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

by Devon Hartford

  “C-H-E-L-S-E-A.”

  He repeated it into his microphone and ushered me toward the steps.

  I was too stunned to resist. I just went along with it. Going up the low steps, I was scared to death I was going to trip over my heels or the dress or both, but I made it and walked to the center of the stage and struck a wobbly pose. I wasn’t used to heels. Hundreds of cameras flashed, nearly blinding me. My heart was pounding and my head was too. I felt ready to die. A minute later, on the other side of the stage, another guy waved me down.

  Wes was waiting for me as I stepped onto the carpet.

  “Oh my God! I can’t believe this is happening!” I started laughing, I was so overcome with exhilaration. I was also hyperventilating and couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Relax, Sunflower. I’m right here.” Wes squeezed my hand in his.

  I was afraid to let go and squeezed back hard. I wasn’t sure if I could get through this without him right beside me.

  Finally, we made it down to the end of the red carpet where it turned to go up the grand staircase that led into the Dolby Theatre.

  Wes leaned into my ear, “Can you do one more thing for me?”

  “Sure,” I nodded vigorously.

  “I need to do a brief interview up on that platform. You just need to stand next to me.”

  “Okay, sure.” I wasn’t letting go of his hand, so I guess we were doing the interview.

  It took a few minutes while other celebrities were interviewed by the guy in a tux standing on the elevated stage, including Emma Stone and Chris Pine, a.k.a. Captain Kirk from the new Star Trek movies. He I really wanted to have sign an autograph. Because, Captain Kirk. Duh. But I didn’t have anything for him to sign, so I let it drop.

  Yet another guy in a tux with a headset led Wes and I up the steps to the interview platform. Interview Guy had a handheld microphone. He faced a video camera and said, “I am here tonight with the legendary Wesley Callaway and his beautiful date, Chelsea Johnson. As many of you know, Wesley’s grandmother, the late Helen Callaway, was a shining star during the Golden Age of Hollywood, winning numerous awards and making the Callaway family a permanent fixture in the ranks of Hollywood royalty to this day.”

  Legendary? Royalty? Wow, this was all news to me. But all those posters and headshots of Helen I’d seen at Wesley’s mansion said it all.

  “Chelsea, I have to ask,” Interview Guy said, “Who are you wearing tonight?” He held his microphone up to my face.

  “Oh, uh, the dress is Madeline Kettner and the jewelry is Abram Cohen.” I looked to Wes for confirmation that I was correct and he smiled proudly and winked, rubbing my back gently.

  “Well you look ravishing in red, Chelsea. Wesley, it’s been a few years since we’ve seen you walk the red carpet, but it’s so good to have you back.”

  “Thanks. It’s an honor to be here. And an honor to have Chelsea by my side. This is the first time I’ve walked the red carpet without my grandmother, but I know she would want me to be here tonight, and I know she’s smiling down on us right now.” He squeezed my hand and lifted it up so he could kiss it on camera. He smiled at me, his chocolate eyes liquid and shimmering in the bright lights.

  My heart melted right then and there. My knees also shook and threatened to buckle. I was literally about to faint, but Wes steadied me with a hand around my waist, pulling me against his side.

  I leaned against him, no longer on the verge of fainting. But I was truly swooning.

  Interview Guy said something else, but my head was spinning and the cheering crowd was so loud, I had no idea what it was.

  A moment later, Wes walked me down off the stage and through the giant gold curtain that led up the red-carpeted grand staircase into the Dolby Theatre.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  The awards ceremony was a blur.

  During it, we sat really close to the stage, maybe the tenth row. Apparently, being a Callaway got you special privileges with the Academy. Wes sat to my left and to my right sat Daniel Craig, a.k.a. the sexiest James Bond ever.

  Yeah, we talked.

  I acted like I didn’t know who he was, so I didn’t make a fool of myself. At one point during a commercial break (when the celebrities around us would inevitably chit chat), Wes asked in my ear if I realized I was talking to Daniel Craig. My hushed response was, “Shhh! Don’t tell him! He’s licensed to kill!” Wes chuckled at that.

