Chapter Thirty
Kate descended the stairs, her shoes clattering unmusically on the tiles, giving away her impending entrance. But that was fine by her, because she didn’t want to do any surprises or startle anyone. She was nervous enough to throw up and figured everyone else was on the same frame right along with her.
Thank god it was the last week of filming and they were into early pick-ups and wind-ups. Patrick had already finished and it was just second tier cast. She had been able to take the whole day off today, to prepare for this stupid Emmy thing.
The hairdresser and makeup artist had taken hours. Tizzy – Orlando Oritizia – had personally sewn her into her dress forty minutes before, while sighing over her perfect size eight figure with its hourglass proportions and begging her never to have children. He had departed with much careful hugging and butterfly kisses that never quite made it to her cheeks. He had been doing her dresses for five years, but this dress was different.
When she had commented on the odd departure in style, he had patted her still un-made-up cheek. “You, you are so different now! We must celebrate your essential qualities.” He’d broken off into a torrent of Italian of which Kate had caught the merest fraction. But it had been enough. He had been in raptures over her hedonism and public embrace of the liberal side of life.
Garrett and Roman, in other words.
The dress was a deep, glowing red silk taffeta shot with black and laid over with the finest black Spanish silk lace. It had long sleeves and it pulled in tight around her waist and hips and lifted up her breasts. But Roman would be happy for behind there was nothing of the dress until just below her waist. Then it trailed and trailed, pulling the front taut across her thighs in a way that made her very aware of her hips, her thighs and the way her legs moved under the dress and kept flashing through the vent at the front.
She was wearing the most outrageous shoes. They were ridiculously high, razor thin heels, with built in platforms so that she stood over six feet tall. Black ribbons wrapped around her ankles, holding the shoes to her feet and crossing over the top of her feet, but that was all there was to her shoes, apart from the heels and the platform at the front. They were wickedly decadent and feminine and surprisingly comfortable.
Then there was the jewellery. A pair of armed guards and a woman with an electronic clipboard had delivered the jewels in an armoured vehicle thirty minutes ago. The woman had helped Kate put them on, securing the electronic fastenings herself. Then Kate had signed for them, her stomach tightening as the woman had explained what she was signing for.
“When you’re ready for us to retrieve them, call the number on the card and we’ll be here in thirty minutes,” the woman explained. “Don’t try to take them off yourself. You’ll trip the alarm.”
“What if I need to suddenly take a shower or fall into a swimming pool?” Kate asked.
“Try very hard not to fall into the swimming pool,” the woman said, “or put yourself into a situation where you need a shower. But the clasps should be able to withstand a quick spritz without harm. They’ve been tested good for fifteen metres underwater. We just don’t like them to get rusty and have to replace them. It drives the insurance up.”
“And what if I want to have sex?” Kate asked bluntly.
The woman smiled, while the two guards both stood stone-faced. “Have sex with them on. We don’t have any cameras hidden in them.”
One of the guard’s faces had turned red.
Kate signed, the woman counter-signed – it was an indecipherable scribble – gave Kate her card and picked up the board. “Have a great evening, Ms. Lindenstream.” The three left her bedroom.
Kate looked in the mirror. The jewellery was classic diamonds and pearls, with drop sapphires that were the same colour as her eyes and seemed to make her eyes even bluer. Just like the lace of her dress, the pearls were strung in loops and swirls that formed edges to the necklace and drop earrings and bracelet, giving them a delicate lacy look.
She studied the overall effect in the mirror. She had never looked like this walking down the carpet before. But she had made all these choices herself, this year. She hadn’t brought in a consultant, like she normally did. She hadn’t farmed out the chore to assistants. She had carved out precious minutes during lunch breaks to make calls. During the night she had poured over catalogues and websites. Her only concession had been Tizzy and for him, her directive had been “give me a dress that is something I would wear, not something your models would wear.”
And this had been the result. Now Kate had nothing else to do but pick up her stole and purse and head downstairs to where Garrett and Roman had assured her by text they were waiting.
She stepped into the front room. Garrett was peering out the window, possibly keeping an eye out for the limousine…or paparazzi. Roman was in the kitchen, digging around in her fridge. Both of them were in tuxedos.
Garrett dropped the blinds and turned to face her. He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak…and didn’t. He let out his breath again in a rush, shaking his head a little.
“Oh…wow,” Roman said. “Can I walk behind you all night?”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
He clapped his hands to his chest, over his heart. “Damn and you have to look at me just like that, with that expression, too. Right over your shoulder, with your eyes narrowed.” He closed his eyes. “Heaven.”
“Let me see the back,” Garrett said. “No, don’t move. It’s worth walking around to see it, judging by his reaction.” He moved around her in a big semi-circle, avoiding the train.
Silence.
“Now you’re worrying her, you great Philistine,” Roman growled. “Say something.”
