Adulation (9 page)

Luc spun the chair around so that I couldn’t see my reflection and began to blow-dry and style myhair. After some last-minute touches—smoothing out pieces with a texturizing product, checking forevenness, a random snip here and there—my friends’ eyes went wide and their mouths opened in surpriseand admiration.

“You. Look.
 
Hot
, Sunny,” said Georgie.

“Doesn’t she, though?” said Luc.

“You really do,” added Theo. “You look ten years younger too.”

Luc beamed proudly. But for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to accept it as anything more than them fulfilling their obligation as my friends to buck me up. After all, one little haircut wasn’t going to change the facts that Luc had put front and center: that I was divorced, alone, unpublished, dead-ended, and forty.

Luc turned out to be not only my hairstylist but also my makeup artist. He complimented me on my bone structure (he’d complimented Theo on her bone structure too, so I was hoping for something more original—like nice lips or something) and recommended I try a mix of earthy and neutral colors. He worked in silence this time, applying hues of plums and maples and golds, each brushstroke and pencil line against my skin feeling delicate and soft.

When he was finished, he spun the chair back around, and I met my reflection.

Wow.

Holy shit.

My hair had been transformed from a dull, gray-ash brown to a warm, caramel hue with shimmeryhighlights. He’d taken off four inches (“Good-bye, ponytail,” he said with enthusiasm) and shaped mytresses into a layered pixie with long bangs and wispy pieces framing my face. Between the absence ofgray and the hiding of forehead frown lines, I was looking back in time at a younger, wiser version ofmyself. Moreover, the precision of each line and shade and highlight and contour was such that younoticed my features, not the makeup. My cheekbones were visible, accentuated with just a touch of bronzein the blush. My eyes looked stunning, awake, and radiant. My nose looked almost dainty, as shapely asnoses can be. My lips looked round and full and inviting.

I hadn’t looked this good on my wedding day.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were the Miracle Worker.” I rose from the chair andhugged him after I finished gawking at myself in the mirror. Somehow my reflection managed to make meforget every bad feeling I’d had only moments ago.

“Thanks, beautiful. You made it easy,” he said.

I turned to Georgie and Theo and struck a pose. “What do you think?”

“I think you need a photo shoot in Central Park,” said Georgie.

“Excellent idea,” said Luc.

I walked out of the salon with chic bags of shampoo and conditioner, texturizer, two tubes oflipstick, and a makeup primer, totaling somewhere around $250.

We went clothes and shoe shopping next, grabbing hot pretzels along the way. Georgie and Theocould’ve easily quit their jobs and opened a personal shopper business in Manhattan. They handed megarment after garment in the fitting room, threatening to steal my original clothes, leave me in the fittingroom, and not come back if I peeked at a price tag. They also made me try on every pair of Jimmy Choos,but I just couldn’t justify the price. I did, however, splurge on a pair of taupe, butter-soft suede Nine Westboots, versatile and sexy and comfortable all at the same time, and a pair of purple, faux-alligator-skin,three-inch pumps on clearance. I could start saving money after my birthday festivities, I decided.

By the time we returned to the hotel to change and freshen up, my wardrobe had increased by apair of designer jeans, a “date dress,” a low-cut blouse with a floral print, a flowing cashmere cardigan, a Nine West handbag to go with the shoes, matching costume turquoise earrings and necklace, and thesexiest bra and boy shorts I had ever seen. Good God, I was going to be paying off this credit card billuntil my fiftieth birthday.

“You
 
have
 
to wear them to the premiere tonight,” said Theo in regard to the lingerie. “Trust me—everyone is going to take one look at you and know you are going to get laid tonight without even knowing

why.”

I laughed. “That is ridiculous, Theo! It’s also a lot of pressure.”

“And this is why you’re still single.”

Thing is, she wasn’t exactly wrong—I mean, once the entire outfit was put together, underwear andaccessories  included, I couldn’t help but feel sexy. And yet I also couldn’t help but feel as if I’d lost allmy armor, as if I were about to go out wearing the bra and boy shorts and nothing else.

And to think the day wasn’t even close to over yet.

We ate at the hotel’s restaurant around four o’clock, but by then I was so excited I could barelypick at anything more than a salad. We speculated on what each star would be wearing, strategized whereto sit, and formulated plans in case we were separated at any time. Afterward we walked to the Directors Guild Theater at least an hour early in order to ensure that we had good seats. To our surprise, hardlyanyone else had had the same idea (we’d figured the place would be swarming with Shane Sands fans, allobnoxious teenagers); it seemed that the theater had had the same anticipation and set up a velvet ropebarrier that extended a quarter of the way down the block. The main entrance doors were locked.

Not even twenty minutes into the wait, I turned to Georgie and Theo.

“I need a bathroom.”

“You went before we left,” said Theo.

“I know, but the wait is making me nervous.”

“Fine,” said Georgie. “Text us if you get lost.”

I turned to Theo. “You coming?”

She shook her head.

It wasn’t too cold outside, but I shoved my hands into my pockets and hunched my shouldersnonetheless. I marched in my new boots down the sidewalk in quick strides (you can’t help but feel as ifyou’re constantly in  a rush in Manhattan, even when you’re not) and turned the corner. A man stood acouple of feet away in front of a door, taking a drag from a cigarette. The glare of the sun caused me tosquint. At the split second that I crossed his path, a flash of recognition registered. I took in a breath, onlyto catch the smoke he’d just exhaled, and I spit it out in coughs.

