Opportunity Knocks
Page 17
“Sir?” I knock on the glass partition separating the back from the driver’s section. When it starts to lower, I say, “Ms. Daniels left her purse. We need to go back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But in the crush of Manhattan traffic, in a stretch limo, it isn’t an easy feat. We circle the block, coming back around to the red carpet.
The driver assures me he’ll stay there while I go in. The front of the museum is swarmed with people, and the lights flashing as paparazzi photograph celebrities on the red carpet are blinding to everyone. There is pop music keeping the energy up and an announcer introducing people getting out of limos to the crowd of fans behind the barricades.
I catch the attention of someone with credentials around his neck. “Excuse me, Liz Daniels left her purse in the car. I need to get this to her.”
“Sorry, I can’t let you on the carpet.” I instantly decide not to trust this harried-looking kid with Liz Daniels’s cell phone. “You’ll have to go that way.” And he fades into the crowd after vaguely pointing toward the other side of the carpet, where the photographers and press are all busy talking to and taking pictures of the glamorous.
Following his suggestion, I slip behind the photographers and easily move along the working underbelly of the red carpet. It’s definitely a strange point of view. But I quickly spot Liz Daniels being interviewed up ahead, so I shuffle toward her.
It’s only when I get closer to Liz that I see Hillary P. is in the press line as well. A quite desperate-looking publicist is holding her back. I quickly turn away, hoping she didn’t see me, and keep inching my way closer through producers and sound engineers, trying to get to Liz’s position. I am grateful for the crews behind all the cameras blocking my progress from Hillary’s view, but I see her subtly jerk her arm away from the petite, agitated blonde, and she disappears from view.
Getting into Liz’s eye line, I hold up her purse to answer the confused look on her face. She interrupts her interview to gesture me forward. The Entertainment Tonight crew makes room for me to come to the edge of the red carpet.
“Oh, Alex. You are a lifesaver. Thank you!” Liz Daniels air-kisses both my cheeks. I respond appropriately, but am immediately distracted by the chance to reassess her hair and makeup under the lights.
“One second,” I say over my shoulder to the handsome reporter getting his mic ready to restart the interview. I pull the sponge out of the compact I’d stuffed in her purse and run it quickly under her eyes. After removing the smudge that had appeared in the few moments since she’d left me, I smoothly powder the center of her forehead and run my fingers through her hair, shaking out the curls to add some body to the short style. “Okay, you’re good.”
“My new makeup artist; she’s meticulous. I love it.” Liz laughs and reengages with the camera. Liz’s approval has me on cloud nine as I fade back behind the cameras and lights. With no urgency now, I decide to go with the flow to the end of the carpet rather than trying to go upstream. As I get to where the online celebrity news bloggers and podcasters are fighting to get time with their favorites, there’s an empty spot being trampled by the others that has NICK SLANTS written in bold computer font. I quickly look around, but he is nowhere to be seen. Not feeling sorry at all, I finally break free of the craziness and look for an exit.
A woman standing on the #HOMECOOKSUNITE sign grabs the arm of the webcam operator in front of me, and they take off. I’m starting to follow, hoping they’re headed toward an exit too, when I hear a familiar grating voice. I can tell instantly that Hillary’s close to the edge.
“Get the camera ready,” the slightly plump home cook whispers to her friend. “I’ll just ask for a picture, but be ready to go to video in case she gives me advice or says something amazing.”
I’m right behind them, but while I spend a second thinking of how to suggest that maybe this isn’t a good idea, her friend replies, “I’ll just record the whole thing. We can pull a still from it for your photo album.”
“Perfect.” And they round the corner as Hillary’s voice hits a pitch I know is bad news. Pressed up against a huge flag promoting the evening’s powerhouse performances, I am crushed up between a larger-than-life Justin Timberlake poster and the wall. I hold as still as possible, not wanting to be seen by Hillary. But then I can’t help but turn my head to watch through the blogger’s screen as she videos the fan approaching Hillary P.
She zooms in a bit, watching the screen instead of the live action. I think we both feel a bit removed from what’s happening. Hillary shoves her purse and coat at a young man next to her. There’s no mistaking her physicality; he stumbles a bit from the force of it hitting his chest. I remember him from set. Kevin had been just starting out as an intern to the producing team. Clearly he’s moved up in rank to Hillary’s latest victim.
“Don’t you ever interrupt me again,” she spits out, not paying attention to the fan whose excited smile quickly fades away as Hillary gets in Kevin’s face. She lashes out a string of curses belittling and humiliating him, clearly oblivious to her audience.
