The Paradise Box Set

by Pike, Leslie

  He gives me a good once-over then twirls his index finger for me to turn around.

  “All clear.”

  “Why did I have to turn around?”

  “I just wanted to look at your ass.”

  “Good answer.”

  “You’re fine. There’s not a nipple or a V in sight.”

  I tried on at least thirty dresses my stylist offered. But when I slipped this one on I knew I had a winner. It appears as if there’s no seams, they’re so artfully executed. The neckline is high, and the pale-yellow color matches my hair exactly. The slim column has cutouts done strategically from under the left arm and around to the back. The high leg split is a few degrees angled off the side toward the back of my left leg. It runs all the way up to the edge of my ass. But it’s done so tastefully, no one could say I’m showing too much. The dress showcases what I have yet hints at more.

  I had designers vying to dress me for the Oscars. God, last year I couldn’t get a free scarf from any of them let alone a seventeen thousand dollar dress. What a difference a year and a hit movie makes.

  “I’ve got to win, if only to show this dress off.”

  “You’re going to. I have decreed it. I’d kiss you for luck, but I know better,” he says holding up a finger.

  “Stay away from me till after the show. I say that with love.”

  He laughs, knowing I’d kill him if he were to so much as move a tendril of my hair.

  “Like my ice?’ I lift my bejeweled wrist in the air and put my other hand against my ear, showing my bracelet and earrings.

  “I’m wearing over fourteen million in diamonds.”

  “Don’t they provide a guard for that?”

  “There’ll be someone watching on the Red Carpet and at the after parties. But I’m a small fish compared to some of the women.”

  “Let me see that ring,” says Paul.

  I hold out my hand which he takes in his.

  “God, I hope you’re not falling in love with this beauty. I’m just a poor psychologist remember.”

  I look him in the eyes and smile. “You planning on giving me a ring anytime soon?”

  “Would you be happy if I was?”

  I wag a finger at him. “No, no Mr. Cruz. I don’t answer questions before they’re asked. When the time comes, you’re just going to have to make the leap of faith.”

  Just the thought of that makes my stomach do a little flip.

  “I have no problem with that at all. Remember, I’m a man of faith. But let’s not talk about it now. Hell, I can’t even kiss you at the moment. We’ll table that conversation for now. This is your night. Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

  “You’ve been very supportive. I love you for that, Paul.”

  He sends me two air kisses, then reaches for the bottle of tequila on the bar and pours himself a shot.

  “Want one?”

  “No! I need to be completely sober in case I need to walk up any stairs to the stage.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I walk to my purse and review the contents. “I’ve looked through this six times already, but once more won’t hurt. Okay, I’ve got my acceptance notes, lipstick, mirror, breath spray, phone, safety pin and crazy glue.”

  “What’s the pin and glue for?”

  “Wardrobe malfunctions.”

  My cell sounds. I take it from my purse. It’s Mom, probably calling with a good luck wish.

  “Hi, Mom. I’m glad you called. I need your good luck wishes.”

  There’s a few beats before I hear his voice.

  “Is this Barrie?” my dad says.

  I’m stunned by his voice. It sounds different, softer.

  “Dad?”

  I’m forced to confront what I’ve been avoiding since my mother told me about his condition. I’ve been talking with her daily, but I haven’t had a conversation with him at all.

  “I wanted to say something about your contest tonight,” he says.

  “Oh, that’s nice, Dad. Yes, it’s tonight. I’m all dressed up.”

  There’s a pause and I can sense him struggle to find the right words. I hear my mother in the background saying the words for him. “Good luck, hope you win”.

  “Good luck, Barrie. I hope I win.”

  I feel the tears fill my eyes. My throat tightens with the poignancy of the moment. I can barely respond.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  That’s it. I make a sweeping gesture to Paul to get me a tissue. I feel the tears stream down my face.

  “You too, Dad.”

  My mother takes the phone from him. I hear him in the background as he starts laughing. “Go sit down, Richard. Your dinner’s on the table.”

