If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1)

by Devon Hartford

  “Yeah,” Wes said. “We still need to do her makeup.”

  “Good, good. I don’t want to stop you two lovebirds from doing what lovebirds do. Right, Sunflower?” He winked at me and nudged my arm again. To the big man who’d been watching over us like a silent soldier, he said, “Let’s go, Joseph.” I guess Joseph was Abram’s security guard?

  When they were gone, Wes said, “Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry about what?” I said.

  “Abram. The shtupping, the girlfriend comment, the lovebirds comment.”

  “Oh, he’s sweet. I like him. Does it bother you he called me your girlfriend?”

  Wes smiled, “Not at all.”

  It doesn’t bother me either. “Okay then!” I laughed, trying to hide my embarrassment. “You said something about makeup?”

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  Tori the makeup artist was busy applying primer to my face with her fingers. Her own makeup looked flawless and not overdone, so I assumed she’d do a good job on me. I sat in a chair in Madeline’s studio. Her two assistants Karla and Robin were busy giving me a mani and a pedi at the same time. I felt bad for Robin because she had to sit on the floor. She had my feet resting on a towel in her lap while she trimmed and buffed my toes.

  Tori said, “You have the smoothest and most even skin I’ve ever seen.” She should’ve seen it two weeks ago. Blotchy with at least two zits at all times. “You don’t wear makeup much, do you?”

  “Not really.” It wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “Well,” she smiled, “You don’t need it.”

  “Thanks.” Not as long as I’m a supermodel, I didn’t. I had no idea how long my supernatural beauty would last, but I hoped I’d at least make it through whatever tonight was. I didn’t want to do a Cinderella at midnight. In her case, the glass slipper still fit when her prince found her in her rags. I didn’t know if I’d get glass slippers from Madeline for tonight, but I did know my feet would shrink whenever I changed back to normal, and that meant whatever shoes Madeline gave me now wouldn’t fit me later. Would Prince Wes be able to find me then?

  “What kind of look are we going for?” Tori asked the room.

  Madeline, who was chatting with Jean-Paul and Wes in the corner, said, “Nothing too garish. Subtle. Just a hint of smoke around the eyes. She doesn’t need much. And maybe a nude lip.”

  Wes snickered, “How about nude everything?”

  Madeline grumbled, “Do I have to give you a time out, Wesley?”

  “Will it just be me and you alone in a room?” he flirted innocently.

  “No, it will be you standing alone in a corner with a dunce cap, young man.”

  He laughed.

  Tori went to work on my face and less than an hour later, she was finished. I couldn’t believe how good I looked. She’d followed Madeline’s instructions to a T.

  “Wow, this looks amazing,” I said, examining my reflection in the big hand mirror Tori held.

  “Time to get you dressed,” Madeline said. “That means you can leave, young man.” She glared at Wes.

  “Like I said earlier, we’re not getting married. I can see her getting into her dress.”

  “Yes, but every woman likes to make an entrance, Wesley. Wait outside.”

  “Fine,” he chuckled and walked out of the studio. “I need to go change anyway.”

  While Jean-Paul and Madeline helped me into the dress, Abram returned with the necklace and earrings. Madeline supplied me with a pair of red pumps.

  “Don’t I get glass slippers?” I joked.

  Madeline smiled. “Don’t worry about the shoes, darling. No one will see them under your train.”

  Once I had the dress, the shoes, and the jewelry on, they led me over to the mirrors. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Abram’s necklace hung down past my boobs, but dangled just above the deep V cut of the cleavage, and the matching earrings sparkled in my ears.

  I gasped, “I look like a million bucks.” I really did. Almost like a movie star. I fought back impending tears. I didn’t want to ruin Tori’s makeup. It didn’t matter if the glamorous supermodel standing in the mirror wasn’t really me and it didn’t matter if my swansformation faded by morning.

  For tonight, I would own it.

  For tonight… I would be gorgeous.

