“Every producer? I thought the Con was mostly for sci-fi and comic-based movies,” I said.
“It started that way, and that’s still the focus. But more and more, anything broader pop culture-related has a presence here.”
“Have you seen that doctor guy yet? Weren’t you all excited about him?”
His brow furrowed. “What doctor guy?”
“You know, that show you’re always watching in London. With the weird aliens and those trash cans that kill everything. Dr. Howl?”
Thomas closed his eyes, as if in pain. “Dr. Who, Lizzie. Good lord, that’s a British institution. It’s been on since 1963. You are not allowed to move to London if you don’t know who Dr. Who is.”
I cringed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re going to have the collected works on DVD waiting for me when I get home, aren’t you?”
“Yes. It’s only thirty-two seasons. You’ll get through it in no time.”
Before I could tell him that I most definitely would not be watching thirty-two seasons of British sci-fi, my phone rang. “It’s Ciara!” I said, not bothering to hide my excitement. We’d spent the last several weeks going back and forth on my manuscript. The last time we had talked, she had told me she was going to do a final read through before letting me know if she thought it was ready to send to publishers.
“Answer it!” He sounded nearly as excited as I was.
Grinning, I brought the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Lizzie, it’s Ciara.”
“Hi! How’s it going?”
“It’s going very well. How’s San Diego treating you?”
“It’s very nice. I can’t believe how warm and sunny it is.”
She chuckled. “Makes me wish the publishing capital of the world would move to the other coast. But I’m sure that’s not what you’re waiting to hear, is it?”
“Well, not exactly.”
I could tell she was smiling on the other end of the phone. “Then let’s get right to it. I think your book is in wonderful shape to start the submission process. In fact, I’ve been dropping some hints and mentioning the project to some colleagues of mine, and there’s already interest.”
“Really?” I squeaked, disbelieving.
“Really. I think it’s time we get you out here so you can start meeting with some publishers. We may very well have an auction on our hands.”
My mouth dropped open. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Thomas waving his hands and mouthing, “What? What?”
“Are you kidding?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that, Lizzie,” she assured me. “When do you think you can come to New York?”
My mind whirred through the responsibilities I had at home. “Is two weeks too late?”
“Two weeks is perfect. I’m going to start setting up meetings and making arrangements for your transportation and accommodations immediately.”
“I can’t…I mean…I’m a little overwhelmed! This is happening so fast.”
“You’ve put a lot of time and hard work into that book, Lizzie. Years’ worth. You deserve to have good things happen.”
“Wow… Thank you, Ciara.”
“Now, there are no guarantees in this business, of course, but I would be quite optimistic if I were you. I’ll have my assistant email you the flight information and hotel details when I have them. Enjoy your time in San Diego.”
I laughed. “Well, I think I’ll enjoy it much more now!”
When I finally hung up, Thomas was practically jumping up and down in front of me. “Well?” he cried. “What did she say?”
“She thinks the book is ready to start shopping. And she’s mentioned it to a few editors and she has interest. Already. She wants me to come out to New York to meet with publishers. She thinks it might go to auction.”
“Holy shit,” he muttered, staring at me. Suddenly his face broke into a huge smile, and he swung me up into the air and around in a circle. “Lizzie, that’s amazing!”
I laughed, the spinning motion matching what was happening inside my head. I couldn’t believe this was real. An agent was going to fly me to New York and set up meetings with publishers! This was my dream, my life-long dream, and it was happening.
“We have to celebrate,” Thomas said, finally releasing me.
“Your schedule is a little packed for celebrating,” I pointed out, not bothered by it in the least. Nothing could bring me down, not today.
“Well we are going to the Entertainment Now party tomorrow,” he said. “That’s a chance to get all dressed up and drink champagne, isn’t it?”
“Good point.” I didn’t mention that we would be spending most of the evening networking with executives in his industry. I knew he would drop it all to concentrate on me if I asked him to, but I had no desire to do so. We could celebrate for real when—if—my book actually sold.
There was a knock on the dressing room door and Thomas groaned. “That’s probably my call,” he said. “I can’t believe I have to leave you right now!”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “There are thousands of screaming fans out there waiting for you.” I gave him a soft kiss. “Besides, this will give me a chance to call everyone I know and squeal incessantly.”
He laughed, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Be proud when my book sells.”
There was a second knock, so I patted his face. “Go on, get out there. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
He gave me a last kiss before turning to the door and the fans that waited beyond it. I waited approximately three seconds after he left before I called Sofie, my mother, and Callie, in that order. Just as I predicted, there was plenty of squealing.
Chapter Thirteen
My second experience walking a red carpet as a star’s girlfriend was much easier than the first. When I had joined Thomas for the premiere of Darkness Falls in London, I had been more scared than I had ever been in my life. The mere prospect of having to dress up, of people possibly taking my picture, of being compared in any way to the actors and actresses that walked the red carpet with us had seemed unbearably daunting. It had taken the combined efforts of Callie and an entire team of makeup, hair, and fashion advisers to get me out of the apartment and into the car.
