“She told him he should resign, but he won’t,” Rainer is saying to Sandy. They’re discussing Greg.
I look out the window at the approaching theater. The fans are gathered outside—throngs of them. Lights and noise and somewhere—Jordan.
Alexis and I went to Georgina’s beach house a few days ago. Georgina wasn’t there; she’s in Atlanta filming. We hung by the pool and took a walk on the beach. I told her a little about Rainer, and she listened. I was surprised, unnerved, actually, at how easy it was to talk to her. I’m still not sure how much I can trust her, but she also happens to be my only friend here. As much as my daily phone calls with Cassandra keep me sane, there are things that no matter how hard I try to explain, she just can’t understand.
“Just remember you’re gonna get a lot of camera time. So don’t mess with your dress, and make sure to keep your face neutral.”
It takes me a moment to realize Sandy is talking to me. I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I got it.”
“I know,” she says. “You’re my old pro now.” She winks at me.
I know the camera will cut away to us constantly. People are watching to see our reactions—to the awards, to each other. I’ve seen the videos they have on YouTube of us—compiled footage from press tour and the movie—trying to make some kind of romantic narrative set to a medley of Coldplay songs. Some of them are kind of sweet. Like my own personal home video or something.
It is, of course, tradition that the people who win Best Kiss kiss onstage. We’ve already rehearsed a Best Kiss bit. Rainer is going to grab me and lift me up, and in the moment before our lips touch he’s going to carry me offstage. Keep them wanting more, our fun motto.
My cell phone rings, and I take my hand out of Rainer’s. Alexis’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” I say. “We’re just a few blocks away. Are you there?”
I’m met with a rattling cough. “Darling,” she croaks back.
“Jesus. You sound like death. Are you okay?”
Her voice is thick and weak through the phone. “I have the plague. I’m not going to make it tonight.”
I feel my nerves tighten up. Alexis had promised to walk the carpet next to me. She was supposed to sit with the three of us.
“I’m sorry,” she continues. “But you’ve got your boyfriend.” More coughing. The phone goes silent, and I wait to hear her voice.
“Alexis?”
“Sorry. Yes. I wish I could be there. I actually like these things. But it’s just not possible. Green phlegm is not ideal for my reputation.”
I shake my head. “Of course. Rest up. We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she says, then hangs up in a flurry of nasal noises.
“Everything okay?” Rainer is looking from my face to the phone.
“Alexis is sick. She’s not going to come,” I say, slipping my hand back into his.
Tawny puts her palm over the voice pad of her cell. “Jordan,” she mouths to us.
“They weren’t going to walk together, anyway,” Rainer says to her. Then, to me: “Were they?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. Jordan isn’t really in the habit of telling me that stuff.”
Rainer clears his throat. “It didn’t come up at lunch?” He looks at me when he says it, and I feel my hand turn to lead in his.
I exhale slowly. “You mean after rehearsal?” I quickly remember that I told Rainer Jordan dropped me off. He didn’t seem to care. It’s not like anything happened.
But Rainer isn’t accusing me of anything now. He suspected something was going on with us at the end of filming, but once Jordan told him the truth about his father, he let it all go. And to Rainer’s credit, he hasn’t brought up my relationship with Jordan since. Sometimes I don’t understand how he can be so big about the whole thing.
He rolls his neck. “I thought maybe he opened up. He’s been pretty tight-lipped about her.”
“Trust me,” I say. “He’s not telling me anything he’s not telling you.”
Our limo begins to slow, and the familiar sensation of nerves, excitement, and panic blooms in my stomach. It’s amazing to meet fans, to feel their love and passion for Locked. It’s just scary to see so many of them at once. Rainer lets go of my hand. “You ready?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, trying on my best and brightest smile.
“Can you guys please make an effort to not look so fucking miserable?” Tawny asks from the other end of the limo.
We both look at her. Tawny is a pest, but she’s usually more annoyingly chirpy than lecturing. And she doesn’t swear. I’m taken aback.
“You look like you’ve been shot up with multiple infectious diseases,” she finishes.
