by Megan Rivers
Another woman in black and white came up behind Red with a clipboard so stylish it didn't look like one. “Let's start off with hydrating and exfoliating, then soft highlights. Manipedi, naturally. Facial. Her skin is a fabulous ivory-porcelain, so no tanning. Let's try a 'Gatsby Girl' style with lashes and lips.” The black and white woman disappeared just as quickly. Red turned to me and smiled. “Now, let me show you to your Oasis.”
I dutifully followed her down a hallway encased in velvet. She pulled aside a curtain which led to a room about four times the size of my bedroom. There was a lounge chair, a massage table, a vanity, a tub built into the floor with a small waterfall, and a lot of plants that I weren't sure were fake.
“Here we go, Miss Kelly,” she said displaying a variety of robes on plush hangers. “Most people prefer our Turkish cotton, but we also have silk, terrycloth, cashmere, and our own patented DreamWeave material. Take as much time as you need to change. Here's a pitcher of our trademark fruit and mineral-infused water to hydrate. Please start your amazing experience at De La Dream with a complimentary detox bath. Would you like relaxing music? You can choose from the soundboard on the panel to your left. Take as much time as you need. Tina, your DreamWeaver, will be in to check on you momentarily.” Then Red was gone.
I chose the silk robe, in case you were wondering, and only because it was a chance to touch real silk―something I never remember having the luxury to do before. As for relaxing sounds, it was a toss up between the acoustic guitar and rainstorm. After choosing the rain (because the acoustic guitar didn't have the same affect as a recording), I took advantage of the detox bath mainly because it smelled so good. The mixture of oils and dried herbs in the perfectly warm water instantly made me relax.
Just as I was drifting into sleep, a woman walked in. Her hair was dark and short, like a pixie, and wore a simple black and gold headband. She wore a red polo shirt with the symbol of a dream catcher embroidered below the neck so it looked like a charm on a necklace. Her slender figure was accented by the fact that her polo was tucked into a pair of black, well-pressed pants. “Hello, Miss Kelly, I'm Tina, your DreamWeaver. How are you doing?” Her voice twinkled like someone's eyes would.
“Wonderful,” I admitted almost guiltily. “Please call me Christie.”
She smiled. “Very well, Miss Christie, would you like an exfoliating massage?” Her voice was calm and measured, making me feel at ease.
“I guess so,” I shrugged. “What is it?”
Tina patiently schooled me on dead skin cells and the perks of exfoliation. I gave in, skeptical that anything could be as amazing as the bath. Boy was I wrong! I nearly fell asleep on the massage table, too!
After Tina told me about the benefits of certain essential oils she was applying, I smelled amazing! I kept taking long deep breaths―if only I could bottle it up and take it home!
As Tina finished up, another woman came in―Deidre―in the same red and black attire. Her dirty blonde hair was in a beautiful, thick, fishtail braid. She too wore the same simple black and gold headband. “Hello Miss Kelly,” she said with a genuine smile. “I'm Deidre. I'm here to pamper your luscious locks. How do you feel about highlights? I would love to accentuate your skin tone and bring out your eyes.”
Flashbacks from Penny's “two shades lighter” fiasco assaulted me and it must have shown because Deidre followed up with, “Don't worry, I won't do anything drastic. I'm here to make dreams come true, not your nightmares.” Her smile reassured me. I suddenly wondered what the qualifications for jobs at this place entailed―the ability to work magic and a certain Disney princess charm?
While Deidre “dream weaved” my hair, two girls in black pants and white shirts cut, polished, and painted my fingers and toes; they never once talked.
I hated the whole experience I had at Penny's salon, but De La Dream was really a dream. I didn't even recoil in disgust when they covered my face in so many creams, oils, and, eventually, make up. I mean, I didn't enjoy it, but it wasn't torture either.
Deidre had curled my mane and held it in a wrapping bun just above the nape of my neck. She placed a beautiful silver headband, adorned with what I thought were fake diamonds (I later learned that that piece alone was worth approximately $5,000) around my head, letting a curl from each side of my face peek through. After the two Black & Whites finished my make up, the hair-do―mixed with my dramatic lashes and lipstick―made me feel like a character from The Great Gatsby. For the first time in my life, I actually felt beautiful and confident.
