As soon as the question leaves my lips, Payton is wide awake. Even in the shadowy murkiness of early morning, I can see the spark of alarm in her eyes. She springs up and turns on the bedside lamp. In the full light of day, I realize that she is more than alarmed, she is downright distraught. She shoots a questioning look in my direction. I hold up my hand, letting her know that I need to concentrate on the call.
“Yes, honey. Daddy is fine. I can’t believe you were sleeping,” Mom laughs.
I can’t believe you’re bothering me at this hour for no good reason. Snootily, I ask, “You do know that California is three hours behind Eastern Standard Time, right?”
“I’m sorry. We thought you would be up. Your father and I are just so excited! We wanted to call to congratulate you before he left for work!”
“Uh, what are you talking about?”
She harrumphs. “You honestly don’t know?”
“No, Mom, I don’t! What the hell is going on?”
“Kendall Ann Bettencourt! The language,” she warns, but in her second breath she twitters with enthusiasm. “Honey, you were nominated for an Elite Award!”
At first, the phrase doesn’t register like there’s earsplitting static or a raging beehive inside my head. My vision is hazy. I must have been sucked into some kind of time warp, or black hole or something, because nothing around me seems real. Every single object in the room has a foamy, cartoonish halo around its edges. Maybe I’m dead? Then I remember that I’ve got the phone to my ear. No, how could I be on the phone with my mother if I were dead? “Wait, Mom. What?”
“You were nominated for an Ellie! We just saw it on TV!”
This time the words reach my brain, but I can’t say anything in return. I’m not sure how long I sit in absolute silence before my mother’s shrieking wrestles me back to the land of the living. “Kendall, did you hear me?”
I nod my head, forgetting that she can’t see me through the phone. “Uh huh. Yes, I heard you. Thank you for letting me know. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“Okay. We love you! Congratulations again!”
I mumble a quick, “Love you too,” and let the phone slip out of my hands. It hits the bed and bounces back into my lap with a thump. I follow it the whole way with my eyes, and that’s when I realize Payton is soundlessly staring at me, anxious for me to speak.
“Is everything okay?” she asks. When her voice finally penetrates my skull, I crumble into a mess of tears. It’s the most idiotic thing to do, but I can’t help myself. “Kendall, you’re scaring me. Please, tell me what’s going on.” She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me in close to hold me tight as I cry. I’m sobbing so hard, I can barely breathe much less speak.
“Best Actress,” I simper.
“What?” She relaxes her grip and looks at me. There, I think. That twinkle in her eyes. She gets it. “Oh my god! You got the nomination?”
I press my temple to her shoulder and nod.
“Kendall! You were nominated for an Ellie!” She laughs a great big laugh. “Why are you crying? That is awesome!”
“I can’t.” I hiccup. “I can’t.”
She swooshes my bangs away from my eyes. “Shhh, sweetie. Calm down first.”
I draw in a mighty mouthful of air and settle myself before I speak. “I can’t believe it. I really cannot. It’s some kind of mistake.”
“It isn’t a mistake. The list of nominees must be so carefully chosen, there’s no way your name could have slipped in by accident. And it shouldn’t be so hard to believe. Haven’t people been telling you this would happen for months now?”
“Payton, I mostly don’t listen when people talk—especially media people, you know that.”
“Kendall Bettencourt, Elite Awards Nominee.” She wipes a tear from my cheek as she considers the phrase. “Doesn’t it sound fantastic?”
“I don’t know.” I sniffle. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it though, won’t I?”
She smiles. “Yes, you will. Don’t worry, you can handle it.”
“I love how you always manage to talk me down from a panic.”
“Of course I do.” She places her hands on the sides of my face. “And I’m so proud of you. You deserve this.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Obviously you do. This wouldn’t be happening if you didn’t deserve it.” She smirks and goes to kiss me. Our lips are just inches apart when my goddamn Blackberry rings again. I shoot a scornful look at the thing, release a peeved huff that lets Payton know I’d rather throw it off the balcony than answer it.
