I missed Ellie, wishing she could be here to share this. Though she’d be screaming the entire way in anticipation, burning holes in the chauffeur’s eardrums.
We were now in a long line of vehicles, all waiting to pull up to the curb. The limo crawled forward.
“It can take forever,” Jamie said, bored.
I didn’t care. Hanging out with him in the plush seats, tinted windows, starlight ceiling and well-stocked mini bar was a thrill. I gazed out at the numerous coral-pink terrazzo five pointed stars lined perfectly upon the Walk of Fame, each rimmed with brass and inlaid into a charcoal colored background.
I wondered if Jamie dreamed of having one.
Though right now he seemed far away, taking everything in his stride, his focus on the screen of his iPhone, his thumb scrolling.
Jamie squinted through the window. “I hate white limos. Don’t you?”
I followed his stare up ahead and sure enough there was a white stretch limo. I’d never given any thought to their color before, though on those few occasions when I’d past one on the freeway I’d wondered who might be inside. Tonight I was going to be rubbing shoulders with these elusive celebrities that usually hid away in Beverly Hills, Bel-Air, or even Brentwood. I wondered where Jamie lived.
The towering art deco arch of the Hollywood and Highland Theatre came into view.
“On the red carpet,” Jamie began, “I’ll do several interviews. They’ll want to know who you are.” He lowered his gaze. “What shall I tell them?”
“I kind of like being anonymous,” I admitted.
“You’re a wise one, Piper.” He placed his empty champagne glass next to the wine cooler. “Reporters may try to suck you into an interview. Smile and walk away. If you’re uncomfortable, get my attention and I’ll rescue you.”
“Got it,” I said, feeling the car come to a stop.
Jamie read a text and then deftly punched the keys with his reply. He glanced up at me. “Mom’s wishing me luck.”
It made me smile. I looked forward to phoning my mom tomorrow and telling her how it went. For now though, I didn’t want to gaze at my phone. I wanted to be ever present and not miss a thing.
“I’m under orders to promote Resident Hero,” Jamie told me. “So bear with me.”
“I’m having a blast.”
His face lit up in a smile. “Not that you weren’t gorgeous before Lilly did her magic, but you really do look,” he gestured with open hands, “breathtaking.”
I beamed back at him.
“We’re here,” he said.
Peering out of the window, I was startled by the enormous crowd ahead.
Jamie scootched over the seat toward the door. Our driver came round to let us out.
Jamie looked back at me. “Ready?”
I gave a nod, not quite sure what awaited us, but looking forward to seeing those lovely dresses the guests were wearing up close.
Following Jamie, I stepped out and onto a red carpet that swept along the walkway leading to the theatre.
I gave a nod of thanks to our chauffer and he closed the car door behind us.
A few feet away stood a wall of photographers, their continuous flow of camera flashes in unison with an endless stream of clicking shutters. Trying not to blink, I instinctively scanned their faces, though most of them were hidden behind their long lenses.
Jamie was posing casually, throwing a wave at them and encouraging even more shots to be taken. A cameraman called out Jamie’s name, vying for his attention.
The bulbs burned their flashes onto my irises. I wondered how long it would take for my eyes to recover and for me to see normally again.
The atmosphere was electric.
I’d stepped into Jamie’s world, leaving mine far behind, the ordinary dissipating like a distant dream.
As though reading my mind, Jamie held my hand and whispered, “You’re doing great.”
I squeezed his hand to let him know I was doing okay.
He leaned into my ear. “I love this. It’s what I live for.”
The photographers reacted as though delighted to catch this exclusive interaction between Jamie and I, their ceaseless flashes stealing our intimate moment. And to think I’d tried to do my own hair and makeup. The thought of it sent a shiver up my spine.
With my head high and my expression calm, I held my own against the onslaught from the paparazzi asking for my name. Smiling sweetly, I declined to give it up.
Two large men dressed in tuxes and wearing earpieces guided us toward the roped entryway.