“I have literally no words to say. Not in English,” Garrett said. He muttered something she recognized as Gaelic.
“Very romantic,” Roman said dryly.
“What did you say?” Kate asked, turning to face them both.
Roman turned down one corner of his mouth. “An observation on how beddable you looked. But Gaelic is one of the most poetic languages in the world. Very precise. And he wasn’t being poetic. Much.”
Garrett raised his brows and looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”
Kate laid her hand flat on her laced-in stomach. Oddly, his earthiness had made her feel much better. “You’re going to have to teach me Gaelic. And Greek. I’ve forgotten everything I learned of Greek when I was there.”
“Ancient Greek, in Roman’s case. He’s a die-hard purist.” Garrett pulled out his cellphone and glanced at the time. “Limousine is waiting. So are a bunch of opportunistic paparazzi. It’s time.”
Roman cracked his knuckles. “Showtime.”
“Literally,” Garrett added.
Kate smiled at them. “Thank you. Both of you. Thank you for doing this. I really don’t know how bad this may get, but the last few weeks haven’t been a picnic, either.”
“You noticed, huh?” Roman said. He was smiling.
Garrett hit the back of his shoulder with the heel of his hand. “You’re a lying sack of shit, Roman. You’ve loved every second of it.” He looked at Kate and cocked his head toward Roman. “He’s been asked out on more dates and had more offers of marriage since this thing broke than in the last century. And he’s totally getting off on being called…” He paused, recalling headlines. “‘A brooding Greek alpha mystery man.’” Garrett frowned. “Where do they come up with this crap? Mills & Boon?”
Roman was grinning. “He’s jealous. They’re still recycling the same headlines they’ve been using for him since before the dawn of time. He’s just a financial whizz. Nothing sexy about him at all.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Kate took his arm, trying to control her laughter. She managed to keep herself to an insane grin that wouldn’t quit, as Garrett moved ahead to the front door and rested his hand against the latch. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He opened the door and they stepped out.
Instantly, the cameras began to pop and flash and questions were called out. They ignored them all and Garrett and Roman helped her carefully down the steps and into the waiting limousine. They tucked her train in, climbed in on either side of her and shut the door.
The limousine driver backed out through the open gates. “Evening, Ms. Lindenstream,” he said as he drove. “They’re hungry tonight.”
“It’s the Emmys, Roger. I guess it’s always a little crazy on awards nights.”
He backed onto the street and the media pressed up against the windows, the cameras firing volleys like multiple machine guns. “They’re gonna get ‘emselves an injury at this rate.”
“Slow and steady, please, Roger. A civil suit is the last thing I need right now.”
“Right you are.” He nosed the car forward until they were clear of the crowd and Kate let out her breath.
As the car accelerated, Roger raised the dividing glass, giving her privacy. She looked at the time display in the console in front of her. “One down, the big one to come. Only six hours and forty minutes to go until I can turn back into Cinderella again.”
* * * * *
Her guess that she was one of the draw cards for the evening was right. As soon as Roger pulled up and they stepped out of the car, an Academy representative hurried over to greet them, carrying a big clipboard.
“Ms. Lindenstream, you’re here. Good. I can show you to the marquee entrance.”
Kate tested her theory. “I usually just duck in that way.” She pointed to the public entrance that the non-stars, production people, cast and crew used.
The escort looked alarmed. “Oh, but we have interviews set up and the press will want to talk to you and…” She halted, glancing at Garrett and Roman. Roman was grinning, enjoying the escort’s heavy-handed faux-pas.
“Yeah, I get it,” Kate said. “Which way?”
The escort smiled happily and hurried on ahead of them. They stepped onto red outdoor carpet. Acres of it. It led them into a wide, red, roped-off tunnel lined with tall posters with the Academy’s logo, as a backdrop for the cameras. On the other side was the press gallery. Strung out along the carpet were the stars and their escorts, posing for photos, calling out to journalists, answering questions and smiling for the cameras.
There were bright lights everywhere.
“I didn’t count on the lights,” Garrett said in an undertone.
“I didn’t bring sunglasses, either,” Roman shot back.
Kate looked at them, alarmed. “Light is an issue?” she whispered.
“Harsh, direct sunlight or its equivalent, yes,” Garrett murmured. He nodded his head toward the strobing, massive lights just ahead. “That could be.”
“We’ll handle what we can. Then we might have to bail, Kate. Don’t worry, we’ll make it look normal,” Roman said.
She bit her lip.
“Don’t,” Garrett told her, touching under her chin. “You’ll ruin your makeup. We’ll be fine.”
“Until you’re not.”
“Hey, we’ve survived this long,” Roman said. He picked up her hand. “Let’s do this.”
Garrett took her purse and handed her stole to Roman. He took her free hand in his. “Let’s really give them something to talk about.”
They moved slowly toward the sun-bright bathed section of the press gallery. Kate could feel her heart picking up speed and starting to slam around inside her chest. This part of the Hollywood tradition was never her favourite to begin with. Tonight was a thousand times worse.