  She lowers her voice so he can’t hear. “Sorry. He laughs a lot now for no apparent reason. He was obsessed with talking to you. I know it was a bad time to call.”

  “Don’t say that, Mom. It’s always the right time for you. And for him too. I’m just a little thrown.

  “I can hear that in your voice. I know he’s never said that to you before, but I know he’s felt it. I wish you believed that.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Let’s talk tomorrow. I don’t want you to be sad on your big night. Go get em, girly.”

  She’s always said that to me when I was first performing in front of audiences. Tonight it feels more right than ever.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Will you be watching?”

  “Of course! And when you win we’ll be cheering.”

  She disconnects. And I’m left wanting to cry my heart out. Paul see’s what’s happening and comes to the rescue.

  “Stop it! He grabs my hands and wills it so. “You’re going to save your crying for tomorrow. Listen to me, BB, you look beautiful and this may be a once in a lifetime night for you. Come back to the happy. You can tell me all about your dad in the morning.”

  And so I try. I stop the tears and center myself, then nod my agreement.

  “I’m okay. Let me look in the mirror.”

  “Here’s the Kleenex.”

  As I’m walking to the mirror in the entry the doorbell sounds, and I go into the greatest performance of my life. I’ll just pretend until I believe. I let loose with a loud whoo-who and make Paul jump at the piercing sound.

  “Okay. Good start,” he says slapping my ass as I walk by.

  I take my tiny steps to the door. I swing it open, expecting all four friends to be standing there. Instead, it’s just Finn looking hotter than a firecracker.

  “Where’s the rest of the crew?” Paul asks.

  “In the limo. The girls didn’t want to get out and back in again. You know, the feckin’ gowns and wind in their hair. Apparently it must all be protected.”

  “I hear you, brother.”

  “Let me get my purse,” I say.

  Paul and Finn walk ahead to the car, and as soon as I retrieve my purse I’m right behind them taking my itty bitty steps. The men let me enter first, then climb in behind me.

  “BB! It’s the Oscar miracle! She’s on time,” Steven jokes.

  “Very funny.”

  “You look great! I love your dress,” Bliss says.

  I take my seat against the back and Paul and Finn move to either side of me.

  “Wow! You all look like you’re going to the Oscar’s or something,” I say.

  The women have really outdone themselves. Bliss wears a golden sleeveless column that has tiny mirrored squares from neckline to hem. Her hair is long, but slicked back on the sides, showing her Grecian neck and spectacular earrings. Her makeup is done in neutral shades, which only work to highlight her natural beauty. She looks like an Oscar herself. She’ll be in the best dressed pics for sure tomorrow.

  Esme has done something entirely different and completely out of her comfort zone I’m guessing. Our little fresh faced beauty wears black. It’s low cut and tight to her frame. It’s got simple elegant lines, and it nee
ds nothing but her lush frame to make it work. Her hair is long and loose, tousled as if she’s just gotten out of bed, and she wears a smoky eye with a pale mouth. Sexy.

  “I’d say we’re with the best lookin’ women in the business,” Finn says.

  Steven grabs a bottle of champagne that someone’s obviously already opened. “I’ll drink to that sentiment. Anybody else?”

  “Not me. These heels are too high for me to risk weaving down the Red Carpet,” Bliss says.

  “I’ll have a shot of whiskey,” Esme says to everyone’s surprise.

  “That a girl, me too,” says Paul.

  “Oh hell. Peer pressure. I need one to calm me down,” I add.

  “I’m calling Jack. We’ll facetime with him,” Steven says.

  “Good. I feel bad they can’t be here,” Finn adds.

  Steven calls and puts it on speaker. It rings four times then goes to voice mail.

  “Crap, I wanted to mess with him,” I say.

  “I hope everything’s all right,” Bliss adds

  Steven returns his phone to Bliss’ purse. “He’s probably talking with the doctor or rubbing Nicki’s feet.”

