Tonight’s event is the LA premiere of a quirky independent romantic comedy that Bennett/Peters is in charge of organizing—arranging the carpet, managing the press, providing publicists to handle talent, and corralling big stars to turn out for the screening to garner maximum media coverage. Think of it like party planning, but with a twist. Even if the movie itself is terrible, our job is to make the evening an Event, complete with a star-studded red carpet. And guess whose newest client is going to be on said red carpet? Billy specifically brought it up, indicating that he planned to attend. For a second I had thought he was asking me on a date. But before I embarrassed myself, he clarified that the director happens to be one of his good friends, and he wanted to show his support.
Striding toward the office elevators with purpose, I am fantasizing about what Billy will be wearing when I see him in a few hours, and I barely notice Tru rushing around the corner after me until she practically skids to a halt.
“I’m so glad… I caught you before you left,” she says, nearly out of breath. You would think I’d been running.
“What’s up?” I say, sort of wishing she hadn’t caught me. I’m not in the mood for any more problems. I hit the call button again.
“You just said you were going to walk Billy Fox down the red carpet at the premiere tonight, but I think you forgot about the meeting for Tribe of Hope’s fund-raiser. It’s been on your calendar for weeks.”
Crap. She’s right. Without a personal client attached to the film (and thus doing interviews), I hadn’t planned on working the indie’s premiere. The more junior agents would have it covered. But now that Billy’s going to be there, I’m determined to pitch in.
With Tru’s earnest face looking at me dead on, I feel my eyes darting from the elevator door to the hall where she came from. I can’t even meet her sincere stare. I mean, this is exactly the kind of thing she is supposed to catch. And Normal-Sophie would right this second be effusively thanking her for saving my hiney once again. But not this time. Normal-Sophie has left the building, and right now we’re dealing with Maniac-Sophie. But M-S is clever enough to disguise herself as N-S.
“Thanks so much, Tru. I’d totally forgotten. I’ll just get Billy set up on the press line, and then I’ll head straight over to that meeting.” Where Jacob may very well be. Sure I will. “Thank goodness you reminded me!” I add for good measure as she walks away satisfied. “See you tomorrow!” Maybe the final yell as the elevator doors slide closed is a bit over-the-top, but what the hell. Before the elevator reaches the lobby, the problems of the day are gone and I am already in the now familiar dreamworld where no one exists except me and Billy Fox.
There she goes again is all I can think, as I watch Priscilla ignoring clients to schmooze every executive on the red carpet. Not to say that socializing isn’t a crucial part of this industry. Because it definitely is. I just spent the last five minutes comparing life in Chicago versus LA with E! News’ Giuliana Rancic, in between celebrity arrivals, as I spied Billy mingling with the director twenty feet away. But seriously, if Priscilla can’t do her job, it shouldn’t matter how many people she knows. I say “shouldn’t” because, let’s face it, tons of people, in every industry in the world, only got their job because they are so-and-so’s son/cousin/wife/mistress.
But if “forced” to point fingers, I’ll say that Priscilla is clearly not helping any talent or executives walk the red carpet—God forbid, doing her job. Instead I watched her graciously chat up one of the movie’s producers, and now she is oozing charm all over a network executive. Our eyes meet briefly as she shifts position to block the sun’s glare. It’s still bright at 7 P.M. and the photographers are going mad with the perfect light to capture the actors strutting the red carpet. Priscilla lowers her perfectly manicured hand from her eyes and laughs at something Network Guy says.
My BlackBerry buzzes to notify me that Megan Keef has arrived. I reluctantly say good-bye to Billy, who lands a quick peck on my cheek before he heads inside the theater. With so many photographers still gawking at him, I appreciate that he was completely professional and didn’t give them anything gossip-worthy. The warmth of his hand on my shoulder disappears too quickly as I rush over to the will-call table to meet my soap star. With all the heady drama and forbidden romance, I feel somewhat like a soap heroine myself.
