Chapter 29: Cameron Diaz

"Come on asshole, didn't you see me trying to get over?" I yelled at the car in front of me, banging my hand on the steering wheel in frustration. I was stuck in rush hour traffic and the car in front of me - some soccer mom who obviously didn't belong on the Los Angeles freeway - decided that it was acceptable to cut me off in order to gain a measly one car length on me. Settling back in my seat with a frustrated grunt, this was not how I wanted to start my day.

I sat idly in my car, listening to the morning DJ prattle on about God knows what. I had been stuck here for two hours now and though rush hour was nothing new to me, it was still a pain in the ass to have someone cut you off when every little inch you moved forward counted. My mind wandered as I watched the cars on the other side of the freeway zoom along, heading out of the city rather than being like us fools and going into it. I was startled back to attention by my cell phone ringing.

"Hello?" I said into it. The reception out here was horrible and I was greeted by a bunch of static. Finally though, a voice came through.

"Dean! I'm so glad I caught you! It's Cameron," the voice said. I recognized it immediately, the girlish tone of her voice unmistakable. It was Cameron Diaz and, since the clock on my car now read 9:03, that meant I was officially at work with dealing with the Hollywood talent, traffic jam be damned.

"Hi Cameron, what can I do for you?" I asked, still glaring angrily at the van in front of me.

"Well you see Dean, I've been a bad girl," Cameron said in her most innocent sounding voice. Great, she wanted to play games. Well, I didn't have much choice so I played along.

"What did you do Cameron?" I said, talking to her in the most saccharine voice I could muster, coming across sounding like I was talking to a small child.

"Last night, I got into some trouble. Namely, I ran three red straight red lights and was doing 140 in a 45 mph zone," Cameron said, her voice uneasy as she admitted her guilt. "And the thing is, I didn't have my wallet with me or anything. You see, I had just come from a club and had been drinking a little and..." she said, but I cut her off.

"Jesus! You realize you were going almost 100 miles over the speed limit?" I said, more shocked than anything. At least she was alive - better for her to be in legal trouble than laying in a morgue somewhere, that's for sure. Cameron brought in some pretty sizeable contributions to Shooting Stars, even in spite of the fact that she had yet to carry a picture by herself successfully.

"Yes Dean, the officer already explained that to me. Now, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted, I was drinking a little and the officer who pulled me over wanted my ID. After trying to sweet talk him a bit, it was no use and I dug around in my car trying to find it. The only thing was, I didn't have it with me. I must have left it at the club, I think. Last night was a bit of a blur. Any ways, when I didn't have the wallet the officer told me he had no choice but to bring me into the station, considering I had been drinking and was probably a serious threat to myself and the rest of the road. So, needless to say, I, Cameron Diaz have now spent the night in the Los Angeles Police Department station #5251 and I'm more than ready to get the fuck out of here," she said, finally pausing to take a breath.

"Ok, so then pay your bail and get out of there," I said, rubbing my eyes already at what was going to prove to be a long day, I could tell.

"I don't have my wallet! Weren't you listening to what I said? I need you to come here and prove that I'm who I say I am and get me out of here!" Cameron said impatiently. Normally she was a pretty level headed, down to earth girl but right now the star mentality had taken over and she was trying to pull her clout on me. It wasn't going to work.

"Alright Cameron, where are you at?" I asked.

I heard her muffle the phone for a second while she asked a cop directions on getting to the station. She repeated them to me and I jotted them down in my Palm Pilot.

"Christ, that's on the other side of town," I said. "I'm stuck in mid-morning traffic, you're going to have to wait for a little while Cameron,"

"But Deeeeaaaannn!!! I don't want to wait here any longer, I want to get away from this shit hole," Cameron whined, definitely one of her less endearing qualities.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I told her. "Just sit tight and uhh... don't make eye contact with anyone,"

I hung up the phone before she could complain some more and called Damon at the office.

"Yo Dean, what's up?" he said.

