“On for the run of the show. The Playbills are being reprinted as we speak.”
New York magazine agreed to reshoot the photo on a moment’s notice, and I called my very favorite saleswoman in all of Manhattan, Ruthie from Bloomingdale’s, to see if she could help me with the dress. She told me she thought she could, and I agreed that I would stop by the store tomorrow.
The next day when I walked in she came out from the back room to greet me with a smile and the Max Hammer. I knew she’d come through. I’ve known her almost the entire time she’s been here. You don’t see so many of these tried-and-true New Yorkers anymore, the hardcore no-nonsense type. I always love doing business with Ruthie.
“Here you go!” she said, handing me the dress. “It’s the last small. I nearly lost it to a customer right after I hung up with you yesterday. You may have to steam it out—it’s really made the rounds, this dress, seen a lot of action.” She laughed.
“So has the actress who’s wearing it, I’m told!”
She laughed harder. I was happy the dress wasn’t perfect. I hated being entrusted with a brand-new dress and then returning it in poor shape. I was confident that Jordana Winston would stretch it, stain it, and then leave it in a ball on the floor. Especially since she’d asked to keep it through the opening-night party.
“I’ll have it back to you early next week. Is that okay, Ruthie?”
“Absolutely,” she said, adding, “Break a leg, little black dress!”
CHAPTER 17
Me and My Beard
By Jeremy Madison, Movie Star
Hank planned to take care of the whole Albert-is-the-love-of-my-life media panic with another staged performance. He wasn’t even consulting Albert or me anymore, just barking orders. That night Albert and his boyfriend were to “bump into” paparazzi outside Nobu 57, where they would explain the entire misunderstanding and emphatically restate that Jeremy Madison is not gay. They would both joke about how they wished he were, for the sake of gay men everywhere. Hank felt that the world would believe it coming from two gay men. It would be a perfect Hank Haberman production.
I vowed to do my part for integrity by ensuring that at least the statement “Jeremy Madison could not be reached for comment” wouldn’t be a lie. I planned to be wheels up by four p.m. on my way solo to a private Wi-Fi-free beach without a reporter in sight. I figured I could use some alone time to think—until Natalie called to check on me, when I decided some Natalie time would be even better. Though I had sworn off rejection, I couldn’t resist inviting her to come along. I had fun with her, and she was the perfect distraction from everything I was trying to escape.
“Do you have any time off coming?” I asked.
“I do…but I’m supposed to put in for it in advance. Why?”
“I need a vacation. I want to lie on a beach for a few days. Want to come with?” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate.
“Mmmm, beach sounds heavenly. When were you thinking?”
“Um…now?” I held my breath.
“Ha, I love it. Let me see if Tomás or Ruthie can cover for me. Give me ten minutes.”
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” I asked, laughing at her blind willingness. Maybe she does like me after all.
“I don’t care—all I need to know is beach. We’ll be like Thelma and Louise! Maybe we’ll even pick up Brad Pitt somewhere along the way!”
It was like a one-two punch: she saw me as her gal pal, and she wanted Brad Pitt. “Okay, call me back,” I somehow recovered enough to say.
My BFF Natalie and I met at Teterboro at four to board a private plane. She was so excited when she saw me that she leaped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. She loved the private plane—her first time. She loved that the destination was a surprise. And at the first sight of the breathtaking coastline of Turks and Caicos her eyes almost popped out of her head. She thanked me more on that plane ride and on the way to the resort than my ex had in our entire relationship. I made a mental note to stop comparing her to my ex and start comparing her to Mitchell Grabow, my best friend at Camp Olympus.
When we went to check in I asked for two different casitas, one for each of us.
Natalie quickly jumped in: “We’re not staying in the same room?” She likes me?
“I just thought, well, what if your Brad Pitt is roaming around? You need to have a place to take him.”
She laughed. “If either of us finds our Brad Pitt, we can just go to his room!”
What the hell was she talking about? What would I want with Brad Pitt? Although actually I would love to meet Brad Pitt. He made the transition from twentysomething heartthrob to real grownup actor perfectly. She knows me better in a few weeks than my fiancée did after a year.
She shook my shoulder and said pretty seriously, “Jeremy, I want to spend every minute with you. I haven’t felt this close to anyone this quickly since Lisa Rogell moved next door in the sixth grade!”