“Pick it up,” she says. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
“Okay.” I let it ring a few more times, choosing to ignore it in favor of watching Payton retreat to the bathroom.
“Hi, Lawrence,” I finally answer.
“Hi? Is that all you have to say to me? First, let me tell you that I don’t appreciate the way you took off last night without saying a word about it to me. I don’t need to know where you’re going or who with, but I do need to know that you’re leaving. Second, congratulations. You’re an Elite Awards Nominee.”
“Thank you, I know. I spent the last ten minutes crying about it.”
“Did James call you? Son of a bitch! I told him that I wanted to tell you.” He sounds like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum. It cracks me up.
“No, my mom called me. My parents saw the announcements on TV.”
“Oh. That’s okay, then. Anyway, I need you to lay low today. My phone has been ringing off the hook with media people begging for interviews, and I don’t want you answering any questions until you hit the Nomination Party Red Carpet. ”
My stomach does a slow, sickening somersault at the mention of the party. “Yeah, about the party. I’m not going with Gunner.”
“What?” His pitch drops a solid two octaves.
Crap. “I know it isn’t what we agreed on, but I asked Payton to come with me. I already talked to Gunner about it. He’s cool with it.”
“Kendall, is this your way of telling me you’re done with him? Sweetheart, I can’t keep switching out your escorts. Jumping from guy to guy isn’t going to help your image any.”
“No, I’m not saying ‘I’m done’ with him,” I reply, swallowing my budding frustration. “And I have no intention of jumping from guy to guy either. Please, can I just not have to seem cooler than I am tonight? I want to be myself for once, and that means I get to take whoever the hell I want to this stupid party.”
“All right. Bring Payton,” he forfeits. “By the way, I’m going to have to meet you at the Hilton instead of picking you up. I’ll be too busy setting up your interviews to get away.”
No skin off my ass. “Fine. I’ll meet you at the party,” I end the call with a grump.
“I can always tell when you’ve been on the phone with Lawrence. After you hang up, you look beyond stressed out,” Payton says as she saunters out of the bathroom in a towel. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. He was being exhausting, as usual, trying to tell me what to do. He instructed me to avoid the media, which means I’m basically under house arrest for the day.”
“I’m sorry he’s a perpetual jerk.” She slinks over to me and puts her hands on my hips. “But the house arrest thing could be fun if I play hooky.”
I wrap my arms around her neck and stand on my tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “You’re getting me wet.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I mean your hair. It’s dripping on me.” I press my finger to the tip of her nose. “Dirty mind… No, you’re not playing hooky. Hurry up and get dressed. I refuse to let you take over the job of being the ‘late one.’”
She throws on a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt and a pair of jeans and grabs her messenger bag from floor. “See you later,” she says before making a mad dash out the door.
❄ ❄ ❄
My phone continues to blow up throughout the day. Every person I’ve ever given my number to,
including those I haven’t spoken to in years, calls to congratulate me. It’s just beginning to get on my nerves by the time Payton gets home at five. “Hey, I’m home,” she calls from behind the couch.
“Have a good day?” I ask over my shoulder, before getting up to kiss her hello. The first thing I see when I turn around is a giant bouquet of flowers—a spray of electric blue orchids mixed in with hot pink stargazer lilies. The sight of the loveliest soul I’ve ever met holding a cascade of blossoms is too much beauty for my senses to handle. Tears blur my vision as I jump into her arms with so much force she’s barely able to keep from toppling over.
“I didn’t know buying you flowers would be hazardous to my health,” she mumbles through the series of quick kisses I plant on her lips.
“I’m sorry! Here you are, congratulating me all proper like, and I nearly kill you. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I forgive you. And you’re welcome.”
I take the flowers from her and search the kitchen cabinets for a vase.
“Have you been out at all today?” she asks at my back.