  “More like ten million bucks,” Abram grinned. I didn’t want to ask if that’s what the necklace and earrings were worth. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, Bubbeleh.”

  “She’s going to turn every head,” Madeline said.

  My eyes were starting to water. I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I sniffed, “Can we, uh, get a picture? I want to remember this.” I was scared to death that none of this would last much longer. It was all too good to be true. It couldn’t possibly last. For all I knew, I might not even make it to midnight looking like this.

  “There will be plenty of that later,” Madeline said dismissively. “You need to get a move on. It’s past three o’clock now.” She led me out of the studio.

  I walked carefully, trying not to step on the long train of the trumpet dress. It trailed three or four feet behind me on the hallway carpet.

  Wes stood with his back to me as I approached. He turned slowly, now dressed in a black tuxedo.

  Madeline walked in front. She said to Wes, “Are you sure about that red bow tie, Wesley? It is supposed to be black tie. Or did you forget?”

  “Fuck black tie,” he chuckled. “And this isn’t red. It’s dark red.”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t black.”

  “Whatever. Chelsea is wearing red so I’m wearing red too.”

  I stepped out of the hallway and into the front room and stopped.

  Wes stared at me, speechless. His eyes rolled all over me. “Holy shit, Chelsea. Look at you.”

  Madeline rolled her eyes and sighed, “When referring to your date, Wesley, never use the word shit in the same sentence.”

  “How about fuck? Fuck seems appropriate, don’t you think?” He winked at me.

  Madeline smirked. “Try something else.”

  He looked at me. “I can’t think of anything else. Chelsea, you are…” He shook his head. “There are no words.” I felt the same way looking at him. He was dashing and impeccably handsome in his tux. Every woman’s fantasy. Tonight, he would be all mine.

  He glanced at Madeline, Jean-Paul, Abram, Tori and her girls, all of whom now stood behind me. “Can you guys step out for an hour? I think I need to tear this dress off Chelsea and ravage her six ways to Sunday.”

  Madeline glared at him, “There will be no ravaging and no tearing, Wesley. The only people who will be removing my dress from her body are Jean-Paul and myself at the end of the evening. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Crystal. But once that dress is off,” his mahogany eyes flared, “all bets are off…”

  My sentiments exactly.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  “Are we taking your Lamborghini?” I asked outside. “If we are, I can’t drive in this dress.” I held the train carefully off the ground like Madeline had showed me inside. “You’ll have to drive.”

  “Not tonight. Tonight we arrive in style.”

  A black stretch limo pulled up to the curb. Gavin jumped out wearing a tux. “Afternoon, luv,” he said to me, not recognizing me in the slightest as he opened the back door for us. Of course he didn’t. I wasn’t plain Jane.

  Wes held my hand while I climbed in. He slid in after. A moment later, the car started moving.

  Wes put his arm casually over the seat back and brushed his fingers up and down the back of my neck. Exquisite chills bloomed under my skin and goosebumps crawled up my arms.

  “Would you stop?” I moaned, my eyelids fluttering.

  He didn’t. “Have you ever been fucked in the back of a limousine, Sunflower?”

  “Wes!” I glared at him.

  “Have you?”

  “No! And you’re not going to have sex with me right now, so shut
up! We haven’t even kissed. Geez!” Despite my anger, I started wondering what it would be like… But no, I didn’t want to ruin Madeline’s dress. Or my hair.

  “You know what kills me, Sunflower?” His voice softened from sexually aggressive to a sensitive sigh.

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t even kiss you because I don’t want to mess up your makeup.” He said it with such warmth and such sincerity, that’s exactly what I wanted him to do right then and there. I was dying to taste his lips. But he was right. Maybe later.

  He stroked my neck again.

  I shivered, “Wes, if you make me so wet I soak through this dress, not only will I kill you, but I guarantee Madeline will kill you too.”

  “A price I would happily pay. But perhaps not tonight.” He reluctantly put his arm back in his lap. “But if for some reason your panties do get too wet to wear, take them off and give them to me. I’ll be glad to hold onto them for you.”

