CHAPTER 3
Gloria
My clit still buzzing, I let out a loud sigh of relief upon showing up at Smashbox. Damage control was in effect, with the last of the water being mopped up by a crew of attendants. The show would go on.
While this stark, loft-like space had a whole different vibe than New York’s venerable Lexington Avenue Armory where we’d always held our annual shows, the pre-show atmosphere was just as frenetic. Once again insanity. Utter insanity. Production personnel were, as usual, running around like banshees, talking into headsets and cell phones, and scribbling notes on clipboards and in notebooks. And models in bathrobes and curlers were roaming around, most talking on their phones, a few smoking cigarettes, anxiously awaiting their call time. My eyes darted left and right in search of Kevin; he was nowhere to be found, and I guessed he might be backstage sorting out details. Workmen were still installing lighting and set pieces and working at a furious pace.
I was especially excited about our theme this year. It was something close to my heart. Motherhood. Maternal angels. We were featuring a group of Gloria’s Secret supermodels, who all had young children; their babies and toddlers would be joining them on stage in the finale. What’s more, a group of very pregnant supermodels would be flaunting their full bodies, clad in our brand new line of provocative maternity wear. Who said pregnancy couldn’t be sexy?
Amidst the hustle and bustle, I spotted my new redheaded assistant, Claudia. She had previously been our corporate headquarters’ receptionist, but once my former traitorous assistant Vivien was gone, she’d begged me for the opportunity to work with me. A graduate of my Girls Like Us mentoring program that gave leadership opportunities to abused and impoverished young women, twenty-two-year-old Claudia couldn’t have been a better choice. Aiming for a career in fashion and design, she worked long hours, tended to my every need, and sometimes even read my mind.
“Are you looking for Kevin?” she asked, scurrying up to me. See what I mean?
I nodded. “Have you seen him?”
“Yeah. He’s in the Green Room holding court with Beyoncé. I got to meet her!” Claudia added giddily, her face lighting up.
I was sure Ms. Beyoncé was quite the princess; I had yet to meet her. Royalty or not, she was headlining our halftime show, singing her new song, with her young daughter, Blue Ivy. An ode to motherhood. Someone who cherished motherhood and family, she had readily, to Kevin’s shock and my own, accepted our invitation. And she couldn’t have been more accommodating when it came time to fitting her for the ritual diamond-studded undergarments we planned to auction off later tonight at our star-studded after-party at the Los Angeles hot spot, Greystone Manor. The proceeds, as usual, were going to my charity, Girls Like Us. At last year’s after-party at Touch in New York, Jaime had bid fiercely against our former Chairman of the Board, Victor Holden, and won Rihanna’s diamond-studded leather brassiere and thong…for his personal enjoyment. And mine. That erotic dinner at The Walden flashed again into my head and brought a smile to my face that I couldn’t hold back. I told Jaime that he’d better not buy me Beyoncé’s diamond-studded garments…or I’d divorce him. He promised he wouldn’t—Boy Scout’s honor—but I knew he’d never been a Boy Scout. And I knew I’d never, no never, divorce this man, no matter what he did.
Wearing my standard, no-nonsense uniform of black leggings (okay, our new prototype tummy-pleasing maternity ones), ballet flats, and one of Jaime’s oversized shirts that minimized my substantial baby bump, I ambled over to the Green Room. My pulse sped up with every step. Confession: As powerful a woman as I was, I was actually intimidated to meet the reigning queen of pop. I totally loved her music and felt like an infatuated fan girl meeting her idol backstage.
As soon as Kevin saw me walk into the Green Room, he sprinted up to me. True to fashion, Mr. Outrageous was clad in designer shorts, red high tops, and a vintage varsity sweater. His magenta-streaked ebony hair was fashionably spiked, and he was sporting a new accessory—horn-rimmed eyeglasses—though I don’t think he really needed them. Everything Kevin wore was for show, except the diamond stud in his left ear. A birthday present from me.
After hugging me, he breathed, “Come, Glorious. I want to introduce you to Beyoncé.”
My gaze shifted to the pillow-filled couch where she was seated, very lady-like with one long shapely leg crossed over the other. She was dressed casually in tight jeans, a low-cut tank top, and mile-high stilettos. Catching sight of me, she stood up as I headed over to her to shake her hand.