Rainer looks at me. “I think you look hot,” he says. “But I’m not a professional.”
Tawny chucks her phone on the seat. “I think it’s time you two engaged in some PDA.”
Sandy crosses her arms. She raps on the driver’s window. “We need a minute,” she says. To Tawny: “What are you suggesting?”
Tawny leans forward. She’s so thin, I can see the veins working overtime in her neck. “It’s been a rough few weeks. Rainer’s stock is down. This thing with your father has not been great for your image.”
Rainer’s jaw tightens. “My image? Sorry I didn’t consult with you before my dad tried to fuck my ex.”
Sandy and I look at each other, like whoa, but Tawny doesn’t bite. “But you should have consulted me before you outed him in front of one of the world’s nosiest reporters.”
I hold up my hands. “Okay,” I say. “What do you want from us?”
“Show the world you’re united. That you’re standing by your man. He needs it.”
Rainer shakes his head. “Jesus Christ,” he says.
I look at Rainer. “Do you—”
“I could kill him,” he says.
“I know. But hey, he’s not here. It’s just us. What do you want to do?” I lay my fingertips on his shoulder.
His face softens. He leans over and touches my cheek. “Wanna hold my hand?”
I take his fingers and twine them through mine. “Always,” I say.
Sandy clears her throat. “Save it for the cameras,” she says. “Get out there.”
They always go nuts when we step out of the car, but the combined impact of being together, and holding hands, sends them over the edge. We’re giving them what they want, and our fans totally freak the hell out. The screams feel like they’re going to blow out my eardrums. But it’s so much better with Rainer next to me. I’m feeling confident, with his hand in mine. More in my element than I have been in a while. I sign autographs. I pose for pictures. A few girls start to cry, and Rainer and I give them a group hug.
We make our way down the carpet. I spot Josh Horwart, a journalist for MTV who interviewed us all in London. I really liked him, and I know a lot of celebrities have become friendly with him. He’s just chill. Very few journalists treat you like you’re a normal human being, not a bug in a jar—and he’s definitely one of them.
“Hey, guys,” he says when we reach him. “How’s it going?”
“Hey, man,” Rainer says. “Pretty good.”
Josh doesn’t ask about Rainer’s father or our relationship. Instead he asks us if we’re excited to be repping Locked at our first awards show.
“You forget the MTV Movie Award I won for Backsplash,” Rainer says.
“Oh right. What was that? Adolescent Hottie?”
I laugh. “He’s up for the same thing tonight.”
Rainer slips an arm around me. The crowds shriek. “She’s just bitter she didn’t get nominated.”
I mock-glare at him, and we say good-bye to Josh.
We’re in a groove. The rest of the carpet goes about the same.
E! Online: What was your pre–awards show prep like today?
Rainer: Basketball and a shower.
Me: My look took a little more effort.
Raine
r: Don’t believe her. She wakes up this way.
I nudge him; he kisses my cheek.
Once we’re in our seats—dead center, front row—Rainer’s light dims considerably. I’ve seen it happen before. He’s so high-wattage on carpets—all laughs and smiles—that he burns out once it’s over. He immediately orders a Jack and Diet. The waiter asks if they can bring me anything. I’m about to shake my head when I say champagne. I expect them to turn me down. I mean, they know I’m not twenty-one (there have been endless tabloid stories about the age gap between Rainer and me), but they bring it to me immediately.
My head is feeling fuzzy by the time the show starts. Between the champagne in the limo and here, I feel light, disoriented. Considerably less nervous, though. And that’s when Jordan slides into the seat next to me. His shoulder brushes mine. “Sorry I’m late,” he whispers.
He’s so close, I can smell him—a warm mix of sea and land. Salt water and dirt and cinnamon, too. That’s new. Probably Alexis’s influence. I imagine her gifting him with expensive cologne. I feel myself flush and will the image out of my head. Alexis is my friend. Jordan is my friend. Stop, Paige.
“Sorry Alexis is sick,” I whisper.
Jordan doesn’t respond.
