Lucky Me (33 page)

“I'll be there in a sec,” I told her, forcing myself to behave as normally as I could.

“Hey Mr. Anderson!” Aria said to Kenny, giving him a small wave. With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the house once more.

“Mr. Anderson?” Kenny repeated, looking from me to Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“Trust me,” I told him. “You don't want to know.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

If you ask me, Aladdin had it all wrong with his impressive singing skills and fashionable monkey. If he really wanted to get into Princess Jasmine's harem pants, he should have traded up the flying rug for a red carpet. It's hard to resist a man when he's standing in the middle of Hollywood with a hundred cameras aimed at his Armani suit. This was by no means my first red carpet experience, but it still felt overwhelmingly new.

As a kid I had always hated the strangers behind the camera lenses. I always thought of them as bloodthirsty wolves, that I could only escape by clinging onto Dad's neck and burying my face in his chest as they called out my name. Who were these men? How did they know my name and why were they bothering me? “It's like brushing your teeth,” Mom had told me once. “Just part of the daily routine.” At eighteen, I'm only just starting to understand the casual approach my parents now take to these affairs. It's a career, nothing more and nothing less. They're just doing their jobs every time a photo is snapped. Being Miss Golden Globe was sort of like being their intern for a day, only it came with a little extra stress and higher stilettos.

As if the nerves weren't bad enough from the FBI getting involved and the horrific scenarios I had conjured up in my mind, I was
so
not prepared for Jack in a tuxedo. He looked incredible. Like
wow-ee
. When he had emerged from his room fixing his cuff links, I actually did a double take. Where the heck had that outfit been hiding all this time? If I had known sooner, I might have yelled at him a little less when he was being annoying. A good tuxedo is the real life “get out of jail free” card. Of course, Mom had ruined the whole thing by insisting on taking photos as if I were going to prom like some dorky fourteen-year-old. I was half expecting her to hand me a corsage and make me pose in front of the limo. She would have tried too, but Dad was getting antsy about leaving on time. Saved by the punctuality bell.

The person I was actually most pleased with was myself. The dress fit perfectly, my hair was up in a fancy, loose bun that I would never have been able to do by myself, and I had managed not to accidently rip any of my fake lashes off yet. So far so good. Even Mike, who I'm about ninety-four percent sure hates me, told me I looked beautiful. Not even “pretty”
or “alright,” but beautiful! So clearly I was doing something right. Jack on the other hand, had practically crushed me with disappointment. He gave me an once-over and said, “You look nice.” Nice! Really? That was all he could muster? I mean, it's not like I was expecting to slowly descend from the staircase with some lame 90s love song playing in the background while Jack watched me with his eyes bugged out in love. Actually, yeah that was pretty much exactly what I was expecting. Unfortunately real life is nothing like a Freddie Prinze Jr. movie.

But I didn't have time to focus on impressing Jack. Instead, I needed to work on keeping calm and collected, even though my nerves were building up and threatening to explode at any moment. If I managed to survive the evening, then I would majorly regret my nervous fidgeting and potential eye twitching when I watched the ceremony back at a later time. So every time a reporter would ask about how excited I was to be given the title of Miss Golden Globe, I would take a deep breath, smile gracefully and tell them I was over the moon.

“Congratulations!” A reporter exclaimed, flashing her perfect set of teeth at me. She had mentioned where she worked, but it hadn't registered in my mind. “Miss Golden Globe is definitely something to be proud of. How are you feeling tonight?”

I was just about ready to throw up all over her hideous green gown, but I held it together. Lime green and sequins? What was this, Shrek goes to Broadway?

“I'm just thrilled!” I replied with a smile so big, I looked like I could swallow her whole. “This is such an honor, and I was so excited to even be considered.”

Dad gave my shoulders a comforting squeeze and said, “Her mother and I are very proud of her.”

Mom was definitely proud of me. But based on the way she kept posing sexily in her Zuhair Murad gown, she was prouder of something else.

“Any plans to follow in your parents' footsteps and get into showbiz?” The reporter asked.