Up close and in person, she was even more stunning than imaginable. Her highlighted caramel hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and her lightly made-up face with its flawless honey-brown complexion glowed with warmth and confidence. She broke into a wide smile that revealed her perfect set of pearly white teeth. Although we were probably the same height, she towered over me in her strappy six-inch heels.
“I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she began before I could get my mouth to move. “I’ve read so much about you and so admire your success story and the way you’ve given back to underprivileged girls through your Girls Like Us mentoring program. I’m a big supporter. Thank you for asking me to perform at your show this year. It’s a privilege and honor.” She clasped my hands in hers.
My mouth was paralyzed; I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my voice box. I was at once humbled and honored. I should be the one thanking her, not the other way around. After several long seconds, I finally managed a small thank you.
She smiled again, her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes twinkling at the sight of my extended belly. My babies. “When are you due?”
“Next month.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Twins.” I beamed. “One of each.”
“I’m their godfather,” Kevin chimed in.
Beyoncé gave me a huge, unexpected hug. “Congratulations, girl! That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to have another. Twins would be awesome.”
It was no secret in the media that Beyoncé loved being a mother to Blue Ivy, the daughter she’d borne with her rapper husband, Jay-Z. From what I’d read, she was a caring, hands-on one too. And she took her everywhere she traveled. Despite her stardom, she seemed as down-to-earth as they come.
“Either before you give birth or right afterward, you and your husband must come over to our house and spend some time with us. My Jay-Z would love to meet your Jay-Z. He’s been working on a big project he wants to talk to him about.”
Jaime’s advertising agency, ZAP!, which stood for Zander and People, had quickly risen to being one of the most prominent and sought-after agencies in Southern California. Actually, make that the world. I couldn’t wait to tell him about our invitation. Like me, he was a big fan of both superstars.
I smiled back at her brightly. “We’d love to.” And after that, I excused myself to attend to a million details. With a hug, I wished Beyoncé luck with the performance and waltzed out of the Green Room on a star-struck high. There was no doubt in my mind. This show was going to rock!
“In five, four, three, two, one… it’s showtime!”
The live show was about to begin. Encouraged by the earlier run-through, I stood backstage, my heart pounding with anticipation. Even though we’d done almost a dozen of these extravaganzas before, adrenaline was shooting through my veins. Kevin, equally excited but calm compared to anxious me, gripped my hand as colorful, oversized mechanical storks swept down from the soaring ceiling and delivered our gorgeous, skimpily clad supermodel angels in white sacks to the stage. Under Kevin’s supervision, our art director had created a Disney-like Gloria’s Secretland.
“This is already fan-fucking-tastic,” crooned Kevin.
Indeed it was. The celebrity-studded crowd along with the press was oohing and aahing as the models paraded down the runway to the beat of a remixed disco version of The Supremes sixties hit, “Baby Love.”
As I watched, a warm breath curled on the nape of my neck.
“I got here as soon as I could.”
I swiveled my head. Jaime! My sexy-as-sin god, clad in a pair of faded jeans, a soft white cotton tee, and a black cashmere blazer cut perfectly for his sculpted body. A megawatt smile spread across my face. “Hi, baby!”
My devastating husband smacked my lips with a hot kiss and then, still standing behind me, he massaged my tensed up shoulders. Aah! It felt so good. He felt so good.
“This looks amazing,” he breathed into my ear.
“It’s all thanks to Kev,” I said proudly, cupping one of my man’s soft, deft hands.
Kevin rolled his eyes. “That’s what you always say, Glorious. It’s your vision and you know it.”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” I laughed, continuing to take in the spectacular show. We just happened to be a damn great team.
A few minutes later, Claudia came backstage, bringing Blake Burns with her. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit and a dashing tie, he slapped a kiss on my lips.
“Hey, Blakester, watch it. She’s mine,” Jaime chastised playfully. The two of them loved to taunt each other. They were almost like brothers and, in fact, could be mistaken as siblings with their athletic, over six-foot-tall builds, blue eyes, and gorgeous chiseled features.
