Monsters (33 page)

When he lets go, he sort of squeezes my hand, but it's my left hand, and he looks down and says, “Congratulations, honey. It's very pretty.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I turn to get my wine. When I turn back, Tommy's slipped off to the next group. He spends most of the night
circulating. I spend most of the night pretending not to notice where he's standing, and who he's talking to, and whether she's pretty.

•   •   •

We have to get dressed so early on Sunday. I go up to Sarah's room, and she has a whole goddamn staff. There are two people doing her hair, which is ridiculous because in the end it just looks natural and kind of windswept. She's wearing this pale rose-colored column that plunges in the front, and her waist looks so tiny I think I could get my hands around it. I mean, she looks like a goddess. My dress is pretty simple, so purple it's almost black, and really, really fitted. It has kind of a high slit up the side, and it's basically backless. I did not show it to Phillip because I think he would have died.

“Shit, Stacey, you look gorgeous,” Sarah says at first, but then she looks at me a little more critically and says, “Actually, we should work on your face and maybe do something with your hair.”

She passes me off to her people and the next thing I know they're putting fake eyelashes on me and fixing the curl of my hair, but they're quick about it. They know we're on a schedule.

Sarah wants me to wear these teardrop diamond earrings and a bracelet of hers, but I say, “I don't know, they don't really go with my ring.”

She sighs heavily like she can't believe what a pain in the ass I am. “So leave the ring here,” she says, and I say, “Fine,” and drop it in with the box of stuff she's sending down to the hotel safe.

“You ready?” Sarah says, and she turns to me and smiles. She pops open her little clutch and pulls out a pill box and says, “Xanax?”

I laugh and shake my head.

•   •   •

Tommy texts John as he's pulling in, and we go down the back elevator to the limo. When he steps out of the back of the car in this very classic tux, I feel like I'm probably in a lot of trouble. He kisses Sarah and pats John on the arm as they both slip past him into the car. Then he holds my left arm by the wrist, and he kisses me on the cheek. He lets his hand slide down across my fingers as he lets go, and I can tell he notices that I'm not wearing the ring.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“You look pretty good yourself.”

“I clean up all right,” he says, and I say, “You do dirty pretty well too,” and then I say, “Shit, I didn't mean to say that,” because really, I shouldn't be flirting with him.

He laughs, but he isn't smiling. “Right,” he says, “you have such a loose tongue. Always letting things slip.” He rests his hand on my back and presses me toward the open door. “‘Oops, I made a mistake,' she says. That's adorable, that is really fucking cute.” He says it like he's mumbling, but he wants me to hear it.

I turn my head toward him, and I say, “Tommy,” but he says, “Just get in the car.”

Sarah looks up as we're climbing in. “Are we going straight or picking anyone else up? You bringing a date?”

For a second, I feel a little nauseated because I hadn't considered that, but he says, “No, we're good to go.”

“We need more champagne then because I am ready to lose it,” Sarah says.

“It's already open.” Tommy leans forward and pours a glass for
Sarah, and then one for me, and John, and him, and when he leans back against the seat, our arms are almost touching. I can't decide which direction I should shift in, so I just fold my hands around my glass and try to be still.

•   •   •

Outside the window, there's the carpet, and it's all roped off and there are people maybe twenty, maybe thirty feet deep on the other side. There are cameras flashing, and these stage lights overhead, and it's all just insane. There's a line of cars ahead of us, letting people out slowly, and when the car finally stops, Tommy says, “You ready for this?” and Sarah and I both say, “No.”

The difference is that as she's stepping out of the car, she turns on this smile and you'd never know. She's radiant, totally glowing. She smiles. She waves. Tommy puts his hand on my back to move me away from the car, and I look at him like
Uh-uh,
like
Please,
like
No.

“Stacey, you've got to get that look off your face. You look panicked.”

Which is fitting because I am panicked, and right now, I'd like to be as far from Tommy as possible because it's on him that everyone's so focused. There are people literally screaming his name.

John steps between us, and he reaches for my arm. “Tommy, you go ahead with Sarah. We'll hang back a few steps,” he says, and I think this sounds perfect.

“I've got her,” Tommy says, and before John can answer, he pushes me forward and then steps ahead of me and grabs my hand. We make it all of, I don't know, three feet before people are stopping us, and they're asking for pictures. Tommy says, “Sure,” and he pulls me in close and under his breath says, “You need to smile.”

As we start walking again he says, “Right now, our job is to be pretty.”

“That's never my job,” I say. “My job is to be smart.”

“Not today. Today they're only paying for pretty.” But then he smiles at me for the first time all day, and he changes his voice and says, “You got this, honey. You can do pretty in your sleep.”

I know he's just trying to distract me, but it's not working. There's too much noise here, too many people. “No, I can't. I can do smart in my sleep.”

“You can do both. You're a fucking triple threat.”

“That's two things, not three,” I say.

He leans in close to my ear. “And you're amazing in bed.” I laugh, but I know he doesn't mean it. He's just looking for the right reaction because he says, “There you go. That's the smile they want. Keep that.”