I gave her a forced laugh and said, “Who knows? Anything could happen.”

Yeah no, that was
never
happening. Because years after you've become the most famous actor ever, some scorned friend from the past will show up and start stalking your kids. So no. Showbiz was definitely not for me.

I did some more scary smiling and repeated a rundown of my outfit for what felt like the millionth time before Dad and I posed for some more photos, Kenny and Jack close behind of course. Jack now looked the complete part of a bodyguard, standing tall and tough in his tux. He had a little telephone wire looking thing attached to one of his ears, and kept scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. All business, no play. If he decided to throw on some Ray Bans at some point, I was going to have a severe case of heartburn. There would definitely be questions about Jack at school after the awards, but by then everything would be resolved and I could come clean. Granted I got through the night in one piece. Dad leaned in so he could whisper in my ear, ignoring the questions and instructions being hurtled our way.

“Your mother is going to give someone a heart attack tonight,” he said disapprovingly.

I watched her wink at the cameras, throwing her hair over her shoulder like she was in a GQ photoshoot. I think I actually heard someone pass out in the crowd.

“I don't think there's much we can do about that,” I told Dad.

He sighed. Sometimes being around my mother was like having a cold. It was better to just let her run her course and fade away until the next time she visited. We continued to make our way up the carpet, smiling brightly, giving air kisses to fellow celebrities and making small talk about their outfits. Dad was clearly growing agitated, but never let it show. He was a pro at this. Me? I needed a little more practice. I was quickly running out of ways to stick my chest out and smile, and I couldn't pull off a wink like my mom. Dad had left me alone to go talk to Martin Scorsese, and the noise was only growing louder as more stars arrived. I was about ready to give up acting like a lady and sprint into the hall for some peace and quiet when I spotted a uniformed Milo a little further away, walking closely behind an officer I didn't recognize.

“Milo!” I called out. He stopped abruptly, scanning the crowd. “Behind you!”

His eyes settled on me after a few seconds of searching, and he gave a small smile. I glanced at Jack over my shoulder, who was watching me expressionlessly. The only thing worse than Jack giving his two cents about Milo was Jack
not
giving his two cents about Milo.

“Hi,” Milo said loudly, over the sounds of excitement and anticipation. We were almost at the entrance now, partially sheltered from the cameras that were now focused on the new arrivals.

“Hi.”

Milo looked me up and down. “Wow,” he said. “You look incredible! That dress! It's . . . wow.”

See! That's all I wanted, Jack. A little appreciation for my hotness once in a while wouldn't kill you!

“Thanks,” I replied, almost certain I was blushing. “You look great too.”

Milo looked down at his uniform with a smile. “Yeah, it's custom made LAPD. I think the silk is Italian.”

I gave a short laugh at his joke, playing along with an impressed look. It could have been silk from Compton for all I cared. If the end result was
that
, it was value for the money.

“So how are you holding up?” he asked, his dimples disappearing from view.

How was I holding up? Gee, let me think about that one for a second. I was standing in one of the most beautiful gowns I'd ever seen, the world seemed to be dying to know every detail about my life and there was a great chance Clooney was in the vicinity. Oh, and I wasn't able to enjoy
any
of that because somewhere in the sea of unfamiliar faces was a potentially violent lunatic who was intent on getting revenge for reasons that were still a mystery to me. How was I holding up, you ask?

“Great!” I lied. “Fabulous. Fantastic.”

“Are you sure?” Milo asked uncertainly. “You look a little nervous.”

“I'm a
tad
nervous. Tiny amount. Miniscule, really.”

“That's understandable,” Milo said with a nod. “But we've got a lot of people watching out for you tonight. Plus, you're killing it on the red carpet, so you've got nothing to worry about on that front.”

I gave an embarrassed laugh, as if the idea of fame suddenly seemed ridiculously over-the-top. “The cameras are blinding me! I think they might have done some serious retinal damage.”

“Quick!” Milo said, holding up two fingers in the shape of a peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“That's a tough one. Five?”

“Close! Seven.”