Laughing, Blake winked. “Man, don’t worry. I just wanted to tell Gloria the show rocks. Our ratings are going through the roof.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Blake. I think it’s one of our best shows ever.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” agreed beaming Kevin, who each year made the show bigger, better, and glitzier.
I turned to Claudia. “How are we doing online?” The show was also being streamed on our website.
“Amazing! Last time, I checked we had over two million hits.”
“Wonderful.”
“Can I get you guys anything?” she asked.
Claudia was the best assistant ever. Always so thorough and thoughtful. If I had it my way, she was going to go far.
“I think we’re good,” I responded. Jaime and Kev echoed the sentiment. On my next breath, my energetic assistant took off with Blake, who was eager to get back to his front-row seat.
The halfway point came quickly and the crowd roared—even rose to their feet—as Beyoncé, dressed in a pink infant-like onesie and sucking a sparkling pacifier, descended from the ceiling in an oversized crib. When the crib hit the stage, Beyoncé broke out of it, tossed the pacifier into the eager-to-catch-it crowd, and snapped off her onesie—revealing a white leather diamond-studded bra and a thong with large diamond safety pins holding it together at the sides. The audience shrieked as the beaming, long-legged star strutted across the stage in her thigh-high matching white boots and broke into “At Last.” Jaime, Kevin, and I were positively speechless. Totally mesmerized. She was amazing! Wow! Did she know how to bring it on!
She followed with one more song and then took a breather to introduce someone who owned her heart. The best thing she ever had, to paraphrase one of her hits. Her little daughter, Blue Ivy. And then holding the adorable toddler in her arms, she sang an original song for all the moms and moms-to-be. A lullaby. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The lyrics, “Baby, you’re my love, you’re my everything,” tore at my heartstrings, especially when she kissed Blue at the end. I already felt that maternal connection. In fact, I had from the minute I saw the first ultrasound. Standing behind me, Jaime wrapped his arms around me, his large hands gently rubbing my tummy. And then as I gazed down, he formed a heart with his index fingers and thumbs. His love for these babies was as great as his love for me. Teary-eyed, I leaned into his hard body and smiled. Soon. Very soon, my love.
Lifting Blue high above her head so she was facing the audience, a radiant Beyoncé took a bow. A raucous standing ovation. A dazzling smile flashed on both her face and Blue’s. I was sure Beyoncé’s lookalike little one was going to grow up to be a megastar just like her mother.
Tired of being on my feet, I took a seat on the cushy couch; Jaime sat next to me draping his arm around my shoulders. We were still able to easily see the stage and runway. The fashion show continued with a final wave of supermodel angels parading down the runway with their babies and toddlers…followed by the last wave of very pregnant models proudly revealing for the first time our sexy new line of maternity lingerie. Our grand finale. Again, the crowd went wild. I was positive the show was going to get high ratings on the network broadcast tonight and that tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, would be a stellar day for sales in our stores all over the world.
My mind was calculating sales figures when my signature song—Laura Branigan’s “Gloria”—began to blast through the vast space. It was time for me to do my customary walk down the runway and take my bow. Jaime helped me up.
“I love you, my brilliant angel.” His lips pressed against mine with a proud, passionate kiss before I waddled down the long stretch. I was met with loud cheers, whistles, and a standing ovation as I joined the group of beaming supermodels who applauded me.
Standing at the edge of the elevated runway, I was dizzy with happiness. An explosion boomed in my ears, and confetti cascaded down from the ceiling, covering everything—and everyone, including me. As I held my hands out to catch the colorful paper flakes, a sudden razor-sharp pain ripped through my gut. I clutched my rounded belly, doubling over with pain.
“Gloria!” I heard a panicked voice call out. Everything was a haze. Stars mixed with the falling bits of paper. And then another sharp pain stabbed me. Hunching over, I gasped. And then yet another.
The pain was unbearable. I felt myself collapsing. Going down in slow motion. Just as my knees were about to hit the ground, two strong arms lifted me up and cradled me like a baby. I weakly gazed at my savior’s face. Jaime!
“Angel, what’s the matter?” The look in his eyes was one of pure terror.
“Mon amour,” I whispered, my voice a mere rasp, “I’ve gone into labor. I’m having our babies!”
“Holy fuck!” were the last words I heard as he whisked me out of the studio.