THRILL had been transformed—from the security staff behind the velvet ropes, to the hired catering staff, to the restaurant itself. The bones of the place were still there—my nemesis, the fireplace, still crackled with a warmth that easily dispelled the fall chill. The long window on one side still framed the pretty courtyard view of the tree, glowing now with leaves dipped into autumnal gold. I was pretty sure the light fixtures in the dining room were the same as they’d been the day before. But everything else was different, sparkling, and new. All the tables and chairs had been moved out of the space, and some patient and burly souls had replaced them with dozens of clustered seating groups. Chairs covered in tailored white fabric huddled around inlaid wooden tables set with dishes of tapas and small desserts. I didn’t recognize any of the food, much less any of the beautiful people hovering around it.
Tova came from behind me and linked her arm through mine. “Charlie,” she said, her voice low and loose after two flutes of champagne, “this is officially blowing my mind.”
I smiled at a beautifully groomed couple who stood across the room, watching us. “I think those are famous people,” I said through my smile. “Try not to be too obvious.”
“What? Who?” The volume and pitch of Tova’s voice would have been well placed in a physical education class. “Oh, you are not serious.” Her acrylic nails were starting to pinch through the fabric of my dress. “That’s Damarius Reynolds and Emma Cary. I can’t believe they’re here! And together! Last week’s USWeekly said they’d broken up.”
I’d almost forgotten Donny was there, but he spoke up. He shifted slightly but retained his practiced sullen expression. “Damarius Reynolds is legend. He was so ripped in Revenge of Revenge. His ab definition was unbelievable.”
“We are so going over there.” Tova shook out the sequins on her skirt and smoothed her waistline. “Come on, Donny. Destiny calls.”
I watched her walk away, Donny doing his best catwalk swagger behind her, and felt Avery’s arm slide around my waist. He spoke into my ear, and I noticed I was taller than him in my heels.
“This is it,” he said. “I about keeled over from a panic attack in the car. Damn Margot and Vic for making us arrive separately. I could have used your calming influence.” He pulled away, and I marveled that he could square his shoulders and be faux relaxed after such a confession of nerves. “You look amazing,” he said. I couldn’t help feeling as if his compliment, along with the way he took a step back to appraise me, were for the benefit of those around us and not me.
“You cleaned up well, too,” I said, still sporting a version of the smile I’d offered the Ripped Ab couple across the room.
Margot stepped into the admiration circle, and we exchanged the briefest pleasantries ever before she began guiding me around the room, introducing me to industry people. Grateful I’d brought along a clutch, I filled it quickly with business cards from her favorite agents (one talent, one literary who specialized in celebrity cookbooks), four different TV execs who had garnered thirty-nine Emmys among them, a personal trainer to the stars (“I make Photoshop obsolete”), and a red carpet’s worth of celebrities. My mind spun in circles, and I tried my utmost to remain engaged with each person, though after a while the perfect faces started to run together. I couldn’t remember if Celia or Frances was the distant cousin of Sophia Loren, if Mateo or Spike was the guy who had a new surfing reality show on the WB, or if it was neither of those guys and the show wasn’t about surfing at all but about snowboarding naked. Someone had said something about naked extreme sports, that much I did know.
Vic called the room to attention just as I was getting to know an earnest woman named Midge who worked at some sort of political e-magazine and wanted to know what I thought about Russia. In general. I was grateful to hear Vic clapping his hands for attention.
“Welcome, everyone, to this evening’s event. We are proud and grateful such a star-studded group of people has joined us for the debut of the most-talked-about show of the season, Thrill Me.”
The room pulsed with applause. I felt eyes studying me as Avery came again to stand by my side. Midge looked miffed to have been displaced.
“Tonight is all about indulgence,” Vic continued. “The food, the wine, our beautiful surroundings, all you attractive people.” An appreciative chuckle rose from the room, though no one looked particularly surprised by Vic’s compliment. “We want you to enjoy yourself. We hope you feel as if this room and this moment is an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside. After all, in our business, we make shows about other people’s realities so you don’t have to face your own.”