But it was made infinitely better because of Garrett and Roman by her side. Sides.
She smiled at her own pathetically small joke and that was when a camera flashed in her face.
“Kate! Kate!”
She halted and turned to look into the lights, still smiling. It had begun.
Garrett and Roman stepped in close next to her. Neither of them let go of her hands.
The first few questions were routine. Who did her hair? Her make-up. Her dress. Where was her jewellery from? Who was she supporting tonight? She was pleased to be able to mention Elizabeth Bentley and her role in her movie and also to mention the role Elizabeth had taken in the television show that had snagged her the nomination tonight.
There were a few repeats of the basic questions as Kate drifted gently up the length of the gallery and for a moment, she thought they were going to get away without having to answer any point-blank personal questions.
“Kate! Is it true the Academy invited you and both your boyfriends on the same invitation?”
Her smile froze in place. Garrett’s hand tightened around hers.
“‘Boyfriend’ is such a juvenile world, don’t you think?” she shot back.
“You have a better word?”
“What’s wrong with ‘lover’?” she asked.
There was a stunned silence, where nothing but the sound of shutters and electronic whirring could be heard.
Kate glanced quickly from the corner of her eye at Roman. He was smiling hugely. He was enjoying himself, although his eyes were half-shut against the toxic light.
Another voice emerged from the wall of light. A female voice. “Kate, are you living with both your lovers? Are you, in fact, living in a ménage with them?”
“Who’s asking?” Kate asked. “I feel like I know the voice, but I can’t quite…”
“It’s Sue Myers, Kate. Hollywood Flipside.”
“Oh, hi, Sue. I can’t answer your question for the simple reason that I’ve been living in a trailer for the last ten weeks, while I’ve been filming Warrior King. Even I haven’t been living with me. But if I was going to live in a ménage arrangement, I couldn’t think of two better men to do it with. Thanks, everyone.”
As the cameras fired off another staccato, she tugged Roman and Garrett into motion and moved the last few feet, out of the press gallery lights, into the cooler, shaded carpet area.
Roman and Garrett closed in around her, blinking and rubbing their eyes. “Not a moment too soon,” Roman murmured.
“I smell a rat,” Garrett said. “That Sue who tossed you that perfect opening. I’ve never heard of a Hollywood Flipside and I’ve been reading all the movie trades for weeks now.”
Kate smiled. “That’s because there’s no such publication. ‘Sue’ was a code. That was Suzette, my issues director. We planned that question and answer, days ago.”
Garrett kissed her. “That’s my smart little director.”
And another barrage of cameras went off.
“Oops,” Roman said and laughed.
Another escort hurried over. “Ms. Lindenstream. I have Erica Johnston from the L.A. Times Entertainment section over here. She would like three minutes of your time.” The escort indicated with a wave of her hand.
Kate sighed. “Almost over,” she said and followed the escort across the carpet to where a woman in a plain black, unadorned evening gown stood with an electronic recording device and pad and pencil.
Roman and Garrett stepped up alongside her. “Moral support,” Garrett murmured.
“Fuck that,” Roman shot back. “Support of the most immoral kind possible.”
Kate was smiling when she reached the journalist. The smile lingered throughout the interview and Erica Johnston was a ball-breaker of the worst sort. Kate couldn’t remember a single question afterwards, either. All she could remember was Roman’s fingers on her bare back and Garrett’s hip touching hers.
Even Johnston seemed flustered by their presence. She stammered more than once and said ‘sorry’ a lot.
By the time they went into the theatre and were escorted to their seats – tenth row and dead centre where the cameras would catch them constantly – Kate was feeling more than a little removed from the proceedings. Her mind was in a swirl of confused, half-formed hazy ideas.
It was a good thing they had cues telling them when to applaud, because she had trouble paying attention.
She kept flipping back to Roman’s off-hand comment about Garrett slipping back into Gaelic when he was aroused. Of course Roman would know that because they had been lovers once. He had told her that and she had absorbed the fact like something written in an encyclopaedia. A piece of information she had filed away.
But Roman’s comment tonight had given shape to it. Fleshed it out and brought it alive. They had been lovers. They had kissed and touched. Made love. They knew each others’ bodies the way Roman knew hers. The way Garrett touched hers. Of course Roman knew Garrett whispered Gaelic in the deep throes of passion. He had been one to whom Garrett had whispered it.
She couldn’t stop circling that idea like a buzzard over fresh kill. The images swiftly grew more specific and detailed as she wondered what it had been like for them. Why had they parted?
Toward the end of the awards, she realized with a start that she had paid virtually no attention to the last half of the show at all. And she was deeply and powerfully aroused.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to take one of them home and ease this terrible craving. But first, they had to go through the dinner party at Lex & Louis’ that Elizabeth was hosting in Kate’s honour.