A car is coming to pick you up at ten a.m. sharp. Get ready to be swept off your feet. Can’t wait to give you your surprise later.
Ex
I peeked inside the box and winced. In a way, it was kind of sweet that NOB had sent it to me. Even if it was a dense brown log. I double-checked the time in his note. Ten a.m.—was that right? We were supposed to be meeting tonight. At least I wasn’t expected in the office. With only five days to go until the deadline, Monty had holed up in the Ash where he had easy access to nerve-steadying alcohol and could fire regular messages at me asking where the ending was. I’d crossed my fingers and promised him it was all under control. And maybe it was. NOB’s enthusiasm certainly hadn’t waned.
The only thing he’d tell me about our date was that he had a surprise for me. Half jokingly, I’d asked if it was the script, and he’d replied with a wink. Now I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it really was the script. Maybe it was already finished. The date would be worth it for that.
I longed to ask my friends for their advice, except they didn’t know about tonight. No matter what happened, I would tell my friends everything. Just, afterward. They’d already let me know exactly what they thought about NOB’s “feelings” for me. They didn’t believe him. Which was completely understandable. I just wanted to approach the date with a clear head. For the past week I’d exhausted myself doing daily meet-cutes, determined not to let NOB distract me, if that was indeed his game, and none of them had led anywhere. As much as I had tried to caution myself against it—part of me was pinning my hopes on this date. I wasn’t ready to let my friends—with the very best of intentions—remind me how foolish this was. It wasn’t like I was in any danger of falling for NOB. But it would be foolish not to at least find out if he’d fallen for me . . .
Besides, I had enough judgment to contend with already. Last Sunday at Gil’s, I’d bought hot chocolates and brownies, hoping to get things back on track with Ben and Anette after NOB’s interruption the week before. I’d sat there for almost two hours, until the hot chocolates had gone cold. Ben and Anette never showed.
I heard the click of heels against linoleum.
“What on earth is that, my duck?” I moved so Jane could get to the drawer.
“It’s supposed to be a cake.”
“How utterly without joy. Speaking of which, you haven’t seen Belinda, have you?” Belinda was Jane’s Ourgasm 3000™, a super-sleek vibrator that was apparently the best she’d ever had.
“Have you checked the dishwasher?”
She pulled a face. “It’s empty. I hope she turns up, I’ve missed her. Right. I’m off. Good luck tonight! I’m out, so you have the place completely to yourselves. I’ve even cleaned the swing.”
I shut the lid on the cake, my appetite suddenly waning. “Thanks, Jane, but it’s only the first date.”
“Exactly!”
RED: thanks for the cake
EZRA: I knew you’d love it. Just wait until your surprise. See you soon, Red X
* * *
I stood in the building the cab had dropped me off at, none the wiser about what to expect. Was this the date? I’d brought my dress with me, just in case. I wasn’t even sure where I was. There’d been no signage out front. Inside, every hard surface was white and glittered like diamonds, interspersed with cherry-red soft furnishings. It was like being inside a mouth in a toothpaste advert.
“Hi,” I said to the pristine twentysomething boy on the front desk. “I’m supposed to be meeting Ezra Chester, is he here?”
A man stepped out through an opening in the plush red curtain that hung behind the desk. Fifties, tanned, bald, dressed fully in black from loafers to black-rimmed glasses. He looked me up and down, then clasped his hands.
“Ezra! My best client. You must be Evie,” he said in a soft Scottish burr. He whipped a hand out. “Gary. So lovely to meet you.”
I shook it, perplexed.
“You’ve no idea of the treats we have in store for you.”
“I really don’t,” I told him.
Gary gave me a once-over. “Come on, let’s get you out of that coat.” My beloved duffel coat didn’t deserve that tone. It was snatched off me before I could protest, and I was wrapped in a brilliant white gown.
“Where’s Ezra?”
“He will be here to collect you at five p.m. sharp.”
“But that’s seven hours away!”
“I know, it’s not much time, but somehow we’ll have to fit it all in.”
“Fit all what in?” I asked.
“Why, Evie.” Gary pulled a cord to draw back the curtain, revealing the kind of salon that had clients, not customers. “Your makeover, of course.”
* * *
He’d booked a makeover for me? That was presumptuous, hugely insulting, and so . . . NOB. My fingers twitched, my first thought being to tell my friends. But of course I couldn’t. So I messaged him instead.
RED: is this my surprise?
EZRA: Doesn’t every great rom-com have a makeover montage?
But this was real life, and what I’d wanted was the script, not a makeover. Especially not one that lasted seven hours. Cosmetic surgery took less time. By the time Gary had returned with a trolley, I was fuming.
“Okay, you wee red-haired siren. Let’s take a look at you.”
“Actually, I’m just going to go. There’s been a huge misunderstanding.” I thought NOB might be a decent human being.
Gary rested an elbow on his hip. “Of course. This is one of the most exclusive salons in London, I’m absolutely incredible, and everything is paid for up front. Why wouldn’t you walk away from such an opportunity? Though aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious to see exactly what Ezra has lined up?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Let me see the list.” He handed me a brochure and I almost dropped it when I saw the prices.