  By the time we’re in our seats inside the Dolby Theater in Hollywood, we only have ten minutes till the opening number. We’re successful at navigating our way in, despite high heels and whiskey shots. I think the adrenaline canceled out any effect the booze could have had. The Red Carpet was like a dream. It passed in a foggy haze. I’m not even sure how I answered the reporters’ questions. We were all pulled in ten different directions. There were photos and interviews, kisses and congratulations coming at us from all angles.

  I took a ridiculously hot picture with Channing Tatum on one side of me and Joe Manganiello on the other. They were each kissing my cheek and I was responding like a schoolgirl all wide eyed and gobsmaked. The whole time I was picturing them giving me a lap dance. Joe was doing a fantastic job of pumping his dick in my face. Paul laughed when he saw my expression because he can read me like a book. There was a little star crush going on. That picture will be blown up to a ginormous size and hang in my office at home.

  I wasn’t alone in my fever either. Paul got so many looks from the silver screen goddesses, I thought I was going to have to blindfold him or them. He was smiling like one of them was about to sit on his face. And if Jennifer Lopez looked at him one more time I would have had to say something. That would not have been good, but I would have done it. Damn her and her perfect face, body, skin and personality. What could a man possibly see in her?

  Finn was in a league of his own. He exudes that bad boy just finished fucking you look, and needless to say it’s effective. In his tux he looks especially doable. The ladies love those ice-blue eyes, and I’m certain there are entire generations of women who’d like to run their fingers through his long hair. If they only knew what else he had to offer. That Jacob’s Ladder would be climbed by the multitudes. They’d be pushing each other off the rungs to reach the top. When he walked up to the bleachers, the estrogen army went crazy. They were screaming and begging for selfies and autographs. He obliged and made it look like he was having fun. Just before he walked away and back into Esme’s arms, he gave one lucky fan a kiss on her hand. The scream that came from her mouth was deafening, and I fear for his hearing.

  Steven and Bliss are quickly becoming one of Hollywood’s favorite couples. Two bright new stars in their fields and a beautiful example of a man and woman unshakably dedicated to each other. The photographers fought to get the best picture, capturing them from every angle. It doesn’t hurt that they’re both criminally photogenic.

  I quit my daydreaming and take a moment to absorb what’s happening right now. First of all, the six of us are sitting together, as there’s one nominee in each couple. The fact that we’re up for best picture made that a done deal. If we win, the world will see us jumping up in tandem. But I drew one of the lucky straws, because my seat is next to George Clooney’s. On the opposite end of my friends, Esme sits next to Johnny Depp. Thank you, God. It’s a wonderful fucking life.

  “Good luck, BB,” George says touching my arm.

  Oh my friggin’ God. I want to hug him for his words. But instead I remain calm and just lean over so I’m addressing both his wife, Amal, and he.

  “Thanks, George. I’m going to need luck. I’m up against a few big hitters.”

  He leans close and whispers. “Yours was the best performance. In my opinion.”

  Somewhere a heavenly choir is singing.

  “We loved the film. And your performance. It was mesmerizing,” Amal says.

  “Thank you so much. Oh and George, I know your film’s up for Best Picture too. Even though we’re competing against each other, I wish you luck. You’ve become quite the producer. You know how to pick ‘em.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  The lights go down and the music swells.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, live from the Dolby Theater in Hollywood, California, it’s the eighty-ninth annual Academy Awards Show!” the announcer says.

  The curtains sweep open and the show begins.

  “Your hostess for tonight, two-time Academy Award nominee, Amy Schumer!”

  Amy comes down from the rafters swinging on a huge star. Then she goes into a hysterical montage of the five nominated films. She quickly changes wigs and costumes with each film, playing each part and exaggerating the actor or the character she’s spoofing. Of course we take our hits. There’s a little truth in all of them. She does the most laughable impression of Jack, Finn and I running through the woods. First she plays me, in a giant curly blonde wig and a sexy nun’s habit, running from tree to tree with her padded big ass almost hanging out. Then she becomes Jack as the psycho priest with his wild hair sticking at least eight inches up from his head. Finally a hyper sexual Finn comes to the rescue. Tearing off his priest’s vestments to show his chest as he navigates the woods. We are literally crying laughing.