  The ceremony was quite long, but I didn’t notice. I was too excited by it all to care. Everywhere I looked, the most famous movie stars and entertainers on the planet were busy being normal.

  It was fascinating.

  When everything finally finished, the horde of celebrities migrated out to the big white tent to wait for their limousines. We stood shoulder to shoulder with yet more stars while the fans at the edge of the barricades screamed for autographs. While waiting, I had a brief chat with Scarlett Johansson about how great the ceremony was before she got in her limo with her husband and drove off.

  Gavin arrived with our limo and drove us out onto the street to join the slow caravan of limos leaving the Dolby.

  “That was awesome!” I squealed inside the quiet car, doing a spastic happy dance while sitting down, kicking my dress train up in red billows.

  Wes chuckled, “So I take it you had fun?”

  I pinched my thumb and index finger close together, “Maybe this much?” I was giddy with excitement.

  “So, are you ready for the Vanity Fair after party, or should I take you home and tear this dress off?”

  I put my finger on my lips and looked up thoughtfully. “Hmmm, tough choice. Not! After party!” I laughed.

  Wes did too.

  The Vanity Fair party was only a few miles away at the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts. After getting out of the limo, we had to go through two security checkpoints and present an electronic keycard at each to get in.

  After security, we joined the line of celebrities strolling through the gauntlet of reporters. Behind us was a long wood wall with huge cutout letters spelling VANITY FAIR. In front was the press behind low velvet-covered fencing. The press called out to the more famous celebrities like Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift, getting them to stop and pose for photos and answer questions. Thousands of camera flashes popped off the entire time.

  Inside, the party proper was set in a trendy ballroom atmosphere. Dim but colorful mood lighting, dance music, comfy leather couches, bartenders behind a long bar pouring drinks, waiters in white jackets circulating through the crowd with trays of champagne.

  Celebrities galore clustered together, chatting about everything under the sun. I lost count of all the famous people I talked to that night. I’d never remember all of them. It was one thing to have a celebrity sighting in LA, which happened now and then, but that was usually one or two celebrities at most. Being crammed in a room with hundreds of them socializing was another thing entirely. It seemed like every famous entertainer ever was right here.

  If someone dropped a bomb on this building tonight, there wouldn’t be any new movies or TV shows coming out of Hollywood for years.

  Wes and I circulated for at least two hours. To my surprise, a bunch of different people told me how much they loved my dress and many said I’d be on the best dressed lists in the tabloids all week long. I couldn’t decide if that was fantastic or if having my photo spread far and wide was the worst thing ever. I didn’t have time to think about it because the party never stopped.

  At one point, while we chatted with Conan O’Brien and his wife Liza, Chris Evans, a.k.a. Captain America, brushed past me. He was ridiculously hot in person. He smiled and said hello.

  “Hi,” I tittered nervously, barely able to speak.

  Wes noticed immediately and leaned past Conan and said to Chris, “She’s my date, Chris. And she hates Captain America.”

  “No I don’t!” I laughed. “I love the Avengers movies! And Captain America!”

  “Okay, fine,” Wes chuck
led, “but no flirting with America’s first patriot.” He winked at me before going back to talking to Conan and his wife.

  After introducing ourselves, Chris and I kept it casual. Our conversation revolved around tonight’s awards ceremony and the Avengers movies. I allowed myself to slightly fan girl while he told me some on set stories about working with Joss Whedon and Robert Downey Jr.

  When Chris wandered off to talk to Scarlett Johansson, Wes put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, “Wanna step outside for some fresh air?”

  “Sure,” I smiled.

  Wes led me out to the smoking patio and found a quiet corner away from the smokers and music and conversation.

  “Are you still having fun?” Wes asked, holding a full champagne glass in his hand.

  “I think fun is too small a word. Hey, can I have your champagne? I forgot to drink anything.”

