“But, I don’t really think they mean anything. They’re just… They’re just nice to have, I guess. I mean, really. In the grand scheme of the universe, who really cares about some stupid actor winning an award?”
I grabbed his hand again. “Understood. But in your little universe, the universe in which you make your living, I think it happens to be pretty phenomenal. It’s nice to be acknowledged for all that hard work. Besides, you’re not even nominated for anything this year. You won’t have to suffer the indignity of actually getting up on that stage.”
That made him chuckle. “You’re right. I’m not nominated. But I will have to get on that stage.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve been bugging me for years to be a presenter. I always declined because I wasn’t ever going to even be there. If I go, there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of it.”
I weighed that for a moment. “If?”
He sighed heavily, rolling his neck from side to side. If it weren’t for his twitching lip, I would have been duped into believing he was trying to come up with a way to let me down easily. His gorgeous face turned in my direction as he gave me a sham dirty look out of the corner of his eyes. God. I freaking died every time he did that. “Okay, fine. You win. When.”
I gave a yelp and threw my arms around him for a hug. “Thank you! We’re going to have so much fun. Just you wait!”
He couldn’t contain his laughter.
*
The next morning, I called my agent, Diana. She was based out of the main office located in New York, but I tried to schedule my visits on the days when she’d be in the New Jersey branch. The city wasn’t a far ride from Norman, but Paramus was a hell of a lot closer. For days like this, the phone was even more convenient.
I wasn’t much looking forward to reporting on my non-progress on Book Three. I had a few half-assed ideas to pitch, though, and I figured she’d be able to help me nail down the one I should dive into first. But forty minutes into our call, we hadn’t even touched on the subject of my next work of fiction. Diana was more interested in my real life.
Of course I had to let her know I was going to be out of town. She was my agent, after all. But I guess I was so excited about where I’d be going, that I managed to slip the name Trip Wiley into the conversation. What followed was a solid half-hour of Diana gushing about my boyfriend’s movies, peppered with the occasional plea for me to bring him by the office and introduce them.
God. Even the straitlaced, ball-busting Diana Cavanaugh wasn’t immune to The Great and Powerful Trip Wiley.
Then she said something even more shocking. “So, does this mean I’m finally going to get the real story between you and the movie star?”
It was only surprising because I’d really thought we’d gotten past that in the almost five years since I’d been working with her. But in my life, I’ve learned to never say never.
More importantly, I’ve learned to never say no to Diana Cavanaugh.
“I don’t know, Dee. That story doesn’t have an ending yet.”
Chapter 12
JUST LIKE HEAVEN
We scheduled a late afternoon flight out to L.A., and I tried to forget how much I hated to fly. It truly scared the hell out of me, but I figured I’d better get used to a bi-coastal lifestyle. Flying first-class made it just a tad easier to change my opinion on airplanes, however. Actually, it made it hugely easier. I was pleasantly surprised to find that most of my aerophobia was caused by claustrophobia, and not so much the whole winging through the sky thing. I wished I had discovered first class years ago.
A few photographers were lurking at the gate, and got off a bunch of shots as Trip and I were getting off the plane. I was tired from the flight, but took Trip’s cue and smiled as we walked past briskly, but not rudely. It was strange to be smacked with his world within only the first few seconds of entering it. I was still getting used to the idea that he even lived like that, when BAM! Welcome to Hollywood.
I figured after six hours crammed onto an airplane, I probably didn’t look my best. I hoped the pictures were boring enough that they’d never turn up in some magazine or something. What was the story there? “Trip Wiley And Some Random Chick Get Off An Airplane”? Fascinating journalism, kids. I’ll be sure to frame your article and hang it on the wall next to my LIFE cover of the Kennedy assassination.
Stepping out of the airport was like stepping out onto a different planet. After suffering through yet another long winter in Jersey, arriving in Los Angeles was like going from black and white to full-on Technicolor. With the time change, it was still fairly light out, and I was so invigorated to see all the green of southern California.
Swimmin’ pools. Movie stars. Beach Boys music piped in on every corner.