“I went for a swim earlier, but other than that, no. I’ve been a good girl, following orders.”
“Then it’s safe to assume you haven’t noticed any of the sweaty guys with cameras lurking around outside?”
“Damn. No, I haven’t. Did they bother you?”
“Not really. A few of them recognized me as your friend and asked about your reaction to being nominated. But I didn’t say anything, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” I am totally worried. Those disgusting leeches might try to use her to get to me. I don’t want to tell her that, though. So far, we’ve been pretty successful at avoiding any unpleasant run-ins with those unfeeling interlopers. Of course, that’s only because we’ve rarely been seen alone together in public. I really want to change the subject right now. “Did Gunner ever call you?”
“He sent me a series of extremely long texts. Let me tell you, that boy knows how to turn a phrase. I had no clue that there were fifty-two different ways to say ‘I’m sorry for being a turd.’”
“Is everything okay between you two now?”
“Yeah, we’re good. I told him that if he ever does anything like that again, I’ll take a cleaver to his balls and make apizza gain out of them.”
“That sounds mortifying.”
“I know,” she retorts. “Should we get dressed? It’s getting late.”
“Probably. The crew will be here soon to make us up.”
❄ ❄ ❄
My nerves decide to heave themselves into chaotic unrest just as we’re about to leave for the party. I don’t know why I’m so convinced that this whole evening is going to be a catastrophe, but the feeling takes over me as soon as the limo arrives to transport us to the Beverly Hilton. In the ten seconds it takes us to get from the lobby to the car, we have to shirk the annoying inquiries of roughly twenty paparazzi. I’m honestly too preoccupied with reminding myself not to clasp onto Payton’s hand to be bothered by the garish flashing of their cameras.
“You’re jumpy tonight. It’s weird,” she says as the limo departs. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“The massive number of rapid-fire interviews I’m slated for. Plus, I know once we arrive I’ll have to focus on everyone else in the room but you. I don’t want to leave you alone, but odds are I’ll have to.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can fend for myself. Don’t worry about the interviews either. Try to have fun and celebrate, all right? You’re one of the select few who have ever been nominated for the most prestigious award known to Hollywood.”
“It doesn’t help at all when you put it like that.”
“Nervousness looks cute on you,” she says as the car pulls to a stop in front of the hotel.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
We step out of the limo and are immediately drawn into a whirlwind of insanity. More members of the press than I have ever encountered at once are crowded around the red carpet. I haven’t felt this intimidated in the presence of the media since I first broke into the business. I can’t decipher which direction my name is being shouted from; there’s one colossal wall of sound surrounding me.
“I need to find Lawrence,” I bellow so Payton can hear me over the never-ending whir of voices.
“I think he found us,” she points to a man jockeying his way through the crowd. I’m not tall enough to see him clearly, so I’m forced to trust that her height has not betrayed her. Fortunately, she’s right, and I soon see Lawrence hustling up to us.
“This is wild, Lawrence!” I yell.
“I know. First thing’s first. Pictures on the red carpet.” He gestures to Payton. “You know how it goes by now, right? Big smiles and all that. After pictures, we head inside to the scheduled interviews. Payton, I’m sorry, but that means I’m going to have to steal Kendall from you for a while. I’ve arranged a booth for our party in the VIP section, so you’re more than welcome to hang out there or at the bar. Are we ready to do this, ladies?”
“I’m good to go,” Payton says.
I nod. Then, we’re off.
❄ ❄ ❄
The red carpet photo session is over quickly, and I’m whisked away to the conference area. I must go through thirty different journalists before realizing that I’ve been giving identical answers to approximately the same questions directed at me by entirely different people. “How does it feel to be an Elite Awards Nominee?”
Terrifying like my blockades have been overrun and I can no longer hope to avoid being conquered. “It’s an incredibly humbling honor.”
I sit through a few hundred more interviews until Lawrence lets me know that I’m done.