"Damon, listen. I'm stuck here in traffic. I know you're jamming on that paperwork right now, but could you find a news station and tell me the best way to get out of this mess? I have to go bail Cameron Diaz out of jail," I said.

Damon laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Call me back when you have a fair idea. I'm right off of the Santa Monica expressway, mile marker 173," I said. I hung up and waited, sighing to myself at the joys that lay ahead for today.

45 minutes later, Damon finally called me back.

"Sorry Dean, the morning show had a couple of guests on and I had to wait till they left for the traffic report again. Where are you at now?" he asked.

"I'm at mile marker 175, having moved 2 miles since you last talked to me," I sighed.

"Ok, good. Get in the right hand lane and about three miles up the road there is an off ramp. Get off there and turn around, take a right at exit #259 and you should be able to bypass all that," he said.

"Good man Damon, thanks," I said. I suddenly remembered Cameron. "I'll be into the office in a few hours, I need to go help Cameron out or else she will be majorly pissed."

"I know, she called here first. She sounded very upset. Gotta do some damage control on her ego I guess?" Damon asked, laughing. His joke made me feel better - damage control was a running joke between the two of us for when a star threw a hissy fit for not getting what they want.

"Yes, damage control to the max. I'll see you in a while," I said, hanging up again.

I finally arrived at the police station around 11:00AM, which thankfully was just early enough to avoid the lunch time crowd. Walking into the station, I could feel the cops giving me a leery eye. My suit looked expensive, my shoes were some of the finest leather available and the tie I was wearing probably cost a third of their weekly paycheck. And in spite of the fact that I had the utmost respect for law enforcement in this country, I still felt like I was being judged.

"Hi, I'm here to post bail for someone that you are holding?" I said to the secretarial officer at the front desk.

"Sign this," she said, handing me a form without even bothering to look up.

"Don't you need to know her name?" I asked, a little baffled by the complete lack of effort on her part.

"Honey, I took one look at you and I knew exactly who you were here for. Just sign the form, we will take care of the rest," she said. I proceeded to fill it out and then handed it to her a moment later. She took a quick glance and then rose from her chair.

"Wait right there," she said as she walked down a long linoleum hallway and disappeared out of sight.

I stood there for a moment, looking around at how my tax dollars were being spent. The squad room had three other cops in it - two of which were having a heated discussion over a cup of coffee and some donuts while the third sat at a desk, listening to the radio frequency and coordinating officers in the field. He looked bored beyond comprehension. The first officer emerged from the hallway a few minutes later, with Cameron in tow. She held Cameron by the crook of her elbow like a child, something that Cameron appeared to be none too pleased with.

It was obvious that Cameron really had been at a club the night before. The outfit she wore - a pair of bright pink of shiny pink plastic hot pants did little to cover most of lower body. Her tanned and graceful legs walked steadily down the hall, her medium sized chest held loosely by a tight white spaghetti top. Cameron's blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail behind her head and her face, even though it looked like she had been through hell the previous night, nevertheless shone brightly with a smile when she saw me.

"Hi Dean," she called as she was led to a seat near the female officer's station, forced to sit down while I spoke with the officer.

"Alright, bail comes to $500 even. Check or credit card?" the woman asked. I pulled out the company credit card and gave it to her. She took it and swiped it through her machine and a moment later a receipt was printing up next to her.

"Sign this receipt and you're all done. Luckily we decided not to press charges on Ms. Diaz, but she will be served a rather sizeable ticket within a week or so. If she fails to pay it, she'll be seeing us again, only then it won't be nearly as cordial or effortless as this time," the officer said.

"Trust me, she will pay it," I said to her, shooting Cameron a look that let her know that she couldn't use her celebrity to get out of this. I felt like a father figure, getting her out like this. Cameron didn't look at me, but was instead focused intently on the floor in front of her. I signed the paper and handed it back to the officer and Cameron walked to me, giving me a tremendous hug.

"Thanks Dean, I owe you so much. Now can we leave this hell hole?" Cameron asked, her deep blue eyes locked on my own in a pleading for relief from the nightmare she had gotten into.