Rainer takes my hand.
I feel them both next to me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having Jordan on one side and Rainer on the other. I feel like my heart wants to rip in half just so they’ll both have a piece. I know the camera will catch Rainer and me touching. Raige-ingly in Love.
Jeremy Brown is cohosting—he’s the guy from the mockumentary show about the crazy Midwestern family—and he comes onto the Jumbotron. He’s in front of what’s obviously a green screen that is projecting a beach. All palm trees and sand. They’re going to do a spoof of Locked. They didn’t show us this in rehearsals; they probably ran through it after we all took off.
Terror grips me right along with Rainer’s hand. The camera is going to be on us the whole time. “If you get nervous, just smile,” Tawny said. “No one ever ruined their rep by being happy.” She eyed me when she said it. I know she has been annoyed about the pissed-off vibe I’m sporting in the tabloids.
I try it. I feel like a chipmunk.
For the opening, Penelope and Ryan, the stars of a Disney show about witches, are wandering around a stage. Penelope is in a coconut bra.
“I’m just so torn,” she says. “Who should I be with? The crazy guy who wants me to live with him on a deserted island with no HBO, or the one who just brought a private jet to rescue me? There is no clear winner.”
“We’re right here; you can just talk to us,” Ryan says. He’s dressed like Rainer’s Noah, down to the linen pants. “Stop doing voice-over.”
“Seriously, guys, I don’t have time for love triangles right now. We have to go. I’m supposed to be hosting the MTV Movie Awards in, like, ten minutes,” Jeremy says.
Penelope looks at her watch. “Actually, you’re supposed to be hosting them now.”
Jeremy and Penelope exchange panicked looks, but Ryan just crosses his arms. “Chill, you’re on island time, dude.”
Jeremy looks at Penelope, cocks his thumb. “What do you see in this guy?”
Penelope looks at the audience before lifting up Ryan’s shirt. She points to his perfect twelve-pack.
“Fair enough,” Jeremy says.
“Where is this jet?” Penelope asks. “Is it here?”
Jeremy puts his hands on Penelope’s hips. “Yeah, it’s here. Can we stop talking and get the heck on it?”
Ryan steps between them. “She loves me—she’s staying. This is just your ploy to get her to leave with you.”
“It’s totally working,” Penelope says, dreamily.
Ryan looks at the audience and then looks at Penelope. “Screw it, I’m coming with you.”
“Great, fine. Whoever’s coming, it’s now or never.” A bunch of people dressed in tribal gear rush toward the helicopter.
“To the MTV Movie Awards!” Jeremy calls.
The screen goes black, and everyone starts applauding. Then the three of them appear onstage.
Jeremy waves to the audience. “Welcome to the MTV Movie Awards!” he bellows. Penelope is smiling next to him. She looks delighted—totally excited and happy to be up there. Ryan looks mildly bored.
“We’ll be your hosts for the night, and we promise to have some fun. But first, we have to mortify people.” Jeremy looks right down at us. “So many of our favorites are here tonight. Rainer Devon is sitting front row!”
Rainer gives him a little salute.
“Sorry about that opening, Rainer,” Penelope says.
Jeremy interrupts. “He gets to go home with Paige Townsen. Don’t feel too bad for him.”
The entire stadium screams. I want to crawl under my seat and die. I see Rainer laugh next to me and smile. I just put my hand over my forehead and shake my head.
“Seriously. Let’s give it up for this trio. The stars of Locked, ladies and gentlemen!”
Cheers and claps. I see Jordan’s face on the screen—trying to smile. It barely passes for genuine.
They single out a few more people, and then they start with the awards.
Grant Fisher wins for Best Villain. Apple Harrison wins for Best Female Performance. They’re giving out Best Male Performance. Rainer and Jordan are both nominated, and when the camera pans to Jordan, I see him give a small smile and tilt his head.
Then Rainer is up. He flashes on the screen next to me—calm and cool and collected.
“And the MTV Movie Award goes to…”
“Rainer Devon! For his portrayal of Noah in Locked.”