Halfway through the screening I know there’s no way I’m leaving to go to the Tribe of Hope committee meeting. It’s getting too late to make the drive across town—and frankly I’m enjoying myself. So I slip out of the dark theater and phone Tru from the lobby, asking if she’ll let them know I’m caught at work and regrettably unable to attend. To my surprise—and increasingly guilty conscience—Tru enthusiastically volunteers to go in my place. “Don’t worry, I take amazing notes,” she promises. There’s nothing I can do but thank her profusely and then return sheepishly to my seat.
After the movie, I find Billy and Megan in the crush and make sure they both are escorted to the after party, right across the street. Again, Billy allows me to play the cool professional, but just as we slip past the velvet ropes and cross the threshold into the club, he brushes his hand across my butt. Not really a slap, but definite contact. For an instant I think it’s an accident, until I see the adorably cocky grin on his face as he passes me to meet up with friends at the bar. He knows exactly what he is doing. And clearly enjoys every minute of torturing me.
Billy and I part ways once again, but somehow I find my eyes drifting around the crowds in an effort to spot him, and once twenty minutes or so pass, I assume he’s left. At one end of the room sushi chefs are meticulously preparing gorgeous rolls and sashimi, while across the space a rather loud Italian is offering three different styles of homemade pasta. A large, fully equipped bar is smack in the middle. While there are definitely lulls in the food station lines, the six bartenders I see mixing drinks and skirting the ice sculpture/martini spout are working nonstop.
I spend the next hour or so avoiding Priscilla and keeping Megan Keef company. I decide to ignore the handful of cocktail swizzle sticks I see jammed in her clutch. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. We chat at the bar for a while, share a few drinks, and neither of us can resist the incredibly decadent brownie bites and mini crème brûlée on Chinese soup spoons the servers later bring out on trays. I introduce her to some of my favorite colleagues at Bennett/Peters. Megan is totally down with just hanging out; she’s not always trying to mingle with other celebs. I swear, another martini and I’m going to unload the whole Billy/Jacob problem on her. Glancing over at her now, listening to Jeff vent about a situation with his meddling parents, she has this really compassionate look on her face. I bet she can keep a secret. Well, actually I know for a fact she’s pretty, ahem, discreet.
But as the evening wears on, the perfect opportunity never presents itself. Which, as I see her off at the valet, I realize is probably a good thing. I can’t be confiding my personal problems to a client. What the hell is the matter with me? Things are finally starting to feel back to normal at work. The day after my Nintendo meeting screwup I came in extra early, toting Elle’s one nostalgic carb indulgence—the best NY-style bagel with cream cheese I could find—and left it with the handwritten note “Sorry I was a schmuck. Never again.–Sophie.” Elle’s assistant, Lucas, said she smiled upon reading the apology and then took the peace offering into her office, wherein he later spotted its empty and meticulously cream cheese–free wrapping.
I should definitely get out of here before I blow it. I give my ticket to the valet and figure I’ll call it a night. My work is done. It’s better if I don’t see Billy again anyway.
But obviously my subconscious has summoning powers. Because I’m just thinking about him, and suddenly I feel a warm body at my back.
“Are you sneaking out?” he whispers in my ear conspiratorially. He leans into me a little, encouraging me to press my body up against him. Which feels way too good to stop, even though I know I should. I mean, we’re
right out in front of the party. Anyone could see us. Or maybe they can’t, since his back must be mostly blocking me. Except that I wouldn’t even attempt basic geometry right now.
“Yeah, it’s time for me to head home. I still have to work tomorrow. If I can dig out my desk.”
“Oh really.” He has such a sexy laugh. “I didn’t peg you as a pack rat.”
“I’m not!” I hastily rush to get any unattractive image from Hoarders out of his mind. “Since I took on Billy Fox as a client… I can’t help it.”
“I see. And how is this new bad habit my fault?” He is now inches from my body. A little shiver shoots up my spine.