And there he was. Danny Masters.

CHAPTER FIVE

Danny Masters

H
AD IT BEEN
 
happening to one of his characters, he would’ve scripted it as a comedy of errors.

His flight had been delayed for mechanical problems and was turbulent.

He barely made it to
 
The Daily Show
 
in time, which left Dez, who was traveling with him, to takehis luggage to the Plaza Hotel for him.

The next morning, thanks to a scheduling snafu, he had to cancel his appearance on the
 
Today
 
showin order to appear on
 
Good Morning America
, and poor Dez got an earful from some producer’sassistant.

His satellite feed for
 
Ellen
 
got bumped from first to second slot.

Between all that he had back-to-back interview spots on radio shows (one on which a callerblasted him for his assertion that fan fiction was intellectual property theft and written by hacks),entertainment TV show spots, photo op after photo op with the cast and Paul Wolf, and two bites of a Big Mac that nearly made him hurl before he finally made it to the Directors Guild Theater. (Dez was latebringing a change of shirt and tie and his shaving kit.)  He desperately wanted a moment to himself. And hewanted—no,
 
needed
—a cigarette.

Finally he turned to Paul and the event coordinators frantically shuffling around him.

“Guys, if I don’t have a smoke in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna have to go shopping for a gun.”

A stagehand pointed him to a backstage exit that put him on Fifty-Sixth Street. He stepped outside,pulled a Camel from a half-empty pack tucked in the inner pocket of his sport jacket, and lit up. Theweather was mild for October, yet the air was still crisp and breezy, and he pulled his jacket closed bygrabbing the lapels and folding his arms as he flicked ashes onto the sidewalk. The sun seemed poised forsetting, as if waiting for some director to call, “Action,” although it was still bright enough to wish he waswearing shades.

He took a long drag from the cigarette and felt the absence of a drink in his hand. Funny that afterfifteen years of sobriety, the physical ritual still left a nagging impression on him—the way he balancedthe cigarette between his fingers in the same hand that held a thick, sturdy scotch glass or a bottle of beer. He loved that pose, actually. To him, that little bit of body language was the essence of cool. It made himfeel five inches taller, ten times better looking, and fifty times more like a rock star.

The absence of it, however, only reminded him what he really was: a recovering alcoholic writer. Not that that was a bad thing. Just...ordinary. And sobering.

He’d taken another long drag and exhaled just as a woman turned the corner and walked right intothe line of smoke. She halted her hurried pace and coughed.

He took her in, head to toe, in one fleeting look. And she took his breath away in an instant,without warning or reason.

“So sorry about that,” said Danny.

“Oh, that’s OK,” she said as her eyes registered recognition of him. It caught her off guard, hecould tell. Her eyes widened a little and she tried to harness a smile. “I was, um...I’m just looking for a

restroom.”

She was perhaps an inch or two shorter than he, her hair the color of light-brown sugar, withhighlights. Her skin—soft and smooth, polished like a gemstone—was slightly olive-toned. Her eyeswere round, irises the color of azure, lashes long and thick and dark. She seemed youthful despite the hintof crow’s feet, but tired underneath what had to be a professional makeup job. He’d seen enough photoshoots to recognize one. Or perhaps she was a makeup artist by trade.

Nevertheless, she had appeared, just like that.

Danny dropped the half-smoked cigarette and stamped it out with his foot.

“That’s the back door to the theater,” he said, pointing to the entrance behind him. “Do you want tosee if I can let you in?”

“Oh. No, thanks. I’m sure there’s one at the deli down the street or something.” Her voice soundedslightly raspy.

He extended his hand. “I’m Danny.”

“Yes, hi,” she said shyly, hesitating before taking his hand. “Sorry, I’ve just gotten over a cold. Iwouldn’t want to pass it on to you.”

“That’s OK,” he said, taking her hand anyway and shaking lightly as his heart pounded. Somethingmade him want to keep holding it. It was recently manicured,  but the skin on her fingertips was dry, andthis time he guessed she performed some kind of manual labor for a living, perhaps as a cook.

She seemed to let go with just as much reluctance as he, despite her concern about beingcontagious. “I’m here for the premiere tonight,” she said.

He grinned and turned slightly to avoid the beam of falling sunlight bouncing off the skyscraperacross the street. “That’s great. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.” She looked at the flattened cigarette butt on the ground. “I didn’t know you stillsmoked,” she said, and before he could respond, she followed with, “That was rude. I’m sorry.”

Danny was amused rather than offended. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m down to just one or two a day,usually in stressful situations,” he lied.

“Have you had a stressful day?”

He looked at his watch. “This is the first break I’ve had all day. I flew in from LA yesterday andhaven’t had a moment to myself since.”

“Me neither, come to think of it. My friends and I came in yesterday, and we’ve been practicallyglued at the hip until now.”

“From where?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where are you from?”

“Oh. Long Island,” she said, slapping her palm to the side of her head, as if to knock some sense into it. The gesture delighted him.

“Of course,” he said. “Long Islander. Should’ve recognized you were a compatriot by your accent.” He looked  at the cigarette butt on the ground for a second before fixing his gaze back to her, trying to think of something to say to keep her there just a little bit longer. “You smoke?” he asked.
 
What a fucking stupid question
.