  “Will I get them back at the end of the night?”

  “Mmmmm… no.” He grinned.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, “You know Wes, you pretend you have manners, but you really don’t.”

  “And you love it.” A smug smile stretched across his perfect teeth.

  “Where are we going?” I looked out the window. “Somewhere in Hollywood?”

  “Hollywood and Highland, to be exact.”

  A few minutes later, the limo slowed to a stop in the middle of the street. I couldn’t see what lay ahead because the privacy screen was up. “Are we stuck in traffic?”

  “Probably.”

  “Why is there traffic at three in the afternoon on a Sunday?”

  “There’s always traffic in LA.”

  “Not this much. And what time does this thing start, anyway?”

  “We don’t have to be there until four-thirty. We have time.”

  An hour later, we were still sitting in traffic, but we’d moved a fair distance. Outside the limo, people were crowded on the sidewalk ten deep. Hollywood and Highland often had thousands of people walking around to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Madame Tussauds Hollywood Wax Museum, Ripley’s Believe it Or Not, The Chinese Theatre, The Egyptian Theatre, and all that other touristy stuff. But these people were packed in like sardines and were watching us. And they were all cheering and shouting at the tops of their lungs.

  “What the heck is going on?” I asked. “It sounds like a riot outside.”

  “Good thing I’m with you,” Wes grinned.

  Our limo started moving again then suddenly stopped. Someone opened the back door and the afternoon sunlight poured in.

  The cheering crowd went wild and the sound was deafening.

  The guy who opened the door had a blond buzz cut and beefy shoulders, giving him something of a military look. He wasn’t Gavin, but like Gavin he wore a tuxedo. He also had a microphone in his ear that had a little coiled wire running down his neck and into his tuxedo jacket.

  Buzz Cut said, “Welcome to the Academy Awards.”

  “What?!” I blurted.

  Wes just smiled and nodded.

  Holy!

  Shit!

  Chapter 22

  Wes slid off his leather seat and stepped out of the limo. I tried to grab him so I could stab him to death and/or pull him back in the car and make Gavin drive us home, but Wes was too quick.

  Buzz Cut leaned into the car and offered me his hand.

  “I can handle that,” Wes said, shouldering Buzz Cut out of the way. He held his hand for me. “Shall we, Sunflower?”

  My jaw hung wide open and I hissed, “Wes! What! The! Fuck! You didn’t tell me we were going to the freaking Oscars!”

  He curled a suspicious grin. “Didn’t I?”

  “I think I would’ve remembered! I can’t go out there! It’s… the Oscars!” I was only slightly mortified that pretty much the whole world was about to see me walking down the red carpet on international television.

  He shrugged. “Now you know. But I did tell you I needed arm candy for tonight.”

  I laughed in his face. “No, Wes!” I was dying to walk the red carpet with Wes, but I was also not entirely sure this was a good idea. Chances were good that everyone I’d ever known would see me looking like not me. There would be a permanent record of me turning into a supermodel. I didn’t want the whole world knowing I’d magically swansformed into another freaking person. Then again, how would anyone ever find out? Maybe people would think I was my sister. Then either she’d have to make up lies about being here or I’d have to tell her I wasn’t me anymore!

  Maybe the safest thing would be to just sit right here in this limo and have Gavin drive me home. Wes could walk the red carpet alone.

  I hesitated a moment.

  “Something wrong?” Wes asked.

  Outside, people screamed. The excitement was contagious.

  Fuck it.

  I was going to the Oscars.

  I climbed out of the limo and the crowd cheered and waved their hands. Wes led me to a security checkpoint under a huge white tent. We waited in line behind Kevin Hart and his wife. She was so much taller than him in her heels. I couldn’t believe it was actually him. In front of the two of them stood all of U2: Bono, The Edge, and the other two guys. In front of them stood Matthew McConaughy, his wife, and his mom. Even more celebrities were in line ahead of them.