“Hillary, please wait. I was just trying to fix something on your dress. The hanger strap was showing. I knew you’d be upset when you saw it in pictures.” Poor kid. Damned either way.
“Well, you should’ve seen it before you embarrassed me in front of the reporters. And then you allowed Liz Daniels to get in front of me in the press line? Do you know how humiliating that is?”
Before she’s finished, my eyes focus on the little red dot blinking steadily on the camera’s viewfinder. The cheerful fan is now beet red but seems frozen in place. Hillary doesn’t let up on her prey. “I will destroy your entire life. You think you can fuck with me? Now go get me that interview with CNN or consider yourself fired.” She spins away from him only to stop, face-to-face with the two women who’d so enthusiastically sought out a fan picture.
On the camera screen, I can see her charming mask easily slide back into place. But the devastated face of Kevin as he darts off and the silent reproachful woman who saw it all unnerve Hillary.
“You were eavesdropping on a private conversation.” Without missing a beat, Hillary jumps into the no-defense-like-a-good-offense strategy.
“I was just hoping for a picture,” the woman says simply. “I got a pretty clear one.” And then both former fans turn and disappear back into the red carpet chaos. I stand still not a foot away from Hillary, hidden from her view by the Justin Timberlake poster. I have to hold my breath to prevent it from swaying. I can’t see her expression without the fan’s camera there, but I don’t need to. I realize all of a sudden the cramped quarters I am stuck in until Hillary leaves. I brace myself for the panic to start suffocating me. But it doesn’t. I will my shoulders to relax, and then the knots in my stomach. And they do. I am able to wait patiently until I’m sure she’s gone before coming around to see what’s happening: There is an entire cocktail party in full force on the steps up to the grand entrance.
I weave my way back through the crews of reporters who are interviewing big-name celebrities still filing down the red carpet. Back on the street packed with stretch limos and black Mercedes sedans, I take a deep breath only to realize I don’t really need one. The lights have the trees of Central Park lit up as the setting sun adds shades of pink and purple to the sky above the tall buildings.
Liz Daniels’s driver isn’t anywhere to be found. It’s impossible to figure out which car is which as I wind my way toward the maze of black sedans and limos. And then a familiar dark blond head steps out of a black Mercedes sedan right in front. Billy would stand out in any situation, but his casual Henley tee and dark jeans enhance the effect. It takes only a few steps for me to reach his side.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
His smile melts my insides. “That fan video of Hillary is going viral.”
“Really? That seems pretty quick…” I stop as Billy just smirks at me. “Did you link to it?” Billy’s millions of Twitter followers would de
finitely spread the word quickly.
“Not just me… a bunch of actors retweeted in support of that poor assistant she railed on. No one wants to be associated with someone who treats people like that.”
“Oh my God.” The party is loud and cheerful behind us, but my mind is stuck processing the implications of what happened. “How did you know I was here?”
“The video that poor fan posted of the Wrath of Hillary P. is short, but I recognized the venue.”
“Hillary will go mental because of this.”
“But there will be no one to listen. No way will the network or her publishers support her after that. And I’m sure her products will lose market value. She’s finished.” He runs his warm hand through the loose hair by my face and kisses me on the nose. “Anyway, I thought we might have a glass of champagne. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate Hillary self-destructing?” I ask as he escorts me into the back of his car and slips in beside me.
“Well, we should definitely make a toast to karma. But actually, I want to celebrate you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. It’s only been, what? A week? And already you’re back on the red carpet? Identity magazine Instagrammed a picture of you touching up Liz Daniels during one of her interviews.” I quickly pull out my phone and open up the app to see the image he’s talking about on the Identity timeline. The caption reads “An #everydayhero looking after our own @LizDanielsEIC—thanks, Alex!”
I can’t believe my eyes. “They tagged me!”
“You’re going to get tons of job offers from that. She looked sensational. You did a great job, Alex.”
“Thanks.” I look up at him. “I love it.” And he knows I mean a lot of things in that moment, because the kiss is a passionate, perfect representation of who Billy Fox is. I am swept away by it, by him, and yet I know my feet are firmly on the ground.
EPILOGUE
November
Flipping back through the last six months of my Instagram timeline is like looking through pictures in Travel + Leisure magazine. Well, maybe not a lot of leisure time, but still. I have seen some of the most exotic, beautiful places around the world, thanks in large part to my incredible career as a freelance makeup artist for Identity magazine, among other major publications.