  He took a sip before handing me the glass.

  I considered turning the glass so I sipped from the same place he had, but I didn’t want to be too obvious. “Would it bother you if I went out on a date with Captain America?”

  Wes smiled while frowning. “Do you mean Chris Evans the person or Captain America the character?”

  “Do you have a preference?” I asked coyly.

  “Yeah. I prefer you only go out with me.”

  “So possessive,” I said theatrically. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”

  He took the champagne glass from my hand and set it on a low table. “Why do you think I took you out here?”

  Our eyes flicked back and forth.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, Sunflower.”

  “You too,” I whispered. Swallowed hard. He could kiss me any time. He was so damn handsome, I didn’t care what he did next.

  He placed his hand firmly on my ass and pulled me into his hips. The straining bulge in his slacks pressed against my bare skin in the deep V neckline. The only thing between him and me was his tuxedo. As pleasure swirled in my breasts, my nipples hardened and poked through the thin material of my dress.

  He hadn’t even kissed me yet, but I was 90% sure I would let him fuck me if he tried. But I wasn’t going to start this thrill ride.

  He would have to do it.

  He leaned down and our lips touched, igniting a fire within both of us. He wasn’t savage, but he was forceful, rhythmic, hypnotic. His tongue was slow yet powerful. His other hand squeezed my ass and I pressed my stomach even harder into his erect cock, grinding against his tuxedo pants. It strained and pulsed against my skin. This was the most sensuous, sexual kiss I’d ever had. I couldn’t pin it down, but it drove me wild. A slow burn.

  Long, hard, intense, overwhelming.

  We kissed for a really long time, grinding against each other like we were trying to fuck with our clothes on.

  I couldn’t get enough of this man.

  He couldn’t get enough of me.

  But I was ready to give him everything. As long as he kept kissing me like this, he could kiss me forever…

  “You gonna come up for air, Callaway?” Some guy hollered to our right in a brassy voice, followed by several other men chuckling.

  Barely breaking our kiss, Wes and I both glanced over and saw Chris Rock, Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen, and James Franco. The group of them clapped casually and cheered. It seemed like they knew Wes too.

  Stunned, I buried my face in Wes’ chest and giggled. “Seriously,” I whispered, “Do you know everyone in Hollywood?”

  “I grew up in this business,” he muttered and kissed the top of my head. “This is just how it is.” To the group he said, “Take a hike, boys. Me and my lady are having a moment.”

  They laughed and left.

  Could this night get any more surreal?

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  By the time midnight rolled around, I was convinced that my Cinderella prediction would come true and all of the glamour would disappear in a magic poof, and I’d go back to being plain Jane Johnson, the little nerd girl. Only instead of my carriage turning into a pumpkin, it would just be me that turned into a pumpkin. Either way, I would make a hasty escape.

  But that didn’t happen.

  I remained the gorgeous supermodel version of myself well past midnight.

  As the party wound down, Wes led me out of the building to Santa Monica Boulevard. Random celebrities chatted near the In-N-Out Burger stand on the sidewalk, eating Double-Doubles and fresh cut French fries. At this point, I’d seen so many famous people, I wasn’t even noticing them anymore.

  “Want a burger?” Wes asked.

  “I’m good.” I hadn’t eaten in hours and my stomach was knotted with hunger, but I didn’t want to eat in Madeline’s gown and risk dripping melted cheese or grilled onions on it.

  Wes peered into my eyes.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your eyes. I swear I’ve seen eyes exactly like yours before. But I can’t think of where.”

  “Emerald with flecks of gold. Truly radiant.” I was repeating his words from the day we’d met at his mansion when I was just plain Jane.

  “How do you know that?”

  Without thinking, I blurted, “Because my sister told me.”

  “Who’s your sister? Do I know her?”

  “Does the name Jane ring a bell?”

  “Jane? Why do I know that name?”

  “Imagine big glasses.”

  His eyes widened. “No way. You mean that cute girl who barged into my grandmother’s mansion during the estate sale?”