“People keep sending me stuff for you. Like, there’s the gift bag from the event last week. All sorts of stuff gets dumped in my office for you. It needs to be sorted through and then I can…” I lose my train of thought as he puts his hands on either side of my waist, on the pretense of keeping me warm. But, at this point, I’m so hot I’m likely to spontaneously combust.
“When am I going to see you again?” His voice is a low whisper, and I can feel the vibrations course through me.
“Um… I don’t know.” There’s a clever answer.
“Really? Aren’t you in charge of my schedule, Ms. Publicist?” he asks straight-faced, but it’s clear he’s toying with me. He leans down, and I sense his lips getting very close to my left ear…
Just as my car pulls up.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or royally pissed off. But either way, I leap from Billy’s arms and head around to the door the valet is holding open for me.
Billy’s steps echo as he follows me. He hands the valet a folded bill and takes ahold of the door. I slip past him and ease into the front seat. Billy’s hand covers mine as we both reach for my seat belt. He pulls it confidently across my front and, after the telltale click, delivers a very gentle kiss on the mouth.
“Call me. When you know.” And then he’s gone.
Comfy on my sofa at last, I decide to waste a mindless hour on Facebook, catching up on others’ lives. The Internet is the perfect way to forget about tonight’s premiere and Billy’s parting words. But after smiling over Izzy’s recently posted shots of little Charlie chasing seagulls on the beach, I find myself Googling “Billy Fox” and clicking straight to Images. Rows and rows of his now-familiar face appear.
There’s a sharp knock at the door.
What the hell? It’s nearly ten-thirty.
Pulling a huge sweatshirt over my pj’s I look through the peephole.
It’s Jacob.
I wish I could say I had a feeling this was coming. Or some sort of omen that something was going to happen. But that would be a complete lie. I am totally blindsided to find his distorted face illuminated under the hallway light. More than anything, I want to sink down on the other side of the door and pretend not to be home. But the lights can be seen from the street; he knows I’m here. And he has a key. The knock was a courtesy. In the space of a few breaths I already feel nauseous.
I search for something normal to say as I unlock the door. Jacob stands in the doorway, an indecipherable look on his handsome face as his eyes search mine. What’s he waiting for?
“Hi.” I lean my weight onto my hand, which is locked in a death grip on the doorknob. But I feel I’ve achieved a relatively neutral tone.
“Hi.” He still hasn’t moved.
“Come in.” Whatever it is we’re about to say, I definitely don’t want all my neighbors to hear.
“It was nice to see Tru at the meeting—though not quite the same as having you there.” Jacob seems confident as ever as he paces past me into the living room. He doesn’t take off his jacket but goes right for the sofa and sits down. I follow and sit beside him as he leans forward with his arms braced on his knees. My eyes follow his absentminded glance at the Billy Fox gallery on the open laptop. There’s a sudden stab of regret. “Sorry. I had to work…,” I mumble, shutting the laptop and moving it to the side. Jacob is so focused he doesn’t appear to notice my flushed embarrassment.
“We need to talk, Sophie.” He looks directly at me, and I feel like he’s staring right through me.
“Okay.” Understand that I’m not playing some sort of control game here, making him talk first. I am just so scared shitless that I can’t form a complete thought. Jacob doesn’t jump right in to fill the awkward silence. We sit there not talking for what seems like forever but is probably less than a minute.
“Look, I’m not sure what’s going on lately,” he finally says. “There’s been this weird tension between us, and I’m not sure why.”
“How about the horrible things you said to me last week? Maybe that’s caused some of the ‘tension’ you’re feeling.” Flashback to Girls Junior Basketball—the best defense is a good offense.
“You know it isn’t just that. Sophie, I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I am concerned. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have been drinking a lot lately. And I think it’s affecting our relationship.”
“You make me sound like a freakin’ alcoholic. Jesus. I like to have a few drinks to unwind. Big deal. And, you know, just because I’ve had a couple doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me all condescending.” I can’t just sit here like this, so I get up and start pacing around the room.