Up in the bleachers, the Oscar spectators were buzzing with excitement. Their hundreds of faces warmly greeted us. Their cheers of delight rose even louder when they recognized Jamie.
Jamie responded, raising his hand in greeting and beaming a genuine smile of gratitude their way. He then turned and took my hand, leading me amongst the meandering crowd. We were swept along, immersed in a sea of color and lights, surrounded by beautiful women, their faces familiar, all of them dressed in luminous gowns. The men donned expensive looking suits and tuxes, their faces too were easily recognizable.
We were surrounded by stars.
Arrangements of white and yellow roses lined the walkway, their delicate scent carrying on the air. Interspersed with the rich perfumes worn by those around us, the mingling of aromas blended seamlessly. If fame and wealth had its own fragrance this would be it.
It wasn’t only the flowers that were intoxicating but the atmosphere too. I soaked in the glamour, the radiance of everyone around me.
I took it in, I took it all in, and allowed myself to surrender to its magnificence, its grandeur.
Vogue inspired frocks were everywhere. Starlets posed their way down the red carpet, their gowns having come from the world’s elite fashion houses, such as Armani, Chanel, Gucci, Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino and a favorite of mine, Stella McCartney, to name but a few.
From behind the red velvet rope came a buzz of excitement, as celebrity fashionistas critiqued each dress, offering their opinions on choices made, from the actresses’ purse to the length of their heel, and even critiquing their makeup and hairstyles.
Line upon line of film crews stood behind the ropes too, each with their well-dressed host holding up a microphone to their interviewee, broadcasting their glamorous report back to America, and in some cases the world.
On more than one occasion I felt like I’d recognized an old friend, though soon realized I’d never met them before, but merely seen their face on the big screen. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, all of them chatting away with each other, perhaps sharing their latest news with old friends, and some new.
Each celebrity was escorted by an assistant and some also had publicists beside them, confidently navigating their client along to their next interview.
Jamie transitioned with ease into his public demeanor of a high energy actor thrilled to begin his first interview. He effortlessly answered the numerous questions the TV presenter asked him. His smile never wavered. I held back, marveling at his ability to turn on the charm so smoothly. After being thanked by the journalist for his time, Jamie stepped back and wrapped an arm around my waist.
We posed for more photographs.
“You’re doing fantastic.” He hugged me into him. “I like the idea that no one knows you. It adds a sense of mystery. Very important in an actor’s career.”
I drew on his confidence, hoping to increase mine.
Though I didn’t care for the mystery, I was glad to keep my privacy. The last thing I wanted was a slew of paparazzi camping outside my apartment. Though no doubt they’d soon succumb to boredom.
Jamie narrowed his gaze. “There’s Rob Farley, my CAA agent. I have to chat with him. You okay if I leave you for a moment?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
Jack Black nudged past me and reached out to shake Jamie’s hand. Then Jamie disappeared amongst the crowd.
Someone tapped my shoulder. “
Who are you wearing?” came a woman’s voice.
I spun round to see a camera pointed at me. A film crew gathered round, all shuffling in closer.
The Insider’s co-host Brooke Anderson held a microphone under my nose. She was dressed elegantly in a halter-neck dress and wore the brightest smile.
How many evenings had I watched her on the show, snuggled up on my couch, munching a bowl of late night cereal while enjoying her heartfelt one on ones with celebs.
“William Travella?” I whispered, making it sound more like a question, glancing around to see if Jamie might magically reappear and save me.
Brooke lowered her microphone. “Where do I know you from?”
Like a deer caught in the headlights, I froze.
Her gaze slid over my right shoulder. “Brad Pitt.” She looked back at me. “Forgive me, hon, but I’ve got to catch the icon before he passes us.”
“Yay,” I said, quickly adding. “Now that’s an interview you don’t want to miss.” I even convinced myself, waving Brooke off with glee. And then let out a long sigh of relief.
Brooke stepped back and grabbed my arm. “Don’t go anywhere,” she told me. “I want an exclusive.” She moved away, closing the gap between her and Brad Pitt.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I disappeared amongst the crowd.