  Wow. He just called me cute. Not supermodel me. Regular me. Jane me.

  “Yeah,” I said, all choked up. “She told me all about meeting you.” I wanted to ask why he hadn’t asked me out then, but I didn’t want to burst my bubble just yet.

  “I knew I’d seen your eyes before.” He searched mine again, his flicking back and forth. “I swear, your eyes are exactly the same as your sisters.”

  Because I am my sister. When I’d woken up beautiful, the only thing about me that hadn’t changed was my eyes. “Yeah,” I chuckled, “they’re pretty similar.”

  “Like you could be twins.” He couldn’t possibly mean that. Supermodel me looked nothing like regular me. He just meant we had the same eyes, not the same everything else. “Do twins have the same eyes?” he mused. “Or are they just similar?”

  “I don’t really know. Anyway, yeah, Jane is my sister.” I had no idea why I’d said that. Maybe my unconscious had done it. Maybe deep down I wanted Wes to like plain Jane, not supermodel Jane. Would that be so crazy a thing?

  Wes wrapped his arm around my shoulder affectionately. “I really liked your sister. And how strange is it that I bumped into you at the Promenade?”

  “Pretty strange,” I chuckled, not sure if I’d just made everything worse by lying to him.

  “You know what? Now that I think about it, your eyes are why I stopped to watch you yesterday. I kept thinking how familiar they looked, but it wasn’t adding up in my head.”

  “Makes sense,” I sighed.

  “Well, I can’t wait to see your sister again. I really liked her.”

  I wanted to ask, Liked her liked her, or just liked her?

  But I didn’t.

  “Right now,” Wes continued, “we need to get you out of this dress.” His eyes darkened with hunger.

  “Um, ok?” I swallowed my excitement along with a hint of sweet uncertainty.

  “Picture me peeling these spaghetti straps off one by one,” he hooked his finger through one, “and this dress cascading down your breasts like the sexiest waterfall in the history of the world.”

  “Here?” I coughed. We were outside, but there were at least a dozen people standing around in the bright lights of the In-N-Out stand.

  “Not here. I’m not sharing you with anyone.” He still had his finger in my spaghetti strap. “This dress will pool at your feet and you’ll be standing in front of me naked, the most beautiful woman in all of creation. Venus ste
pping out of her half shell has nothing on you, Sunflower. You know what I’m going to do then?”

  “Will it involve your dick?” I quipped, trying to keep my head while resisting the urge to grab his… head.

  “That’s up to you. But if you give me the word, I will fill your hot wet pussy with my cock until you come a hundred times.”

  “A hundred?” I said doubtfully, swallowing hard.

  “Two hundred,” he smirked confidently. “After that, I will come inside you until I’m drained. Ideally, this night will end with both of us spent and you drenched.”

  I forced a smirk, trying to hide my total arousal. “Ummm, tempting?” I broke into giggles.

  “Just give me the word, Sunflower, and I’ll make you mine.”

  As turned on as I was, I wasn’t thinking about how long it would be until Wes got me out of this dress. I was thinking about how long it would be until I was out of this supermodel body, because it wasn’t mine. It was reasonable to assume it wouldn’t last and I could go back to normal at any time. The pressing question was, how long would it take before I returned to normal?

  A year?

  A month?

  A week?

  A day?

  An hour from now while I was having sex with Wes?

  I had no way of knowing.

  I wish I did, because the last thing I wanted to find out was what Wes would do if I suddenly changed into plain Jane while he was inside me. How would he react?

  The idea made me want to cry.

  It wouldn’t be good, I knew that much.

  Chapter 23

  Although I decided not to have sex with Wes that night (it was easily one of the hardest decisions I’d ever made), he insisted on taking me home and walking me to my door. Since it was nearly four in the morning, I insisted he stay quiet. I had my heels off and walked barefoot along the balcony, holding the train of my dress in one hand, my shoes in the other. My phone and house key were in the shoes. Wes carried my folded street clothes and my purse.