The Duet(85)

“You need to calm down, Brooklyn. You can’t even see it and it’ll go down by Sunday,” Summer said, ushering me through the door of the Roberto Cavalli show room where I was having my final dress fitting. And when I say “dress” I really mean “dresses”. I had three wardrobe changes in all: The red carpet look which was a white poufy thing; the performance look which was a tight red dress that dipped far too low and showed off lots of leg; and then the after-party look which was a just as tight as the red dress, but made out of a black, silky fabric that would be easier to dance in.

“Whatever you say. You’ll be the one talking me off the ledge Sunday morning when the make-up artist is having to fill in my pores with cement to get a clean work surface.”

“You’re not even making sense anymore,” she said, shaking her head and pushing me toward the raised platform in the center of the show room. Mirrors surrounded the platform on three sides so I’d be able to see my gowns from every angle.

“Oh, before we get started, the label has asked me how you and Jason will arrive at the venue on Sunday,” Summer said.

“Separately,” I answered. “I’m not taking a date, unless Cammie counts.”

“She does, but she won’t fill out a tux nearly as well,” she said with a smirk.

“Perfect — it’s settled. Next item on the list.”

“Are you two dating?” she asked as if she were scrolling through items on a check list.

“Summer,” I warned, meeting her eyes in one of the mirrors before me.

She shrugged. “Thought I’d try and see if you would answer truthfully.”

“He and I are friends. I think, we’re friends at least.”

“Right, and I’m secretly in the FBI,” she said with an eye roll.

“I’m serious. Yesterday at rehearsals, we joked around and talked. It was normal and just what friends would do.”

“Have you or have you not had sex with him?” she asked.

I propped my hands on my hips. “I can’t recall.”

“And what about his marriage?”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s signed the divorce papers and she’s engaged to another guy for God’s sake. He was trying to get some kind of custody of Lacy, but it’s looking like that’s not possible.”

“Oh no, really?”

I nodded, sad at how complicated the situation was for him. Just then, one of the design assistants stepped into the show room in tight leather pants and an off the shoulder black sweater. Her spiked heels clapped against the stained concrete floors as she stepped closer.

“So sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s get started,” she said, eyeing me up and down. She glared a beat too long on the pimple. Motherfucker, it was huge. I knew it.

“Your final rehearsal is tomorrow?” the assistant asked with a constipated smile.

“Yes,” I answered, trying to ignore the clenching of my stomach. With everything going on, my nerves had been pushed to the back burner, but every time someone brought up the impending award show, the feelings came rushing back in.

“Well, let’s hope you can pull it off,” the woman said, clapping her hands twice to beckon a second assistant who rolled out a garment rack from the back room. My three dresses hung from the metal bar, each more beautiful than the last.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to see the confident woman that I knew was there somewhere. The truth was, it wasn’t the Grammy performance that I was nervous about— it was what happened after, when Jason and I no longer had a reason to hang out together at rehearsals. I knew I’d either have to come clean and tell him the truth: Surprise, I don’t want to be your friend, you ridiculously sexy man. I want to date you and have your babies. Or I’d have to just play dumb and continue to live a lie. I’d have to watch him go back to Montana or wherever else he was heading once the Grammys were over, and I’d have to live with the fact that I never told him the truth about my feelings for him.

Oh yeah, and I had this little performance in front of a million people to do in two days. No biggie, right?





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Things to know concerning Grammy prep:

1. You don’t eat for like 24 hours beforehand. I’m serious. People who tell you that they actually eat before stepping onto the red carpet in a couture gown are a bunch of freaking liars.

2. Getting ready for the big day is a marathon, not a sprint. Except if you’re me, and then your trainer does in fact make you sprint everyday leading up to the actual event.

3. My body had been massaged, plucked, prodded, and facial-ed.