My confidence didn't last long though. A middle aged woman with unnaturally gray spiky hair walked in. She wore black framed glasses adorned in blue jewels. She threw off a black cashmere wrap to a Black & White as she entered my Oasis, exclaiming, “All right, my darlings, what have you given me to work with?” She wore layers of pearl necklaces and they made clanking sounds as she moved.
“Christine Kelly, I presume? I am Cece DeLourt.” She moved as if she were on stage. “You've done a marvelous job, DreamWeavers,” she said circling me, considering me from all angles. “Oh, yes, yes,” she said as if there were an audience. “I would be honored if you wore one of my pieces tonight.” She clapped her hands twice, still studying me.
A Black & White appeared carrying a garment bag very delicately. Cece DeLourt dramatically unzipped the bag that adorned her name in gold letters and revealed a silver knee-length dress. She took it out and spun with it before presenting it to me. It had a plunging neckline with intricate beaded patterns bordering it, and grew into a beautiful design from the hips down. Silver fringe, which looked like icicles, fell below the knees. I don't think I ever loved a piece of clothing before and I so badly hoped she would let me try it on.
“Now, darling, when asked what you're wearing, you must say it's a Cece DeLourt original.” She pointed to her name on the garment bag and looked at me. I nodded my approval. “Go ahead, darling, say it: a Cece DeLourt original.” She now held the dress protectively.
“I'm wearing a Cece Dee-Lort original,” I said obediently, reading the name off the garment bag.
“No, darling, DAY-LORE,” she moved her lips exaggeratedly, coming closer.
“DE-LORE,” I repeated.
She shook her head. Clunk, clunk, clunk went her pearls. “My name is DAY. LORE.” She used her hands to help annunciate the syllables of her name.
“DAY-LORE. Cece DAY-LORE,” I repeated.
“Yes, yes! Altogether now. Who are you wearing tonight?” She practically bent down to meet me at eye level.
“I am wearing a Cece DAY-LORE special.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Darling, no. I am not on the Dollar Menu―original. A Cece DeLourt original.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “I'm wearing a Cece DAY-LORE sp―original.” She didn't catch that, did she?
Cece DeLourt sighed. “You're not an actress, are you?”
She straightened up and wiggled her shoulders like she was getting into character. “This,” she pointed to the dress, “cannot go on someone,” she pointed to me, “who can't remember a simple sentence.” She looked at the DreamWeavers for approval, but they avoided her gaze.
The dress was simply beautiful and I really didn't want to screw things up for Galvin. I took a cue from Cece and sat up straight, trying to play prim and proper. “Tonight I am wearing a Cece DAY-LORE original.” I annunciated each word separately.
She drastically turned with her penciled eyebrows higher than I thought eyebrows could go, and applauded. “Why, welcome to Hollywood, Miss Kelly! Now let's see how you do in heels.”
A Black & White presented Cece with a box that held a fancy name in Italian (or was it French?). She pulled out frosted blue open-toe shoes with heels so high, I'm sure they'd make me taller than Galvin. Naturally, the next thirty minutes was a crash course in walking in them. “Heel to toe. Heel to toe.” Cece would chant, clapping her hands to my foot steps. Every few measures she'd add, “Keep your head up. Good! Heel to toe. Hee
l to toe!”
When Cece left, I was exhausted. She sewed the dress in a few places, used double sided tape in places on my body that I didn't know I had, and had Black & Whites get special complicated undergarments that I wasn't sure I'd be able to escape unless I was Houdini.
It was time to wake up from my dream now―or was it? Sure, I was leaving De La Dream, but I was going to the Grammys! Hector was there when I left the nondescript doors and onto the streets of L.A. “If it's not too bold for me to say, Miss Kelly, Mr. Kismet is a lucky man to have you on his arm tonight.”
He opened the door for me, but before he closed it I said, “Thank you.” I straightened my shoulders and adopted a confident persona. “I'm wearing a Cece DAY-LORE original.” I slouched. “I don't know why that's so important, but it is.”