Rainer stands next to me, and I stand, too, moving to hug him. He doesn’t kiss me, thank God. Just a quick embrace, and then he jogs forward, taking the stairs two at a time. He air-kisses the actress holding the popcorn statue, and then takes the microphone.
“You guys are too good to me. This is awesome.”
Everyone goes wild. I swear he could say anything right now. He could read a history textbook, and people would scream.
He’s flashing his dimpled smile and shaking his head. “Settle down,” he tells the crowd. “I just want to say how honored I am. Honestly. We do this for you guys, and the fact that you love it means the world.”
I think he’s done, that he’s about to give them a little salute and walk offstage, but instead he tips his head down with his hand like a brim on his forehead. “PG?” he asks.
Time stops. I can feel every muscle in my body freeze in preparation for impact.
“There are too many lights,” he says. “But I just want to thank my brilliant costar, Paige Townsen.” The screams are hysterical. I am vaguely aware of my lips pulling into a smile. “I wouldn’t be up here without her, and I think we all know that. Thank you, guys!”
The lights fade as he walks offstage, but I still feel out of my body. And I don’t get put back in when the lights come up, because Rainer is right back in his seat, taking my hand, the cameras on us, and they’re introducing Tevin Black, a guy I know is friends with Rainer—some comedy actor—who is giving out the award for Best Kiss.
Here we go. We’re about to have to get up there again—this time together. Best Kiss. They go through the other couples first, then end with both from Locked, the one with Rainer and the one with Jordan.
They announce my name, and I’m already standing, looking to Rainer. Let’s just do this, get it over with. My hands feel numb by my sides, and my insides feel like they’ve been strung up with live wire.
But then the craziest thing happens. They don’t call Rainer’s name. They call Jordan’s.
I spin to look at him, and he’s just sitting there, bewilderment on his face. But in a split second it’s gone, and he’s standing, his hand on my lower back. “Come on,” he whispers into my ear. “Let’s go.”
I don’t look back at Rainer. He’s a pro, though. If he’s surprised, I know he wouldn’t show it.
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Standing onstage at an awards show is one of the most surreal experiences—and I’ve had a lot of them lately. You know there are thousands of people there—millions watching—but you can’t see anyone. It’s too bright. It feels like looking out into a sea of kinetic energy. The air crackles with light, sparks, mania.
We get up onstage and take our golden awards shaped like popcorn in movie-theater cups. They are heavier than they look on TV. Jordan flashes me a side smile and then takes the microphone. “Thanks, guys,” he says. “I don’t think we were expecting this.” He’s less assured than Rainer was up here. Jordan is different. Jordan told me once that to him it’s not about the celebrity, it’s about the work. We share that. Neither one of us knows how to deal. Which is why it sucks we’re up here together.
But the crowd doesn’t want us to talk. They don’t want us to act, either. They’re chanting. Kiss. Kiss.
Jordan looks at me again. His shoulders edge up, just slightly. And then everything seems to dim down. Almost fade entirely. I hear the crowd like a distant roar—far off, away. It’s like standing outside a football stadium. The noise feels like it doesn’t even belong to us.
My feet start moving toward him. I think about that day on the beach in Hawaii. About how he rolled me on top of him in the cabana in the rain. About how wonderful and terrible it felt—like the beginning and ending of everything, all at once. The dawn of the world in one single, blinding moment. But even that memory doesn’t stick. Up here nothing seems to hold any weight. It’s like being underwater.
I don’t know how long it has been—mere milliseconds, probably—but I’m standing in front of him now. And he’s looking at me in a way he hasn’t in so long. He’s looking at me in a way I don’t dare think about, not even in my dreams.
“What do you think?” he says into the microphone, his eyes still on me.
I’m not sure what my face is doing, but I’m aware of my feet taking steps toward him. I’m aware of the moment stretching out—the air between us even more charged than it is around us. It’s like we’re in some vortex being pulled or pressed closer and closer. I can’t tell what’s drawing us together—ourselves or the waves of screams and cries from the audience.
Truly Madly Famously Page 6