"Just one more thing officer," I said to the woman at the desk as Cameron shifted her weight on her feet impatiently behind me. "Where can we pick up her car? I doubt very much that she was allowed to drive here on her own free will,"

"Here, this is the address of the towing company that we use. They impounded it last night but you'll have to settle up the fees with them when you get there," the cop said, handing me a business card for Hollywood & Vine Towing.

"Thanks," I said and Cameron and I were out the door. Climbing into my car, Cameron suddenly became very apologetic.

"I know I ruined your morning Dean and I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I could have easily been killed or killed someone else last night. But I think once you see my car you might understand why I was trying to get it up as fast as it would go," she said as I headed back on the freeway. Luckily Hollywood & Vine Towing wasn't too far away from the office - maybe I could salvage this morning after all and get into the office and have a semi normal day. Then again, I had noticed that when it came to celebrities, nothing ever worked out according to plan.

Cameron and I talked a little bit and it was obvious that she was a little uncomfortable being stuck in her clubbing clothes out here in the middle of the day. She kept fidgeting with the pants especially, trying to pull them down further along her long, tanned legs, the plastic making squeaking sounds as she moved around on my leather seats. Cutting in through the city, we managed to get to the towing place in just about 45 minutes, which meant that I would only be 4 hours late getting back into work if the towing company didn't hassle us too much.

Despite the illustrious sounding name, Hollywood & Vine Towing was not what I expected it to be. A small lot, not even half the size of any of the car dealerships that you found in the more affluent part of town, the office for the place looked dingy and rundown, having seen many tenants over the years. Wrecked and shattered cars strewn the lot like beached whales, their owners having long forgotten about them. We pulled in and parked but Cameron seemed hesitant to get out.

"Dean, I can't go in there. I know that once they recognize me they will drive the towing price way up, just to get more out of us," Cameron said.

"Us? Cameron, you are paying for this yourself," I said.

"Me then. They will try to rip ME off. You know that Dean, so why don't you just go in there and handle it?" Cameron asked, correcting herself.

"Well, first of all I don't even know what kind of car it is," I said incredulously. I was tempted to just yank Cameron out of the car and make her be held accountable for what she had done, but I was paid to get stars out of jams like this so my more rational mode of thinking took over.

"It's a jet black Porsche 911. It's a 2002," Cameron said. She fished into her tight pants, looking for the keys. "Shit, I guess they took the keys when they brought me in,"

"Alright, fine. I'll go in and see what I can do," I said to her with a sigh. I stepped out of the car and walked towards the entrance, glancing back to see Cameron nervously watching me, hoping a star of her caliber wouldn't be spotted in a place like this.

Stepping inside, the office was sweltering hot and reeked of unknown car fluids. The walls were yellowish from the countless amount of cigarettes that had been smoked through the years and I felt like I needed a shower just by stepping into the office. Walking up to the fake wood counter, I glanced over it to see a young girl, probably no older than 15, listening to a CD player as she read a book. There was a bell on the counter and I rang it, as the girl had not seen me walk in.

She was startled by the loud chime of the dirty bell and looked up, sliding her headphones off.

"Help you?" she said, popping a bubble in the gum in her mouth.

"Yes, I need to get a car out that you towed here last night," I said to her. The girl rose from her chair and walked over to the wall behind her, looking in a metal filing cabinet for a folder with last night's tows.

"What model?" she asked, leafing through the folder in her hands. I could still hear the rap music playing loudly through her head phones.

"It's a uh... Porsche 911. 2002 model. Black," I said, uneasy at having to confess to having such a nice car held at this place. The girl found the form she was looking for and pulled it from the folder, the keys taped on with a fingerprint smudged piece of scotch tape.

"Oh, so YOU'RE the fast driver that got yanked by the pigs last night," she said, smiling at me. Her teeth were crooked but her smile still carried some of that innocent child like glee that only the young, untarnished by the world can exhibit. I thought for a moment about spilling my guts, saying it was Cameron's car and maybe offering an autograph for a lower rate. But then I thought about what Cameron said and thought better of it. In this town, there was a level of bourgeoisie hatred for the rich and the famous and Cameron was probably right about the billing structure.