Was that a flicker of a smile? “Very well, Miss Kelly.” He closed the door with a soft thump.
Whew. I had room to breathe in the backseat of the car. Well, not literally; some of these undergarments constricted my rib cage.
“Miss Kelly,” Hector addressed from the front seat. “Your appointment ran longer than expected so Mr. Kismet has instructed me to tell you that he would return from the sound check to pick you up shortly after you arrive.”
“Oh.” I knew it! I did spend an eternity with Cece DAY-LORE's heel-to-toe dance! “Thank you.”
When Hector pulled up to the house, no one was there. The coffee and fruit-infused water I drank that morning was adding up in my bladder. Crap.
I went to the upstairs bathroom. Using acrobatics, a balancing act, several explicits, and a complicated system I never want to talk about again, I relieved myself, making a mental note not to ingest anymore liquids until I was back in my normal clothes.
Just as I was figuring out how to readjust my Cece DAY-LORE original back to its original state, there was a knock at the door. “Are you okay?” Galvin's voice asked, concerned. “You are swearing. That is not normal.”
I opened the door, my dress still twisted in places. “Being a girl is hard!” I admitted, pathetically, still fussing with my wardrobe.
“Wow,” he stated, he froze in place as his eyes traveled up and down. I thought it was because of the hectic and frustrated state I was in. Finally he snapped out of it. “Just when I thought you could not be more beautiful.”
My face grew warm, but I'm sure I had enough make up on my face to cover it. “I feel like a twisted version of Cinderella.”
“Is that bad?” Galvin asked, an uneasiness in his voice. He knew what being a part of his life was like and maybe he was having the thoughts I had when he was in my life: what if this was the limit of what he could take and was going to go away?
I thought about it. “No.” I mean, how many other girls had this opportunity?
“Are you sure you're ready for this?”
I nodded. “Bring it on.”
XV.
Bumping into Dynamite
“For the Longest Time” – Billy Joel
In the car, Galvin took my hand and I smiled at him; we finally had a moment to be together. “I have something for you.” He took out a narrow white box from the pocket of his tuxedo. “I wanted to get you something to mark this occasion.”
“You didn't have to. This is all so much already. By the way, did you know that this is a CeCe DAY-LORE original I'm wearing? Apparently, it's a big deal,” I joked.
He laughed.
I opened the lid of the slender box. Inside sat a delicate looking, but precious gold charm bracelet. “A guitar for me,” Galvin said, flipping the gold charm between his fingers. “A star for you, a horse and carriage for Australia.” He clasped it around my wrist. “I still want to get you a charm for Chicago and L.A., to remember all the places we've been together, but I haven't found the right ones yet.”
I watched the way the charms dangled when I moved my wrist. Each charm had such detail, and the star had a diamond in the middle so it illuminated the rest. “It's beautiful,” I choked. “I love it.”
I kissed him because words could never say what a kiss said.
♪ ♪ ♪
Okay, I admit it: I've never watched the Grammy's on TV. I've seen highlights on the news and pictures in supermarket magazines. So, I can't say it's different in person legitimately, but... it's different in person.
The red carpet.
I tried not to be an awestruck teenager when I saw Bette Midler, NSYNC, and Madonna, but when Leonardo DiCaprio bumped into me, I forgot what language I spoke. “Oh sorry,” he said noncommittally. When I looked up, I froze. He noticed Galvin and held out his hand, and asked, “Galvin, my man, how are you?”
Galvin shook his hand with a smile. “Not bad. This is Christie, she's a big fan,” he said wrapping an arm around my waist.
Yep, still no words. I think I might have made some throaty sounds at an attempt to say hello. Galvin found humor in this. “She thinks you're―” he turned to me, “what word did you use? Dynamite?”
I had to find my voice soon before Galvin revealed more embarrassing stories from my fifth grade diary. “Christie, me. Nice. Big fan.”
He smiled! He gave me a hug and then an interviewer pulled him to the side. I looked at Galvin, still half frozen in my spot. He had a sly, mischievous smile on his face. “I just met Leonardo DiCaprio,” was the only thing I could say, still stunned. “He hugged me.”