The epic beaches I’ve seen are outshined only by the remote, out-of-the-way places I’ve escaped to with Billy when we both just need a break. To clarify, I don’t do his makeup.
“Which you know still annoys me,” he says as I laugh and playfully push him away.
“Stop reading over my shoulder.”
“How else will I know what you’re writing about me?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see. Like everyone else… Aargh!” My iPad falls onto the blanket Billy laid out on the grass below us. I’m grateful he knows his way around, because on my own, I don’t think I would ever be able to find my way out of this impossibly beautiful valley on the South Island of New Zealand.
He pulls me underneath him, careful to adjust our position so as not to disturb the plastic cups of local wine and the basket of cheese all laid out nearby.
“You did the last movie. Why won’t you work on this one?”
“I only did Lasting Dance because Bailey needed me to, and because you were just directing it.” I repeat what I’ve said at least ten times. “You know features aren’t really my thing.”
“Too much continuity?” he teases me. I hate all the organization and script breakdown work that comes with being key makeup on a film. Going with the feeling of the day is more my style, meaning photo shoots of models and actresses are just my speed.
“But you were so good at it. And you know you liked being on set with me. We had fun,” he says, smoothing his hands over parts of my body that remind me of how much fun we had. I can’t begin to express how proud I am of Billy, and what incredible talent he has. He’s in just as much demand as a director now as he is as an actor. It’s fun to watch him pore over scripts and to help him find passion projects to pursue.
“I’ll tell you what—find that indie you keep talking about. Some ultra-low-budget passion project you really believe in. I’ll sign on in a heartbeat.”
“Really? Why would that be different?”
“Because then it would be your girlfriend believing in you, supporting your dream,” I say simply. “Not just giving the paparazzi an opportunity to pass judgment every time I come out of your trailer.”
“What about my wife supporting my dreams? And me wanting to make all her dreams come true, too.” I look up at Billy, thrown off. He’s not laughing now. He’s got that look of pure concentration on his face, and it’s directed right into my eyes. I hadn’t noticed before, but he is holding something between us. I force myself to break our eye lock and look at the gorgeous diamond ring in his hand. I gasp deeply, air finally coming back into my lungs. And without really realizing it, I feel tears start to seep from my eyes.
“So?” he continues softly. “What do you say?”
“Yes!” I laugh and cry and kiss him all at the same time. “I say yes!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I really have to extend my appreciation to my incredible editor, Stacy Creamer. She challenged me and encouraged me on this project. She believed in me and pushed me to make the story better.
Matthew Elblonk, my fabulous lit agent who is such a great supporter and always has my back.
Carrie Simons, my publicist and friend. With Carrie, anything and everything is possible. She has the will and the way.
My outstanding team at UTA—Max Stubblefield, Jacob Fenton, and Ennis Kamcili—are always providing me with plenty of fodder for these tales. Barbara Rubin is a remarkably skilled lawyer and confidante. I’m lucky to have her look after me.
I could never have written about New York City without my friend Stephanie. Thanks for helping me bring it to life in this novel—and fact-checking for me! There are a lot of dear friends who make special appearances in this book—Deidre, Corina, Melissa, Kirsten, Kristian, you all are always in my heart and thoughts when I write.
I must thank all my amazing, loyal fans. You all have stuck with me throughout my career, and I so appreciate your daily tweets and posts of encouragement on social media.
My family has always been such an important part of my life. My two awesome brothers, my parents who set such a strong example for us kids of a strong work ethic, dedication, and always striving to be the best we can be.
My wonderful, supportive husband always has my back when I dive headlong into another project. My kids always get on board for my new novels. They write their own stories or poems next to me while I work. We trade off reading aloud what we’re working on. They inspire me to keep dreaming big.
ALSO BY ALISON SWEENEY
The Star Attraction: A Novel
Scared Scriptless: A Novel
All the Days of My Life (So Far)
The Mommy Diet
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CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
WELCOME
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO BY ALISON SWEENEY
NEWSLETTERS
COPYRIGHT
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2016 by Bookmark Entertainment Productions, Inc.
Cover design by Marlyn Dantes
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First Edition: April 2016
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-0-316-26160-9 (Trade paperback ed.); ISBN 978-1-4789-0898-2 (Audiobook downloadable ed.); ISBN 978-0-316-26159-3 (Ebook ed.)
Names: Sweeney, Alison, 1976– author.
Title: Opportunity knocks : a novel / Alison Sweeney.
Description: First edition. | New York ; Boston : Hachette Books, 2016.