  She gets a rousing round of applause at the end of the opening piece. Start it with a good laugh honey, and you’ve got them in the palms of your hands. And after a short introduction to the evening’s festivities, she introduces the first presenters. From that moment on, I’m holding my breath till buxom Christina Hendrix and Michael Douglas walk out. It’s my category I’m sure.

  “Good evening,” says Christina to Michael. “You look very handsome tonight.”

  “Thank you. But I doubt if anybody’s going to notice standing next to you,” he says eyeing her massive chest.

  She gives a forced chuckle. Whoever wrote this shit should be shot.

  “Well. Let’s not make the nominees wait any longer,” she says.

  “That’s right. The nominees for Best Supporting Actress in a motion picture are…”

  Paul takes my hand, and I try to put on a relaxed smiling face. When the camera pans to me, I don’t want to look like a deer in headlights.

  “Jennifer Lopez for Tarnished, Mara Rooney for 1,2,3, Dame Judith Dench for The Power Of One, Helen Mirren for Mrs. Antone’s Mirror, and Barrie Blue for Father Kolda’s Sins.”

  Oh my God. Here we go.

  “And the Oscar goes to…” Michael says, fucking around with the envelope.

  Come on, come on. He lifts it open and shows Christina. She looks up, smiles widely and reads the result.

  “Barrie Blue for Father Kolda’s Sins!

  The Earth has gone off its axis. Time has stopped and I’m frozen in my chair. Very softly in the distance I hear cheering and clapping, and I see my friends in slow motion start to stand. Then the sound builds. It gets louder and louder still, until it’s a riot of celebration. Overhead, the voice over announces, “This is Barrie Blue’s first nomination and first win.” Now I begin to react.

  “Oh my God!” I scream.

  Paul’s kissing my lips and he’s clapping. I think there’s a tear in his eye. Vaguely I’m aware of the feel of hands on my arms and back and shoulders as I pass in front of my fr
iends. There’s happiness in their voices as they congratulate me. But I’m somewhere else, in a realm I’m not familiar with. This is a kind of strange giddiness. Slowly I make it to the stairs and center myself. The world’s watching. Fucking skinny dress! My little steps are making it difficult, but there’s a man there to give me an assist.

  As soon as I make it to the top of the steps, he lets me go. I do a little contained dance to the podium and the audience responds with laughter. Okay now I’m in my spot. Christina hands me my Oscar and I clutch it to my breasts. Turning to the audience I’m bathed in their affection.

  “Son of a bitch! How did this happen?” I yell.

  I’m sure I just got bleeped. The audience loves me though.

  “Thank you! Oh God, thank you!”

  My voice is getting shakier by the word. I feel my throat tighten and the tears swell.

  “Okay, I need to get my shit together.” Bleep. “I’d like to thank my director, Steven French, who took a funny lady and made her into an actress. Look Steven!” I say holding up the Oscar. “I’d like to thank my amazing costars, Jack Alden and Finn Kennedy, my agent Billie Rhodes, my producers at Kleig Light, and every fucking person who ever thought it was a good idea to hire a comedian for a dramatic role!”

  The audience is laughing at my enthusiasm and the amount of cuss words I’m including.

  “And I most definitely want to thank my man, my support and my love, Paul. He was the one who made Father Kolda’s Sins sinful.”

  That gets them laughing. I know Paul must be shaking his head. I put my hand over my eyes to shield the lights, and I spot him, he’s just smiling. The music starts signaling my exit, so I get serious.

  “And finally, I’d like to thank my mother and father, Vivian and Richard Blue for believing in me.”

  I lift my Oscar in the air in triumph. “Thank you, universe!”

  The music drowns out anything more I could say. I head backstage to the applause of the audience.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  NICKI

  “She won!” I say to Jack.

  “I’m happy; she deserved the win. I guarantee Paul’s going to have Oscar’s head up his ass tonight for sure,” he laughs.