"Yeah, that was me. I drank a little too much and got pulled over. But I'm out now and I'd like my car please," I said, my face now sweating from the staleness of the office.

"Ok, chill out dude. What, do you have some big investment meeting to go to or something?" the girl said, angry at my demands to leave.

"No young lady, as a matter of fact I'm self-employed and just need a vehicle. I've had a long week and I just want to go home," I said, apologetically. Sometimes sucking up my pride was the best way to get things done, even if it meant admitting being wrong. The girl handed me the keys and a form to pay. I pulled out my credit card and paid the towing bill - $250 - and turned to leave.

"Take a left when you walk out the door, and give Fernando your bill. He'll clear it out so that you can drive away," the girl said as I stood in the doorway, the barred glass open halfway between the fresh air outside and the un-circulated stench of the office.

"Thanks," I said.

"Hey mister, one more thing. You said you are self-employed... what do you... do exactly?" the girl asked. Her tough-with-the-customers attitude was gone now and she seemed like a kid again, just looking to find a better job than the one she had now.

"I'm an agent. I represent stars," I said, realizing as soon as the words left my mouth that she would inevitably ask more questions. I saw her eyes go wide with amazement.

"Wow, really? Anyone I would have heard of?" the girl asked, coming around the counter now to talk to me.

"Yes, I'm sure you have. But listen, I have to go. My office number is on the paperwork, call me if you need a job and maybe I can set you up with something. But bring lots of references," I said, feeling a little guilty at leading this girl, whom I really didn't have a job for, on.

"You mean it? Wow, thanks sir! I'll call next week and try to come in, if that's ok," she said.

"Great. Now I really must be going," I said, darting out of the office.

I hustled around back and gave the receipt to a Hispanic man who was working on a beat up old Ford truck as I approached.

"You Fernando?" I asked.

"Si. You need your car?" he asked, his voice heavy with a Spanish accent. I imagine that his English was very limited, knowing just enough to get by. And yet, he smiled and seemed eager to help me as I gave him the bill and he backed up a few cars so that I could drive out to the main entrance.

Pulling up next to my car, I was surprised to see the teenage girl standing next to the driver's window, talking to Cameron. As I walked around to them, I thought that Cameron would be annoyed at being hassled by the girl, but it was quite the opposite - both were joking and laughing at some joke whose punch line I had missed. The girl turned to face me.

"Wow Mr. Simonds, you weren't kidding! You're job must be soooo cool and soooo easy," she said with girlish glee. Cameron was watching our exchange with a smirk, knowing that the life of an agent was neither easy nor really that cool.

"Some days it's not as great as it sounds," I said, handing Cameron the keys to her car. "It's all yours Cameron,"

"Thanks. So Dean, are you really going to give Ashley here a job? She seems like a nice girl," Cameron said, stepping out of the car and standing next to the girl. I hated being put on the spot like that so I said that yes, we might be able to find some kind of part-time work for her.

Ashley giggled in excitement but broke away from us when the sound of a phone ringing in the office drifted out through the still open office door.

"Oops, I better get that. It was nice meeting you Ms. Diaz, and let me just say I loved The Sweetest Thing," Ashley said, bounding back to the building. "See you later!"

Cameron stood laughing a little bit but I wasn't too amused at her antics.

"Didn't want to deal with them huh?" I said to her.

"Well, she seemed nice enough. Besides, if you can't hire her I could always use someone to tidy up my house on the weekends. Good help is hard to find you know," Cameron said, walking towards her car.

"Yeah, you're right. And by the way Cameron, that is a really nice car and I think I can understand, though I still don't approve of, what you did last night," I said.

Cameron laughed. "You should see how this thing handles on a straight away road. It could take any car you have any day," she said.

I laughed a little too at the challenge. "Oh, is that so?"

"Yep. Say, why don't we get together when you get done at the office today, say maybe midnight tonight or so, and I can really show you what it can do. I'll even race you against whatever you can bring against me," Cameron said.