This time, however, I felt much more at ease. Which isn’t to say I was comfortable or without fear—I still got sweaty and shaky whenever I thought too much about the red carpet portion of the event. But the fear was much more manageable, in large part because the unknown wasn’t a factor. I knew what I was doing now—knew how I was supposed to look and what I was supposed to say when questioned. I knew what it felt like to stand there in front of a crowd of people all screaming my boyfriend’s name, trying to smile while they snapped our picture.
It also helped that Annie and her husband Nate would be there. Thomas’s Earth’s Ending co-star made it hard to dwell on my fear. She was so funny and down to earth—so completely and refreshingly normal. We met up with the couple for lunch in San Diego the afternoon of the party, and she spent much of the time giving me gossip on all the people we might see. She knew all the actors and actresses who had slept with producers to get ahead, everyone who’d had plastic surgery, and, the worst offense in her book, all the people who were rude to the crew.
“You know Brooklyn Parsons?” she asked, the French fry in her fingers paused midway between her plate and mouth.
I scrunched up my nose as she popped the fry in her mouth, racking my brain for the name. Finally, I shrugged. “I, uh, am not the best authority on celebrity,” I told her, slightly embarrassed. But she merely laughed, along with Thomas, who had been teasing me about taking Imogen’s celebrity class all week.
“Good for you. Don’t fall into the trap of worshiping these people, Lizzie. None of them deserves it.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder in Nate’s general direction. “That guy got totally infatuate
d with celebrity culture after I started doing movies. He gets all tongue-tied and star-struck.” She grinned at me wickedly and continued in her loudest stage whisper. “It’s embarrassing.”
Nate sighed in a way that told me he adored being teased like this. “Uh huh. That’s me, all right. An autograph-hungry celeb worshipper.”
“Anyhow,” Annie went on, ignoring him. “Brooklyn Parsons is this up-and-coming actress who wants everyone to forget that she got her start on some crappy reality show and take her seriously as an artist.” She followed this description up with a heavy roll of her eyes. “So if she’s all bitchy to you—and she will be, she always is—you can at least remember that she became famous by participating in a competition to become the next wife of a minor British lord.”
I laughed. “I’ll make a note of that.”
Annie popped another fry in her mouth. “People who refer to this stuff as ‘their art’ are best to be avoided at all costs, by the way.”
Thomas laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You have a point there. I call it the pretension test.”
She nodded at him, grinning. “I mean, I take my work seriously, and everything. But the louder you shout about your ‘art,’ the less likelihood there is that it’s actually art, you know what I’m saying?”
Conversation soon turned to talk of our wedding and the goings on in Michigan. Annie and Nate were eager to hear about news from home. They had been back briefly after shooting Earth’s End, but Annie was already involved in another project that required them to be on the coast. “It sucks,” she told me bluntly when I asked how she was coping. “Being away so much. I won’t even try to sugarcoat it.” She winked at Thomas. “Sorry, not trying to put her off or anything. But it’s the kind of thing someone needs to know before signing up for this life.”
He nodded, looking sad. “I don’t disagree.”
“I’ve had a taste,” I assured her. “I’ve already been living away from home for a good chunk of the past two years, and it’s hard sometimes.” I smiled over at Thomas. “But worth it. And I think it will be easier once we’re married.”
“Why?” Annie asked bluntly.
I shrugged a little. “Well, I think it will feel more natural for me to follow him around, you know? Less like a hanger-on once it’s official.”
I could feel Thomas tense behind me, knowing he hated that line of thought. “There will always be people that judge you for it, Lizzie,” Nate said, meeting my eyes. I realized it was probably even harder for him. Traditional gender expectations usually didn’t include the husband giving up work to follow his wife’s career and raise the kid, which I knew Nate had done after their son Finn was born. “You just have to get over it. You know what makes your family work. For us, it made sense for Finn and me to travel with Annie. That’s enough for me.” He winked. “Though I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice if some of the tabloid assholes got punched in the mouth for their insinuation spreading.”
I grinned in return. “I’m working on the getting over it part. I can write from anywhere, so why not travel with my husband?” I couldn’t help the little thrill that ran through me at the word. It seemed like no matter how long we were engaged, I still hadn’t learned to be blasé about the situation.
“That’s right,” Annie cried, reaching for my hand. “Thomas told me that you have meetings with publishers in New York later this month. God, I’m an asshole. I forgot to say congratulations, Lizzie!”
I blushed, struck momentarily by how surreal it felt to have a movie star congratulating me on something. Funny how I never felt that way about my interactions with Thomas. “Thank you.”
We talked about my book and the meetings in New York for a while longer, about the process of fine-tuning the manuscript and how embarrassing it had been to get back my first edits. “I have never felt like a more incompetent writer. The amount of red written on those pages made it look like the book had starred in a slasher flick.”