Galvin was amused. In the midst of the chaotic crowd and intrusive media, Galvin was himself. It was a beautiful thing to see.
Galvin navigated us through the crowd and media with ease. He nonchalantly exchanged pleasantries with Steven Tyler, Brian McKnight, and other people whose names I didn't know, but their faces were familiar. We stopped for photographs and answered questions curtly while passing through the media. He held my hand the entire time. He was an anchor―or, more accurately, a life-jacket―keeping me afloat in this foreign world.
There were so many flashes that soon I didn't notice them. Just smile, I told myself. Galvin answered questions about their latest single, how the new album was coming along, and future plans for the band. Galvin did his best not to put the spotlight on me (I was so thankful―I was working on my heel-to-toe chant), but one reporter asked about his love life and if I was the Christie Kelly in his life.
Galvin spoke for me and I didn't mind at all. She commented on my dress and asked who I was wearing. Yes! I was prepared for this! I straightened my posture and became someone else. “I,” I started by looking straight into the interviewer's eyes, “am wearing a Cece DAY-LORE original.” I could just imagine Cece clapping dramatically at my performance.
Afterwards, we posed for pictures on the carpet. As the lights flashed wildly, Galvin leaned over and whispered, “Just smile, we're almost done.” Then added, “You are being dynamico, you know.” I couldn't help but smile widely at our inside joke.
I'm sure you remember that picture―it was the face of our relationship while it lasted. It also helped Cece launch a career with the attention her dress got. She had just gotten divorced from her husband and lost her company and most of her money. That picture launched her new business as millions viewed it, just to see “Galvin and Christie” together, officially, on the red carpet.
The ceremony was a blur. I was coming down off an adrenaline rush and spent all my energy trying to keep my eyes open. Prey for Chance did not win a Grammy that year; Galvin lost Best Male Rock Vocal Performance to Lenny Kravitz, Best Rock Album to Adam Kasper, and Prey for Chance lost Best New Artist, and Song of the Year, but the following year they broke records.
I'm afraid I can't divulge tales about Stevie O'Boom's after party, or the one H.I.T.Z. Records sponsored. It's not because of some secrecy agreement, but because it was all a blur. There were so many faceless faces to talk to and bright lights to smile for. How did Galvin do this as often as he did? I could barely walk straight let alone stay awake or even form complete sentences.
We arrived back at Galvin's home at four in the mor
ning, which was apparently early, according to Trey as he continued to party with Lee-ah at Stevie O'Boom's. “I'm so tired, I can't think,” I said, holding onto the wall as we walked into the foyer. I dropped to the floor as Galvin closed the door. I tried taking the pain-inducing shoes off so I could make it to bed faster, but the floor was becoming extremely comfortable.
“Whoa, let me help,” Galvin said, sinking to the floor in his tuxedo.
“How do you do this every day?” I asked, so tired I'm sure I slurred my words.
He only smiled, helping to unbuckle the straps on my shoes. “My feet are free!” I exclaimed as feeling returned to my toes.
He chuckled. “Come on, let's get you to bed,” he said, stroking my cheek as my eyes closed.
“So. Sleepy,” were the only words I could form.
As embarrassing as this is to admit, it was also very sweet. Galvin carried me upstairs and took off the Cece DeLourt dress. My head hit the pillow and I fell asleep in my complicated undergarments, feeling Galvin's hands in my hair, taking out bobby pin after bobby pin.
The next morning I woke up to the telephone ringing. I opened an eye and just made out Galvin's figure beside me through the slightest hint of light the heavy curtains let into the room. He slept on his stomach, his face away from me and his arm curled underneath the pillow. His hair was standing in all directions, and he did not wear a shirt. I could trace the smooth hills of the muscles on his arm.
The moment was punctured by his phone vibrating wildly on the bedside table. He roused and reached for it blindly. In a voice dripping with sleep he said, “Hello? Okay. Thank you,” and hung up.
He took a deep breath, buried his face in his pillow for a few seconds, then turned himself to face me. Instead of a sweet good morning or a kiss, he started laughing. I looked at him quizzically. “Oh Christie. You look like you had a rough night.”