We both laughed as he lowered his hand to his side, hoping it would buy us some time to evaluate our next move. Jack seemed to have made that decision for me when he came up beside me.

“Gia,” was all he said.

“Jack,” Milo greeted him with no emotion in his voice. “Nice tux.”

Jack's lips curved up into a smirk as he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Gia,” he said. “Carol wants to see you. Something about you taking photos with Dylan.”

“Right now?” I asked, giving him a disappointed look.

“Like, yesterday now.”

There was a girl standing a foot away, dressed in a wine colored evening gown that was definitely off the rack. She had a clipboard in her hand, and fear in her eyes, nodding at me intensely as if confirming the urgency of Carol's request. Goddammit Carol! I was having a moment!

“Don't worry about it, “Milo said in response to my apologetic look. “I have to go anyway. I've got to sort out some security stuff.”

“Right,” I said. “I've got to go get shot. By photographers, I mean! Like, with cameras. Not the guns.”

Oh good God. Apparently I could speak to James Franco just fine, but any more than thirty seconds with Milo would cause my brain to stop functioning.

“Stay safe,” he said, suppressing a smile as he walked away.

“Shut up!” I groaned, watching Milo get swallowed by the crowd.

“Are you talking to yourself or talking to me?”

“Both.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“It was a pre-emptive shut up.”

I looked at the smug smile on Jack's face. “Get shot?” he said, not bothering to stifle a laugh. “You wanna talk about what's happening in your subconscious?”

“No, but you're going to be
un
conscious in about two seconds if you're not careful.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said sincerely, “I never freeze up around hot girls.”

I put my hands on my hips. “How exactly is that meant to make me feel better?”

“Oh, no wait. You're right. That's meant to make
me
feel better.”

“Miss Winters.” The woman with the clipboard said, looking more fearful by the minute. “I really need you to come with me. Carol says we're already behind schedule.”

“Well good luck,” Jack said, patting me comfortingly on the back. “Be brave.”

“Good luck?” I repeated. “You're my bodyguard! You have to protect me in case Carol throws a stiletto at my face!”

Jack shook his head, taking two steps away from me as if I were about to bite him. “Oh I'll be there, but strictly as an observer,” he said seriously. “No one takes on Carol's forehead vein and lives to tell the tale.”

Yeah, well, only the brave get pay checks.

__________

With barely ten minutes before the ceremony was going to start, my heart decided it was a good time to completely fail. The heavy breathing was no longer working, and I was about a million percent sure the nerves weren't because I got to hand famous people trophies on stage. It was bad enough that I kept forgetting which direction of the stage I was supposed to lead the winners off, my anxiety attacks weren't exactly helping. My parents had come to visit me backstage, wishing me luck and telling me how excited they were. They were clearly as tense as I was, but we didn't even hint at the possibility of anything going wrong. We did what normal Hollywood families do and swept our problems under the rug for as long as we could get away with it.

Backstage was packed with people, finalizing last minute details and shining the globes on the awards. I was in the same room as Hugh Jackman and all I could think about was stupid Frank Parker and his psycho revenge mission. We had heard nothing from him the entire day, and I was secretly hoping he had forgotten, or he was just bored and decided to move to Botswana. Both were highly unlikely, but I kept praying anyway.

“Gia,” Jack said softly, but I jumped anyway.

“Oh my God, don't sneak up behind me like that!” I cried, whacking his arm.

Jack rested his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eyes. “You need to calm down.”

“I am ca—”

“No you're not!” he replied, cutting me off. “Listen to me Gia, you are going to be fine. You've got Milo, Detective Reynolds and a bunch cops looking out for you. There's security everywhere, and Agent Walker has eyes all over the place. Besides, I'm
right
here for you.”

“Yeah but you can't come on stage with me!” I argued. “What are you supposed to do if he comes jumping out of nowhere and grabs me?”

Jack looked around carefully, his hands still on my shoulder. “Not that I think that'll happen, but I've got a gun,” he whispered.

“You've got a gun?” I cried, and Jack slapped a hand over my mouth.