Eventually, we circled back around to the party that night. Annie had devoured half of Nate’s dessert after not ordering her own in anticipation of fitting into her dress. “See,” she told us around a mouthful of brownie sundae. “This is why I make a crappy Los Angelino. I just can’t diet.” I looked at her tall, willowy frame and struggled not to raise my eyebrows in disbelief. Annie sighed. “But my dress is pretty unforgiving.”
“She always does this,” Nate told us. “Complains about fitting into her dress, or about how horridly uncomfortable her shoes are, yet she continues to pick the tightest dresses and highest shoes she can find.”
“I love clothes,” she said simply. “I can’t help it.” She turned to me. “What’s your dress like? I loved what you wore when I met you at the Darkness premiere last year.”
“I used the same designer,” I told her. “Mainly because, you know, he’s the only designer I know.”
She laughed. “For the premiere next winter, I’ll send you a list of people who aren’t too insane to work with. Or insane price-wise, for that matter.”
We left the restaurant around one thirty so we could get back to the hotel to get ready for the event. Heidi’s people had booked a hairdresser and makeup artist to come right to the room to help me get ready. I thought it was a little bit of overkill just for a party, but Imogen assured me through text message that all the famous types would be doing the same thing. There’s going to be a ton of actresses there tonight, she wrote. You don’t want to stand out.
Of course that set off my nerves all over again. I wondered if I would ever really get used to hanging out with the celeb crowd. Somehow, I doubted it.
It was an hour before the party, and Thomas was going to head out early, both to give us more room to work and to meet his director for drinks downstairs. “You’d be amazed at how many movie deals are struck at the bar,” he told me, leaning in for a kiss. The makeup guy, Teagan, gasped in horror as my fiancé’s lips touched my recently made-up face. I rolled my eyes at Thomas, and he winked at me before stepping away.
“Go put your tux jacket on,” I urged him. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.”
Teagan and Marisa, the hairstylist, descended upon me after he was gone, fixing the invisible blemish Thomas had left in my foundation and doing their best to tame and curl my hair. In the end, they decided it was too warm to leave down, because San Diego was apparently in the middle of an infrequent humid spell. As someone used to the summer humidity of the Midwest, it felt perfectly fine to me, but they insisted. Instead, they piled the hair up on top of my head in a soft, almost messy style before helping me into my slinky black dress. It wasn’t like anything I had ever worn before. The top was designed to look like a bustier with delicate spaghetti straps. The bustier cut off at my natural waist and flared out into a little flippy skirt. It felt sexy without showing off a ton of skin, which I liked. When the team was finally satisfied with me, I grabbed my purse, thanked them, and left them to pack up their supplies while I went down to meet Thomas.
It was a little intimidating, entering the lobby on my own. Most of the hotel’s inhabitants were industry people there for the convention. The crowd in the lounge spilled out into the lobby, and dozens of gorgeous, elegant people milled around the space. I took a deep breath as I stepped into the milieu, keeping my eyes peeled for Thomas.
Instead, I found myself face to face with Lola Fischer. I could barely contain my desire to groan. I had imagined she was in San Diego somewhere—if there was a camera in the vicinity, Lola Fischer was sure to be there. Besides, the Darkness cast and director had a panel at the convention the following day. But I had managed not to see her up until that point, and hadn’t heard she was staying in this hotel.
“Lola,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice friendly. “I didn’t know you were at this hotel.”
“Lizzie, darling.” She took both my shoulders in her hands and made a big show of kissing my cheeks. “You look so lovely, dear.”
I numbly allowed myself to
go through the motions of air-kissing her back. I had long ago learned to never trust Lola Fischer, particularly when she was pretending to be nice. “So do you,” I said, to be polite, though lovely wasn’t exactly the word I would use to describe her. She was done up to the nines in a tight-fitting, short red dress. The fabric was cut so low in the back, I was surprised it could possibly manage to cover her butt. Her hair was sleek as ever, pulled back into a chignon so tight it must have hurt her face.
“It’s so nice to see you here,” she went on, her voice positively gushing.
“Yes, well, Thomas and I are staying in this hotel for the convention,” I said pointedly, hoping my intention was clear. I have every reason to be here—what’s your excuse?
“I was so glad when Mickey asked me to be his date—you do know Mickey, don’t you? Well, he was positively desperate for me to join him, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to rub elbows with the Hollywood crowd before the actual party. I’ve been in London for far too long.” She held out a perfectly toned honey-kissed arm. “I mean, look at how pasty I’m getting.”
“Mmmhmm,” I murmured, looking around for Thomas almost desperately. This was the woman who put me down every chance she got—who had once made a disparaging remark about my skin color, for God’s sake. There was only so much of her I could take and still be polite.
“Anyhow, dear. I heard about the wedding and I’m so pleased for you.”
“You did?” I asked, feeling the stirring of interest. Much as I had predicted, after I left London the rumors about our engagement died right down. I hadn’t heard from Thomas or Imogen that there was any renewing of interest in the subject.
Lovestruck Forever Page 14