  Part of me wanted to fangirl and beg for everyone’s autograph and selfies. Another part of me flatly refused the idea and wanted desperately to play it cool like this was my normal. The celebrities were already acting that way, pretending they all knew each other. They sort of did. I mean, when Leonardo DiCaprio or Angelina Jolie walked up to U2, everybody basically knew everybody already. Or at the very least, knew of.

  When it was our turn at the security checkpoint, the beefy guys in tuxes didn’t immediately recognize Wes or me, but he didn’t seem worried. He gave his name to a woman who typed his name into an iPad. Wes’s photo popped up on the screen and she waved us in.

  Clinging to Wes’ elbow, I whispered, “How come they didn’t check me?”

  “Because the Academy knows me. Whoever I bring is fine with them.”

  “Oh.”

  We walked out of the security area and onto the red carpet proper. The crowd screamed even louder here than they had when I got out of the limo. The sound and this moment were overwhelming. On my right, bleachers were packed with screaming fans waving at all the celebrities. On my left was all the press behind white draped fencing. Life-sized golden Oscar statues were placed intermittently along the red carpet. Hundreds of celebrities strolled along it, the men wearing black tuxedos, the women wearing couture evening gowns.

  We walked right past Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Ben saw Wes and waved us over.

  I muttered in Wes’ ear, “Do you know Ben Affleck?”

  “Yeah. We should stop and talk with him and Matt for a minute.”

  “What?!” I gasped. I was barely keeping it together as it was and the thought of talking to Matt Damon and Ben Affleck made me want to faint dead away. But that didn’t stop Wes. The next thing I knew, I was shaking hands with Matt and Ben while pretending I wasn’t about to have a heart attack. I let Wes do all the talking because I couldn’t speak. A minute later, George Clooney and his wife walked up from behind and surprised all of us. Everyone laughed and said hello to each other like best friends, and Wes was one of them.

  Now I was really dying.

  Matt and Ben were busy talking to George so Wes pulled me away.

  As we drifted off, I giggled and whispered to Wes, “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  “Get used to it. It’s gonna be like this all night.”

  “Oh, wow.” I honestly wasn’t sure if I could take it all night.

  As we walked past the photographers, Wes encouraged me to keep smiling. My cheeks started to hurt after less than two minutes. I still couldn’t believe any of this was really happening.

  Halfw
ay down the red carpet, there was a platform where numerous famous actresses were going up the low steps to pose for pictures. Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Lawrence, Eva Longoria, Reese Witherspoon, Sandra Bullock.

  “I love your dress!” a woman said to my left.

  “Thanks, you too!” I turned and saw a beautiful young brunette smiling at me. I hadn’t even registered what she was wearing before I said it. It just seemed like the polite thing to do. I didn’t recognize her, but she seemed vaguely familiar, like I’d seen her on the cover of Cosmo or in some Netflix movie recently. There were so many new stars in Hollywood, I couldn’t keep track of them all. Considering she was here and dressed in a stunning sequined silver gown, she was probably up for an Academy Award or was one of the presenters. Or both.

  “You look great in red,” she said as she strolled past me and walked up to the platform stage where the other actresses had posed for the photographers. Flanked by life-sized golden Oscar statues, she struck a pose and the cameras flashed. When she was finished, she started waving at me. “Come on! Come up here!”

  “She’s talking to you,” Wes said in my ear.

  “No way.”

  A guy with a clipboard and a headset standing at the base of the platform saw the woman waving.

  She hollered to him, “She needs to come up here too!”

  Clipboard Guy looked between me and her before waving at me furiously, signaling me to come over.

  “What should I do?” I asked Wes.

  “Go up there and get your picture taken.”

  “I can’t!”

  Clipboard Guy walked up to me as I approached. “What’s your name?”

  “Chelsea Johnson?” I wasn’t even sure myself, my head was spinning so fast, but it had tumbled right out of my mouth.

  Clipboard Guy mumbled into his headset microphone, “Next up, Chelsea Johnson.” He put his hand over the microphone and asked me, “How do you spell your first name?”