❄ ❄ ❄
Lawrence escorts me into the ballroom, and I instantly catch sight of her. She’s standing at the bar—drink in hand—conversing with a group of guys who are blatantly staring at her chest. She notices me coming toward her, and her eyes zero in on me. I smile, determined to keep my gaze trained on her until she looks away. Damn it. The longer I stare at her, the harder I have to fight to stave off the impulse to yell, “Payton Taylor, I am absolutely crazy about you!”
I turn to Lawrence. “Excuse me. I’m going over there,” I say and jostle my way through the ballroom. Without any regard for the fact that it may be a faux pas, I ignore the multitude of people who try to get me to stop and talk. The only person I give a damn about right now is Payton with her perfectly straight hair pulled back into a high ponytail and her barely made up, yet entirely spectacular face. She is decked out in that white satin floor-length dress and all of its low-cut, V-necked majesty. Payton. Thank God for her.
I reach out to her in what feels like slow-motion, take her by the hand, and pull her away from her conversation. She holds tightly to her wineglass as I lead her through the crowd, out a well-hidden back door and into a secluded alleyway.
She looks at me confused. “Are you okay?”
“I needed to do this,” I say and kiss her as though all the love I feel for her has flown through my veins and culminated in my lips. The wineglass slips from her hand. I hear it shatter against the pavement. Shards tinkle down around our feet. Still, I keep on kissing her.
“We are so gonna get caught,” she whispers into my lips.
“No, we aren’t,” I pull away. “Look around. There’s nobody here but us.”
“Except for the ton of people inside. But hey, I don’t care if you don’t.”
“Right now, I don’t,” I reply and move in to kiss her again.
She presses her palms to my shoulders, halting me. “You don’t care right now because there’s no one else around. But the second someone pops through that door or wanders down the alley, you’ll care. We’d better quit while we’re ahead.”
“I don’t want to quit while we’re ahead. I don’t want to quit ever.” I want to kiss you until the sun collides with the earth and chars us both into dun
es of ash.
She scrutinizes me, her face a mask of uncertainty. “Okay,” she repositions her hands from my shoulders to the nape of my neck. “What are you waiting for?” She grins. “Kiss me.”
And I do—for a very, very long time.
❄ ❄ ❄
I wake up a little after noon totally disoriented, head pulsing. I roll over to find a note on Payton’s side of the bed. It reads, “Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I didn’t want to wake you. I caught a cab back to the house so I can get ready for school. See you at home after class. –P.” A cab? What?
Then I remember exactly what happened last night. Our epic alleyway make-out session got a little carried away. We ended up sneaking back into the Hilton, but didn’t return to the ballroom. Instead, we checked into a suite and had a little party of our own, apparently involving two (now empty) bottles of champagne and lovemaking worthy of an Olympic event. I smile to myself. That explains the headache and why this whole room smells like sweat.
I reach for my cell phone and am horrified to realize that it’s turned off. I power the thing up. The voicemail notification pings: six new messages. The first five of them are from Lawrence, each one sounding more heated than the last. He left the fifth message about an hour ago: “Kendall, how many times have I told you to keep your goddamn phone on? We need to have a serious conversation. Come down to the office as soon as possible.” Oh, he is pissed. I continue on to the last message. It’s from my dad. “Hey Pumpkin, not sure if you’ve seen this morning’s Daily Post, but, you know what? Give me a ring later, and we’ll talk.”
Okay? I weigh my options. Call my dad back or call Lawrence back. Lawrence sounded much angrier than my dad did. I should let him know that it’s going to be a while before I can make it to his office anyway. I’ve got to go home, take a shower, and put on some normal clothes. I can’t very well show up in the gown I was wearing last night, can I? It’s decided. I distractedly dial Lawrence’s iPhone while foraging around on the floor for my dress.
“Where the hell have you been?” he says into the receiver without bothering to say hello.
“Sleeping,” I say gruffly. “Sorry, my phone died.”
The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 20