Jamie reappeared. “How are you doing?”
“Amazing. It feels like I’ve woken up inside a dream.”
Using his chin to point, Jamie gestured to the couple a few feet away, whispering, “Angelina and Brad.”
Brad Pitt was chatting away with Brooke Anderson, her cameraman catching the interview.
Incredible. Wait. Was I staring? I averted my gaze.
Following the red carpet, Jamie and I headed on into the theatre. We were again met by a slew of cameras. Though these were men wearing tuxes, evidently professional photographers hired by the Academy to capture the evening.
Jamie paused to allow a photo to be taken. I followed his lead, though this time I offered a confident smile. I was acclimating, striking a pose, and starting to enjoy it.
“I have some fun news you might like,” Jamie said through a frozen smile, his gaze locked on the lens. “We’re sitting with the Resident Hero crowd.”
“Um...who’s in the crowd?” I asked casually, though fearing I already knew.
I wondered if it was bad form to hoist up my dress and bolt back to the limo for a glass of champagne.
“George Clooney.” Jamie waved to someone across the way.
“Oh?” I spun round to mask my panic and hopefully not have my reaction captured by some photographer.
Jamie eased back his sleeve and glanced at his Rolex. “We’ll take our seats soon.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back,” I said, scurrying off to the restroom, my thoughts racing and my vision blurring.
If we were sitting close to Le George and he took one look at me, the evening threatened to go south fast. I envisioned Jamie’s face as his escort was dragged away by security like a common criminal. There were enough cameras around here to capture every moment, immortalizing my shame forever.
Once inside the restroom, I paused with my back to the door, unsure whether to stay.
Kate Winslet, wearing a blue gown with diamond encrusted sleeves, was chatting away with Meryl Streep, who had a luscious, white shawl around her shoulders.
They both turned to look at me.
In a daze, I strolled over to the marble sink and held my hands beneath the gold covered faucet, running them under the cold water, trying to think my way out of this.
The seating plan was probably set in stone.
My gaze wandered to my left, taking in the reflection of the young woman washing her hands one sink over. She was dressed in a black beaded corseted gown that swept elegantly to the floor.
My throat tightened with the vice-like grip of fear.
Those were the icy-blue eyes of Sarah Thompson, and they were looking right at me.
A small gasp escaped my lips. I feigned a cough. Dragging my eyes back to my reflection, I tried to ignore her, rubbing more soap over my hands and holding them under the water.
Not only was my arch enemy inches from me, but she was wearing the same dress I’d purchased from Le Fleur’s boutique on Melrose. The same dress I’d once owned that she’d cut with scissors. Had Sarah caught sight of my Le Fleur crested paper bag? Perhaps discovering, to her horror, we’d both purchased the same gown? Had she reacted swiftly, grabbing the scissors without thought?
Although pretty, Sarah’s dress paled in comparison to mine.
Holding my own reflected gaze, I willed myself to be strong, empowered, to not take any more cruelty from her.
I braved to look over at her reflected image once more.
“Lovely dress,” she said. “Who’s the designer?”
“Travilla,” I answered, my attention falling on Meryl Streep, who was still chatting away with Kate Winslet.
Sarah lowered her voice to a whisper, “I followed Winslet in here.” She offered a knowing look and then stared back at them. Sarah dried her hands on a starched napkin and then threw it into a wicker basket. Her focus slid back to me and her gaze narrowed.
A soft blush rose on my neck.
Seconds fell away like minutes.
Drawn back to her own reflection, Sarah primped her hair and refreshed her lipstick. My stare returned to my own reflection, taking in my elegantly waved, cascading locks and more striking still, my professionally applied makeup, resulting in a masterful transformation. I hardly recognized myself.
Sarah ambled out, her heels clicking on the marbled tile, having clearly not known it was me. It dawned on me there was a good chance Le George wouldn’t recognize me either. My mood lifted and a sense of calm returned, bringing with it an elation I would get to enjoy the rest of the evening with Jamie.