“I don’t think you’re an alcoholic. Look, I just think there’s some stuff here that we’re not saying. We have to get it out. We have to talk about what’s really bothering us or we’re not going to be able to work through it.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I turn back on him. “If I don’t admit to having a problem, you’re going to break up with me?”
“That’s not what I said.” Jacob is still looking plaintively at me. His calm tone hasn’t changed once. Part of me wants to take his hand and reassure him that everything is all right. We are good together. But then anger and doubt creep back in.
“I heard what you said. You want to know what my problems are? I’ve got a problem with you being judgmental about me wanting a glass of wine at night. That’s my problem.” And I’m afraid that I’ve spent the last two years waiting for something that’s never going to happen. But of course I’m too afraid to actually say that.
“Okay, look. I’m sorry if you find me condescending when you drink. I didn’t realize I was doing it. But I really didn’t come here to talk to you about that or fight. We need to figure out what this distance is between us. Sometimes lately I get the feeling that you don’t want to be around me.”
I snort disgustedly and turn away from him. Leaning against the back of the sofa, I take a deep breath. Should I tell him about Billy? How ridiculous would that sound: I’m falling in love with a movie star. Am I “falling in love” with him? Or is it just a stupid phase and in a week I’ll be dying for Jacob to come back? Oh God, I am such an idiot.
I go with a half-truth.
“I want to be with you, Jacob. It’s not that. I’ve just been really busy at work. I have a million things on my plate right now, and I mean, your work gets crazy sometimes too; I would have thought you’d understand being swamped. I try to be understanding when you’re busy.”
I just want this conversation to end. I can’t tell him about Billy or my doubts and fears of our own stalled relationship; I realize that now. But I’m not just going to back down either.
“Okay, you’re busy. We’re both busy. But we’ve always made time for each other in the past. Look—Sophie. I’m laying it all out here. Tell me what’s going on. I want us to work through this.”
Silence again. I think of a hundred things to say, none of them right. And Jacob being so nice only makes me feel worse. But I can’t help myself.
“Please, Sophie. Just talk to me.” His intensity spurs me to fight back.
“Jacob. Listen to me! There is nothing to work through. Nothing to talk about.” I grip the back of the sofa as I stare into his hurt and concerned face. “I just need some space. That’s all. It’s no big
deal.”
“I’m sorry, Sophie. Our relationship was a big deal to me.” Same quiet, intense voice. He gets up and goes to the door. “Call me when you want to talk.” Since I’m not looking, it’s just the low click as it shuts behind him that tells me he’s gone.
Was.
I’ve been lying in bed in the dark for hours now. I look at the clock again. 2:13 A.M. Two minutes since the last time I looked. I can’t sleep. I keep replaying the conversation with Jacob over and over in my mind. What have I done? Did we break up? Do I want to break up with him?
I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
Elle calls me in first thing to review last night’s premiere. It’s a tad unusual protocol, but I’m not really focused on the subtleties of work right now. I keep replaying last night in my head. Is it really the end for Jacob and me? I keep waiting to feel panicked or sad, but mainly I feel numb. I don’t know what’s been happening to me lately. I used to be able to separate work from personal life. Of course, until now, I’ve never really had a lot of personal “problems” per se.
So I find myself sitting in Elle’s comfortable office, reciting how the evening went as if I were some junior publicist on my first red carpet. I tell her whom I walked down the press line, what coverage they got, and then we gossip a little about the after party.
“Anything else I should know about?” Elle asks as the chat is winding down.
“Um… nope. Everything went well.”
She nods and then turns back to her computer, my signal that the meeting is over.
As I walk back down to my office, I dismiss the nagging question mark in the back of my mind as being overly sensitive. Elle’s chat didn’t mean anything out of the ordinary. The premiere did go well. She probably just wanted an excuse to catch up since everything has been so hectic lately. Except I am pretty high up on the totem pole around here to be doing Tuesday morning quarterbacking for a little indie film premiere. Unless it’s because I was a little off my game at the Nintendo meeting. When did I start getting paranoid?
The Star Attraction Page 11