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Evil, beady eyes just waiting to get an opportunity to chop off my head.
But I don’t need to bother with her anyway. Now that I’ve voiced the possibility, Rocky clings to it vigorously.
“Yes! He can be in the back. Just move with the crowd. You know there are always a million people with you at these things—I don’t usually even know them all. Nobody will so much as blink at a new face in that crowd.” She gets up on her knees on the couch and puts her hands together in a clench in front of her chest. “Please.”
“Why do you want him there so badly? You’re not going to be able to speak to him.”
“I know. I just…” Rocky turns to me, searching my face for a reason to support her case. I smile supportively. I know it’s what she needs right now, and she sighs with relief. “I want him there. It’ll make me feel better to know he’s there, even though I know I’m forbidden from talking to him.”
Heidi releases a sigh of her own; it could not be more opposite from Rocky’s. She turns to face me and holds up an angry finger. I don’t let it bother me. “You. You’ll stay where I put you, do what I say, and if you’re going to be there, you’re going to have to work—without pay.”
I almost laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest to listen to the rest of her tirade.
“This isn’t a social hour. You don’t talk to any of the other celebs or ask any questions or hint that you know Raquel in any way. You move when I say and stay put when I don’t.”
I get it. But I don’t give her the satisfaction of verbalizing that fact.
“And you sure as hell don’t go calling your mom and dad, telling them you’re going to be at an awards show and to look for you on TV.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I say. “They’re both dead, and their cell phone plan doesn’t have a rate for calls from the grave.”
I smile as Heidi’s face stutters for the first time ever. I never imagined I’d use the death of my parents in a twisted, humorous exchange for revenge, but I don’t regret it. I’ll forever remember this as the time that Heidi half looked at me like a human, instead of an enemy to crush.
And look at that…it lasted a record-breaking five seconds.
Raquel
Walking the SAG Awards red carpet next to Ben Huddleson is a little bit like trying to run a marathon with a pebble in your shoe.
Sure, maybe not for most people—he is, in fact, one of America’s biggest heartthrobs—but for me, tonight, I am a helpless, five-and-a-half-months preggo fish in a shallow puddle of misery. It’s deep enough that I can breathe but comes to an abrupt and uncomfortable end every time I try to swish my fishy tale and escape.
The roar of questions from paparazzi and reporters is louder than it’s ever been—even louder than it was at the Golden Globes—with every second question being about the timing and logistics of our “hot and heavy” relationship. I thought the intensity of their scrutiny would have toned down by now. Obviously, I thought wrong.
My smile feels brittle, like it’s cracking under the surface of my skin and breaking down into a bottomless abyss.
“Ben, I know how seriously you took your role in Galileo earlier this year, but I think I speak for everyone when I say the role we’re dying to hear about now is what it’s like to be the one to land Raquel Weaver,” Hank Billits, one of True Hollywood’s most salacious reporters says with an annoyingly amused chuckle and inappropriate waggle of his brows. “Does she live up to the fantasy we’ve all been playing on repeat from the inside of our bedrooms?”
Ben leans into the microphone dramatically, even opens his mouth to speak, and then winks without saying a word.
I wish I could say that meant he didn’t answer the question, but his wink said a million things that a straightforward, classy answer never could.
There’s no regard for the consequences on my emotions. This is all a stage, and he is more than happy to fill the time with a performance.
He’s enjoying the role, downright dawdling in the areas I most want to hurry through. At least if I were on my own, I’d be able to steer the conversation where I wanted and make an exit with swift and exacting precision. But Ben is too busy yukking it up to help me with my plan.
He is the pebble, and I can’t get him out of this damn shoe.
I glance to my right again while Ben flaps his gums, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man I’m supposed to be ignoring. He’s easy enough for me to find in a sea of other people, thanks to his height. At six foot three, Harrison is just tall enough to tower over the other lackeys and assistants. Not to mention, with his sculpted jaw, perfectly coiffed hair, and bright-green eyes, he’s got undeniably large star quality for someone who’s supposed to be blending in. It’s not his fault, though. He’s dutifully stayed in the back of the group for the entirety of the night, but his good looks are overpowering.