After drying my hands on a napkin, I headed for the door.
“Love the dress,” Kate Winslet said to me in the crispest English accent. “Reminds me of Marilyn Monroe.”
My brain froze over as I realized who was addressing me. Kate Winslet was even prettier in real life. Her perfect porcelain complexion and the bluest eyes set off her radiant smile.
“Actually,” I confessed, “Marilyn Monroe did wear this once.” I held my forefinger to my lips, hinting it was a secret.
“I knew it,” Kate threw her hands up with excitement. “Now that woman was sexy.” She pointed a perfectly manicured fingernail to better make her point.
My thoughts drifted to when she’d played Rose on the Titanic. I was still disturbed she’d let go of Leo’s hand, leaving him to sink to the ocean bottom. Surely there was enough room for both of them on that floating debris?
I snapped back and threw a wave goodbye, heading out to prevent causing any lasting awkwardness.
Jamie was waiting for me.
With my right arm wrapped through his, we made our way into the vast auditorium. Descending slowly, we took each step carefully, making our way to the front of the theatre. We took our seats. Hushed whispers and murmurs of excitement filled the theatre. A rumbling of discordant notes rose from the orchestra pit; musicians were readying their instruments. A-list actors were guided by seasoned ushers escorting them to their seats. It was a veritable Who’s-who of Hollywood.
I was really having fun, and wriggled in my seat to get comfortable.
Jamie nudged up against me and said, “How’s it going?”
“Amazing. Thank you again for bringing me.” My Swarovski purse slid off my lap.
A man’s hand reached out and caught it.
I looked up to see George Clooney holding out my purse, offering it to me. With a smile that reached his eyes, George handed it back. Then he too took his place a few seats down.
The lights went out. I couldn’t remember when I’d taken my last breath.
Stillness fell upon the theatre and I knew all was well. Savoring my disguise as a glamor
ous bombshell, I settled back, tucking my Swarovski purse safely to the side of my lap. As the curtain rose on the Academy Awards, my heart leaped with joy that I had a front row seat at one of the world’s most distinguished events.
This was really happening.
I was at the Oscars.
CHAPTER 23
Jamie and I travelled by limousine to the Sunset Tower Hotel.
My head was still spinning from the walk down the red carpet, as well as having enjoyed the amazing Oscar ceremony. A whirlwind of experiences were buzzing around my head like the craziest of dreams.
My dress had been a huge hit and I’d lost track of the number of compliments I’d received from both men and women alike, their words of admiration for not only the designer’s talent, but the way it looked on me. My heart swelled with pride.
Jamie casually leaned back in the leather seat, resting one leg over another and focusing on his iPhone. Occasionally, he glanced up, giving me a dashing smile.
Despite having been up since 5 A.M. I felt wide awake. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, causing waves of tingles all over. I was enraptured by this feeling of bliss and didn’t want it to end. I loved the way that small lock of hair fell into Jamie’s eyes, and even more endearing was the fact he didn’t care. Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze away from him and peered out.
The Sunset Tower Hotel loomed large in the distance, soaring over West Hollywood. It was easily the most elegant of landmarks amongst the more modern architecture on Sunset Boulevard. With its twenty-five stories rising high, providing panoramic views, it wasn’t only the hotel’s historic relevance that set it apart.
“It was built in 1929.” Jamie leaned forward and crooked his neck to better see it. “John Wayne had a suite there once. As did Truman Capote, Clark Gable, Liz Taylor and,” Jamie paused dramatically, “Marilyn Monroe.”
I couldn’t wait to get inside and see the decor.
Why, perhaps next week I’d bring Ellie here and we could both enjoy strolling around, taking in the treasured history. Perhaps even have a drink at the art deco bar.
“How do you know Arthur Gemstone?” Jamie asked. “He seems fond of you.”
Piper Day's Ultimate Guide To Avoiding George Clooney Page 19