“It’s just the ones that are circled.”
“Most of them are circled.”
Gary smiled. “Yes. Did I mention that he’d paid up front . . . ?”
A plan began to form.
“Can I have a pen?” Reluctantly, he handed me one and stood there tutting as I went through the list. “Nope. No way. Absolutely not. No wax. Olive oil hydrating wrap? You aren’t basting a turkey. Okay, that one’s fine.” I handed it back to him and when he saw what was left his face fell.
“Gary,” I told him, “you’re the best, aren’t you? Work with what you’ve got.”
He removed my hair elastic and shook my curls out. They sprawled over my shoulders in a formless mass. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d had them cut. Gary took a step back, then another, as if he were still too close to see them all. He clapped his hands for attention, raising his voice. “I need some backup!”
* * *
The first thing they wanted to do was dye my hair.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s going to look so natural you won’t even notice. We’re going to tame and enhance.”
“So my hair is both too much and not enough?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
I thought it over. Normally I wouldn’t even consider getting my hair colored, because in London that cost around the same amount as a small car. Plus, after years of merciless adolescent teasing, it had taken a lot of time and effort to achieve the love I now had for my red curls. And yet, this was supposed to be a makeover, and I wanted to make an impact, and it was free . . . I made Gary show me the exact shades he was using before I’d agree.
“Only seven more hours of this,” he said as he mixed the dye. “Lucky me.”
The thing about montages is they’re sped up. I had to sit through every bum-numbing minute. In the movie version, it was unlikely you’d see the half-hour phone call with my mum about my bridesmaid dress and the part where I ate a sandwich
.
* * *
“Now the makeup!” barked Gary, a mere four hours later, and a girl with a pixie cut and porcelain skin lugged a huge silver trolley over. He spent the next two hours creating a blank canvas of my face by obliterating every freckle. He worked all the way down to my shoulders, and when I strained I could see my skin was now a smooth creamy color. Then, artfully and with great care, he painted a new face over mine.
Another hour later, Gary wiped his brow. “Okay, we’re done.” His team gathered round to look, their expressions telling me nothing. Gary had covered the mirrors “For the big reveal.” He shooed them away. “Evie, darling,” Gary said, “I knew I could see a minx inside you, and, by God, I think we’ve coaxed her out. I believe you’re ready for the final touch.”
I was pushed through some heavy curtains into a changing room. On a cushioned seat was a large hexagonal box with a toffee-colored satin bow.
“What is this?” I called to Gary, who was hovering on the other side of the curtain.
“Just put it on!”
I tugged at the ribbon and removed the lid. Resting on layers of crisp cream tissue paper was a puddle of material such a dark shade of green, it was almost black. I stroked it. My fingernails were the exact same shade. The fabric was a cool whisper against my skin as I lifted the dress out of the box, the skirt pooling on the floor. Beneath it was a pair of black patent heels with red soles and silk bows at the ankles. There was also underwear. Extremely supportive underwear.
Suck it up, Evie. It will be worth it.
“I’m ready,” I called.
Gary instantly whisked the curtain aside. He did a double take when he saw me, hands fluttering to his mouth.
“There you are, you minx,” he said. “Now, stand right here and close your eyes.”
I let him maneuver me into position. “Three, two, one.”
I looked. He’d wheeled in a full-length mirror. The whole team had gathered in behind me, and a couple of other clients as well. For the first time in my life, no one would have been able to tell that I was blushing.
“Oh my God.”
Gary was close to tears.
“Do you like it?”
The girl who looked back at me was not Evie Summers. This Evie had been poured into a dress that flowed over every curve like smoke. Her sleek hair lay in a gleaming coil over one bared shoulder, the color a beautiful burnished red and gold. The exact shade teenaged me would have longed for. She had pale, almost translucent skin, huge sapphire eyes, and a dark crimson mouth. She was, I had to admit, beautiful.
She just wasn’t me.
“Thank you,” I said, in lieu of more adequate words.
Gary kissed the air next to each cheek.
“You look like a dream,” Gary said.
Yes, the one where the handsome prince tells the girl he’s fallen for her and then has her made into an entirely different person.
* * *
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find NOB had arrived in a limo.
“Wait,” he ordered from the backseat before I could get in. He took a moment to look at me. His mouth curved into a slow, satisfied smile. “Evie Summers, there you are,” he said.
“What do you think?” I did a twirl in my heels, feeling my right ankle threaten to give.
“Absolutely stunning,” he said. “It’s a whole new you, Red.”
I exhaled slowly, feeling my makeup-stiffened cheeks resist my smile. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” NOB said, pouring two glasses of champagne.
“I spent my entire life being a wallflower, and you’ve got me to bloom.”
He eyed me a little warily. “Glad you think so. Are you ever going to get in?”
“It’s just that it took this makeover for me to finally realize how beautiful I am.”
A few seconds passed.
“You aren’t really happy, are you?”