"Isn't that what got you in trouble, and netted me a $750 dollar bill on my credit card, in the first place?" I asked.

"Yes, but I know a road that's isolated and where the cops don't care about street racing. It's just outside of the valley, I go there every now and then with some of my friends. Are you man enough to take me on?" Cameron said, enjoying the competitiveness of the proposed race.

"Oh, I'm more than man enough," I said, accepting her challenge. "Midnight you say?"

"Yeah. I'll swing by your office then with a check to pay you back and then you can follow me out. How does that sound?" Cameron said. There was something strangely alluring about racing a fast car against a beautiful woman. I couldn't resist.

"Excellent, I'll see you then," I said, getting into my car. "But just be ready, you better be a better driver than I think you are or I'll leave you in the dust. Remember, I grew up in New York, one of the most dangerous places to drive,"

"We'll see," Cameron said, walking over to her car. Her tiny, firm ass shone in the plastic pants in the mid-afternoon sunlight. She looked like a model, carried herself like a female comedian but acted like a normal, every day girl. I watched her drive out and then followed her for a block, the loud techno music blaring out of her open windows as I turned onto the freeway and left her, heading back to the office.

When I arrived there, I recounted to Damon the exploits of the morning, even mentioning the young girl who seemed to want a job so desperately.

"Do you think you could find something for her to do?" I asked him, sitting on the corner of his desk.

"I think so. One of the girls just quit, her boyfriend knocked her up. I say we give her a chance and see how it goes. The worst that could happen would be that we fire her and she goes back to her everyday, normal job," Damon said.

I nodded and walked away into my office. The day went by quicker than I thought, with the phone staying relatively quiet and the paperwork I had been dreading actually being much lighter than I had originally thought. As 11:00 that night rolled around, I even had a chance to read through a month's worth of Variety, re-immersing myself in the industry and the box office takes. I was happy to see that "Spiderman", Kirsten Dunst's first wide audience film had shattered records, if only briefly before "Star Wars" and Natalie Portman's film opened. I twinged a little at the thought of having broken up with Natalie and wondered where she would go now for management. I was sure she would land on her feet somewhere, and didn't feel quite as bad since I had renegotiated her deal for all the "Star Wars" merchandise royalties she would get just a few months before.

I heard Cameron's horn about 11:45 or so and walked outside to meet her. The same CD I had heard earlier in the day was still blaring from her car stereo but she had obviously gone home and cleaned herself up, as she leaned against the sleek metallic frame of the vehicle.

Her blond hair now framed her face loosely, a few strands dangling into her eyes as was the style currently in Hollywood. She wore a pair of black leather pants that seemed to glisten just as brightly in the dim light of the parking lot as her car. Her top had changed also now, a sleeveless blouse thing that clung to her narrow frame beautifully. She grinned as she waited for me to lock up the office and set the security alarm.

"You ready to race?" she said, walking towards me. Handing me the money that she owed me, I pocketed it and nodded, climbing into my car. She got halfway in and then turned to yell at me.

"Try to keep up on the way there, ok?" she said with a wide grin, that same beautiful smile that had aroused so many men since they first saw her in "The Mask". I just shook my head and climbed in and before I had even started the ignition, Cameron was off. Hustling to catch up to her, it wasn't until two stoplights later (both of which, I was glad to see, she obeyed) that I pulled up behind her. I had taken out the company BMW Roadster, as I didn't have time to go home and get something faster. Nevertheless, I doubted that when push came to shove that the race would be long enough for her higher performance car to really smoke me.

We drove along the mostly empty freeway, Cameron being a little playful as we drove, trying to lose me in traffic. The most distance she managed to get on me though was a couple car lengths, but even that was closed up by the time I saw her get off the exit and onto a state road out in the middle of nowhere. We drove up and down a series of hills for about 15 minutes, the sleekness and finesse of our cars dancing with each other in the light of the full moon overhead. The road was pretty well maintained for a state road, something that surprised me given that a lot of the more rural parts of the Valley were pretty much abandoned by the state's work crews. As we drove along, I saw numerous tire marks on the road, and even a few shattered pieces of fiberglass and metal. We were obviously not the first people to try and race down such an empty road.

