responsibilities.

After Josh and I powwowed downstairs, Josh took me back upstairs and showed me the small interior office beyond the small hallway outside of Cameran’s office.
Technically, the thirty-third floor was for Alias Properties and the thirty-fourth was for Alias Premieres. In effect, Cameran had two offices: the classy Premieres one he most frequented upstairs as well as the large mostly vacant Properties one downstairs. Likewise, Josh also had two offices: the small interior office on each floor outside of Cameran’s offices. Oddly enough, Josh had usually spent most of his time in the thirty-third floor downstairs assistant office. This had mainly been for practical reasons as most of the tasks Cameran’s assistant needed to deal with involved Alias Properties. The company was selling more junk than it was producing films.

Since Josh was moving up in the “Alias Properties” company, he was now going to occupy that small brown office downstairs full-time. I would inherit his small “Alias Premieres” office next to Cameran’s main upstairs office.

Like much of the thirty-fourth floor, the office was white and tiled. Most of the room was white Formica counter top on which a multitude of files, papers, and scripts were stacked. There was a four legged white leather chair and a small white computer. The only thing big in the office was the phone. It had more buttons than my keyboard. The only window the room had was a small “drive-thru” like window that opened in to Cameran’s office from which Cameran could bark orders. It wasn’t until I sat down in the chair that I realized it was bolted to the floor and could not be moved. When I asked Josh about this, he said it was how Cameran liked it. Evidently, it kept the chair in line with the window so that Cameran would always be able to keep a watchful eye on his assistant.

From the start, the hardest parts of the job became readily apparent: distinguishing between Alias Properties and Alias Premieres as well as figuring out when Cameran was actually talking to me. The man would sit in his office with a small electronic phone piece latched in to his ear so it was hard to ever know when he was or was not on the phone. He would also ask me to do things while he was talking on the phone. So if, while talking on the phone, he said “We should call Philip Morris,” it was hard to tell if he was telling the director on the other end of the phone to call Philip Morris, or if I was supposed to dial Philip Morris immediately, or if Cam was going to have me call Philip Morris later. If it was the latter, I would somehow be expected to remind Cameran later that he wanted to call Philip Morris. If he had just wanted the director on the other end of the line to call Philip Morris, or he just wanted the director to think Cameran was going to call Philip Morris, Cam would get mad at me for thinking I was supposed to call.

Now, if I was indeed supposed to call Philip Morris, I would somehow be expected to know if the call was for Alias Premieres (such as if we were trying to get a certain actor) or if it was for Alias Properties (such as if we were trying to get a certain prop). If I dialed from the wrong company line, Cameran would yell at me. The two companies’ phone records had to be kept separate. Further, some people would not answer if their caller ID showed the wrong company because most were only familiar with the company in which they did business.

The first week was stressful but I stayed determined to master my new job. Although Cameran was frequently yelling at me for getting things wrong, I had not been fired and thus, I rationed, I must not be doing too horribly. Besides, the things he yelled at me about seemed all so insignificant. I figured it was just typical Hollywood Producer personality.

Amidst all the chaos of struggling to learn the flow of the job, the magic I experienced during my first interview crept up here and there. On my first day on the job, Cameran wore a black leather wrist cuff. On the second, he wore a black leather tie. I kept starring at it I was so intrigued as I had never seen a leather tie before. I became lost in the leather folds and how the leather was tightly knotted and tied together at the top. And, Cameran wore it so well. Not many people, I thought, would pull off such a thing. I had to stop starring at his tie because he began to notice and I did not want to make him self-conscious. Then again, I didn’t know if I could make Cameran self-conscious. On the third day, he wore a very thick chunky black leather belt with two metal prongs that inserted in to two holes.

On the fourth day, which was Friday, it had been especially cool and foggy that morning and I was overwhelmed to see a glimpse of Cameran wearing a jacket for the very first time. As usual, I had arrived before 8:50am and was uncomfortably sitting in my bolted down white leather chair when I caught Cameran arriving out of the corner of my eye. Thick black leather gently swayed off of Cameran’s sturdy torso. Once I turned to look at Cameran, the magic hit me. His glimmering thick black leather jacket overpowered the light grey walls as well as me. I had to look down at my keyboard immediately. I planned on regaining composure once he was in his office; but, he did not enter his office and instead kept walking in to my office towards me. Although he was not a tall man, I was seated, and soon he towered over me. He didn’t say “Hi,” but barked some questions about arrangements with a tile company and his condo. As I struggled to come up with the answers, he made my situation more difficult by beginning to remove his leather jacket just inches away from my body. It became very hard for me to concentrate and I began to stutter. His manner grew more and more impatient by the second, the creaking of his leather jacket against itself and his supple hands grew louder and louder. I finally busted out, “I made all the arrangements as you requested.” He nodded and threw the jacket on top of my desk with no regard: the jacket scattered some papers and knocked over my pen holder in the process. As he walked away to enter his office, he simply stated, “Hang that up.”

It took a few seconds for me to build up the courage to gather up the jacket in to my arms. It felt incredible. A light buzz ran throughout my entire body. I could smell both leather and Cameran at the same time. I tightly pressed the jacket against my stomach and chest and only pulled it away from me slightly once I had neared the entrance to Cam’s office. I had never before walked in to Cameran’s office on my own accord. I had always been called in by Cameran while he was listing off orders. This was the first time the room was completely silent with me in it.

Cameran sat motionless at his desk reading the front page of Variety. I picked up my pace from slow to what I thought was a more normal pace. I walked across the front of Cameran’s desk to get to the tall metal coat rack that stood between Cameran’s desk and his large black leather couch. I was scared I would knock something over or commit some other crime that would send Cameran yelling. But the silence continued. Cameran had not even looked up from Variety. He had not acknowledged my presence in any way. This was a good thing I thought. This felt right.

Somehow this “right” feeling gave me coordination. I expertly hung the jacket’s inner loop on to the coat rack and let it hang beautifully. It swayed gently against the large floor to ceiling windows and took its spot against the skyline. I turned towards the door, made my way past Cameran, and in to my office. Even after I sat down in my chair and returned to work, I could see through the window that Cameran was sitting in the same natural position: he had not moved. I must have done well, I thought.

Then the silence stopped. “Joseph,” Cameran softly yelled out.

“Yes Cameran,” I said with an unintentional perk in my voice.

“Do you like my jacket?” Cameran asked much to my surprise.

I knew I couldn’t enthusiastically spill my guts and profess that it was the coolest thing I had ever seen but at the same time I didn’t want to disrespect its magic by saying it was just ‘ok.’

Before I could come up with an answer, Cameran continued, “It’s from downstairs; Salem’s Lot.”

“Rob Lowe’s?” I excited questioned.

“Yup,” Cam said with a smug smirk on his face. “Couldn’t bare to let it go.”

“Wow,” I expressed like a dork.

“Wooowww?” Cam mocked. “You are a Midwest boy.”

That night, after work, I hunted down a copy of the Salem’s Lot remake. Now I could watch Cameran’s jacket any time I wanted.