“You think? Of all the insulting, misogynistic, arrogant things to pull, Ezra!” I exploded. He almost dropped the glasses. “I’m only here to tell you, in person, that our date is off.”
“I wanted to give you something to write about!” he burst out. I stared at him in bewilderment. He shuffled closer to the door, looking at me in earnest. “For your meet-cute.”
“What meet-cute?”
“This one. Ours. Call it Two Weeks Notice. The Proposal. Whatever. I’m it.”
“You’ve been watching rom-coms?” Which one of us is Sandra Bullock? That wasn’t important.
“All the ones you recommended.”
I was about to respond when something dawned on me.
NOB was offering to help me fulfill the final stipulation of our deal. Exactly as I’d hoped.
“You do realize that if you’re my Mr. Happy Ending, you have to finish the script?”
His blue eyes were crystal clear and guileless. “I realize I’m offering to be the last meet-cute you’ll ever need.” He shuffled back to make room on the seat. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
I considered my options. Leave now, head held high, telling him he can forget the script. Or . . . I sighed, throwing my bulky satchel into the car first and inching the dress up over my knees so I could climb onto the heated leather.
“Relax,” NOB said, smiling again as he handed me a glass of champagne. The high shirt collar beneath his dark blue suit was almost priestlike. Never had a man looked less holy. “If you don’t like what I say next, I’ll take you straight home. The makeover was only step one of my surprise. I wanted to do something for you, the woman who got me to write a rom-com. It had to be something fitting.” Hope welled up inside me. Was it the script after all? “I thought, what could be more appropriate than a red-carpet premiere?”
“What?” I fluctuated between disappointment and excitement. I’d always wanted to go to a film premiere, but in all my time with Monty, he’d never let me. I also really wanted that script.
Ezra drained his champagne. “I knew you’d love it.”
“Is this my surprise?”
“It’s part of it.” I breathed out in relief. The script was still a possibility. “Look, I made a stupid mistake with the makeover, I get that. But please don’t give up on me just yet.” There was a note of urgency in his voice. For all the world, Ezra seemed completely sincere. “I need you to know,” he continued, “things are different. With you. I’m different.” Frustration and earnestness warred on his face. “Please believe that.”
“Ezra,” I said, “tell me you aren’t about to give me the ‘you’re special’ speech, because that’s straight out of the rom-com playbook and I won’t fall for it. Especially not from you.”
“Red,” he said smoothly. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”
Chapter 32
Hollywood Miss
EXT: THE RED CARPET, ODEON, LEICESTER SQUARE—WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 6 P.M.
EZRA holds his hand out for EVIE and pulls her from the car in one smooth motion. She stands beside him and he puts his arm around her waist. Security ushers them toward the red carpet, which is sectioned off from the public. EZRA whispers something in EVIE’s ear that makes her smile as he guides her toward the cameras. The look she gives him is cautious but thoughtful.
I blinked the flashes away so I could absorb as much of the scene as possible. The moment we stepped onto the red carpet, a wall of noise hit us. This was no small film. A vast poster hung down the Odeon’s frontage, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t read it. Huge glass jars with white church candles burning inside them lined the carpet. Crowds of photographers pressed in from all sides. I found myself unable to move, startled by another flash and the sheer volume of this many people in such a small space. Ezra—NOB—startled me by tucking a finger beneath my chin, making me look up.
“You are stunning,” h
e said. “Let them see that.”
I pulled away.
“I’m freezing.” My teeth chattered, partly through the cold, but also from nerves.
I startled when he slid his hand behind my back, posing for the cameras with an ease that spoke of years of practice. Ezra Chester has his arm around me.
How many times had he done this? There would have been the worldwide premieres for his film, of course, and that night when he’d won the Oscar, but the rest . . . he must have been with Monica, who’d have walked the carpet like she owned it. The flashes were so bright, I could barely see. Flash. “Ezra.” I badly wanted to keep moving, but he held us there for a few more seconds as he glanced behind us.
“You’re fine, Red.” When I tried to speak again, my throat tightened on his name. Flash. I stumbled in the stupid heels. What if my friends see these pictures? The thought hadn’t even occurred to me before I saw the crowds. Just how big was this film? Flash. I couldn’t do this. I didn’t belong here. You just don’t have what it takes.
“You’ve got this, Red.” NOB’s smile was easy and laid-back—for the cameras, I realized—but his eyes were firmly on me. “When it was my first time on the carpet, I felt exactly the same.”
“Really? You were nervous?”
“I was completely terrified. Do you trust me?”
Not even a little, I wanted to say. But NOB was holding his hand out to me, his blue eyes gentle. Tentatively, I took it. “Follow my lead. Look over there, now to your left, down, at me, back at them.” I did as he said, and my breathing eased. “Now at me, down again, and at me. Still at me. Only have eyes for me.” I swatted his arm. His smile widened. “Come on.”
This wasn’t about being seen. I had wanted to attend a premiere for as long as I could remember. I might never get another chance like this. You can do this. The tide of panic began to recede—and I had Ezra to thank for it.
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