Cameron slammed on her breaks in front of me and cut to the right sharply, heading up an embankment. I barely had enough time to keep from slamming into the back of her but managed to keep up after a slight squealing of my tires. We drove over the grassy knoll and down a hill to a totally empty street a few hundred feet below. As I drew closer, I saw that the road was as perfectly straight as one would ever expect a road to be, and seemed to stretch on for miles in both directions, it's start and end invisible to me in shadows of the valley hills.

We continued down the hill as Cameron eased her car into the middle of one of the lanes. I followed her, sliding up next to her in the other lane. The road ahead looked pitch black dark, the hills of the valley and the trees surrounding it blocking out any light that might have come through from any neighboring cities. Cameron shut her car off and stepped out.

"Well, here we are. Nothing but straight black top for the next two miles. I come here every now and then when I'm looking for a thrill... racing always gets me worked up, gets my energy flowing," Cameron said, dangling her keys against her slim hips.

"What about cops? We don't want a repeat of last night, especially if I get caught. There wouldn't be anyone to bail you out," I said sarcastically.

"Nope. The local jurisdiction turns the other way for this sort of thing. You should see it in the fall. People come from all over the world to race this street. The cops won't shut it down because all those racers have to stay somewhere and it's good for the local town economies," Cameron said.

"And tonight?" I asked.

"We should be okay. The only thing to watch out for is a car coming at you head on. But you should be able to see them coming and get out of the way in time, hopefully," Cameron said. "Now, you want to hear the rules?"

"You have rules for this?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I guess I might as well since I drove all the way out here,"

"Ok, it's simple. When we start, which will be a synched up stop watch for each of us," she said, tossing me the watch, whose face glowed in the dark. "It's a two mile shot straight down the road. Their isn't a finish line, but there is a big oak tree on your side of the road. I'm talking MASSIVE. It's branches hang over the road and you'll be able to see it. First one past that, wins. If we tie, you'll just have to be fast on your stop watch and hit it the second that you pass the tree. It's a gentleman's bet more or less so we will just have to trust one another," Cameron finished.

"Sounds good. Actually, too good. Like you've done this all before. But I have to ask, what are we playing for? You can't have a race like this and not expect for me to ask for something in return," I said, grinning.

"The rush you get from racing should be enough for anyone," Cameron said with a heavy sigh. "But I GUESS if you want to wager something, let's say that if I win you tear up my check and eat the cost of last night,"

"What do I get if I win?" I asked.

"You can keep the check and maybe I'll even throw in a congratulatory kiss," Cameron said slyly.

"A kiss? You want me to risk my life for a kiss?" I responded in unbelieving jest.

"Well, maybe a little something more. Ok, enough talk... let's get to it!" she said.

We both returned to our cars and I rolled down the driver's window to talk to her. Cameron held up her stop watched and started her vehicle. Over the roar of the engine coming to life she shouted. "Push the middle button on the watch. See how it says 12:14?"

"Yes!" I yelled back.

"When it hits 12:16, we go. And trust me, they are set the EXACT same in time," Cameron said. "I'll see you at the finish line!"

She rolled up her window and I did the same, starting my car. I glanced over at Cameron but the windows of her Porsche were too hard to see into. All I could make out was her slender frame, hunched over the steering wheel ready to go. Placing the stop watch on the dashboard securely, I watched the seconds tick by.

12:15 17 seconds...

Cameron revved her engine and flipped on her brights. I made sure my seat belt was buckled and continued to watch the clock.

12:15 29 seconds...

I slowly put the tip of my toe on the gas while the other foot held down the break. I had a full tank so I was more than ready to haul ass. My car was bright red during the daytime but looked like a maroon demon as the moon light over head reflected off the hood, bathing each and every curve and contour of the pristine vehicle in a pale light.