•   •   •

It gets worse the farther we go because there are all these little interview stops, and Tommy's expected to talk to everyone, and the questions are all basically the same, and then they all want to know, “Who's your date, Tommy?” and he keeps introducing me as “the poet, Stacey Lane.” One woman asks, “Are you an item, then?” and Tommy just laughs and says, “No.” As he says this, his hand is firmly on my back, and because my dress is backless, his hand is on my skin, and I think,
It's really fucking hot out here for February,
but it's probably just all of the lights.

•   •   •

“Tommy?” this voice says behind us.

Tommy turns and says, “Hey there, honey, how are you?” and the tone he uses makes me feel a little sick, but I just keep my head turned
away. I don't want to look. It would be nice if I didn't have to listen, if I couldn't hear them, because she says, “When are you going to call me again?” and he says, “I don't know, honey, when do you want me to?”

I start to step a little away, not far, just to be polite, but Tommy says, “Stacey, let me introduce you.” I honestly can't tell whether he's trying to be an asshole or nice. I just know that now, I'm having to shake this woman's hand. She's looking me over really closely, and I'm trying to ignore her breasts, but it's hard because they're really out there.

“Stacey's our poet,” Tommy says, and she seems to like this. Obviously, poets are not all that much of a threat.

“Nice to meet you, Stacey,” she says, and I smile, and then she turns back to Tommy. “Where are you heading tonight?”

“I don't know yet,” Tommy says, “but I can give you my assistant's number. He'll know where to find me.”

“I think I already have it,” she says, and Tommy says, “Do you? You should definitely use it.” And I'm like,
Jesus, this is disgusting.

Once she's gone, Tommy puts his hand on my elbow, and he starts me moving again. “You okay?” he says.

“Of course,” I say, and I say it pretty quickly. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“All the crowds,” he says. “You didn't think I was talking about Rebecca, did you? I already know that kind of thing never bothers you. Does it, Stacey? I mean, it's not like I'm going to marry her, right?” And he says this so close to my ear that his lips brush against it.

I stop walking. I can't take another step. I feel like I can't breathe. I don't know if it's the crowds or Tommy. Probably Tommy. I say, “Jesus, Tommy, what are you doing to me?”

He turns to face me, and he steps close. He puts his hand on my
cheek, and he leans in like he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. He says, “Honestly, Stacey, I have no idea. You never fucking say.” Then he takes a step back. “You can't just stand here, honey. God knows you don't want to make a scene.”

•   •   •

When we get inside, they have us sitting in the third row, and Tommy's on the aisle. Sarah's next to me, and Jason's behind us—well, Jason's not yet. I don't know where he is, but his wife's sitting there.

The show starts, and it is really fucking inane. There are a couple of song-and-dance routines, and the host does the whole roasting of the most famous people in the audience. There's a particularly funny joke about how promiscuous Tommy is, which I obviously really enjoy, but Tommy just laughs like,
Of course, you're right, I'm such a whore.
Then they start giving out the awards. There are so many awards, and our movie picks up two of the smaller ones right away, but then it misses out on another, and the next one we're up for is supporting actor, and that means Tommy.

The actress presenting the award is Allison Grant. She is so talented and graceful and a total knockout. While she's reading the names of the nominees, I wonder if Tommy's ever slept with her. I know that they've been in a movie together, so I think,
Probably.

They show clips of all the actors and then there's this long pause while she's trying to get the envelope open. They seem to cement these things shut for dramatic effect. She pulls out the card and takes this little happy breath, and then she says, “Tommy DeMarco.”

Sarah screams next to me. Tommy just smiles and does this self-deprecating shake of his head. I swear I think he's been practicing.
Then we're all standing and clapping, and John reaches across Sarah and me to shake his hand, and Sarah throws her hands over both of theirs and says, “Oh, Tommy, I love you! You deserve this.”

Tommy looks at me, and I take his face in my hands, and I say, “I'm so proud of you.” I lean in and press my lips against his.

It's nothing. Really. Nothing more than Sarah's done a million times, but I don't get it right. Maybe I hold it too long, maybe I move my bottom lip against his, maybe it's the way I press my thumbs against his chin. Tommy pulls away from me and whispers, “You have any idea what you're doing here?” and of course I don't. Everyone is watching, and I feel like I'm going to crack in half. But Tommy takes my neck in his hands, and he pulls me toward him, and for just a second, I think about Phillip, and I don't know whether it's good that he's watching alone. Then Tommy's mouth is on mine, pressing it to open, pulling at my lip, and the people around us start to applaud. When he backs away, he smiles at me, and then he turns and jogs up to the stage.

Sarah leans over and says, “What the hell was that?” but I don't answer. I feel like I'm going to be sick, and if she keeps talking, I'm not going to be able to hold this smile. I think,
Please let the boys be in bed.
I don't know what else to hope for now.

Allison hands him the award and kisses him on the cheek, and then he leans into the microphone and says, “You'll have to give me a minute to catch my breath,” and everyone laughs. I hold my fingers over my mouth and press them hard against my lips. He looks at the award for a long second, just admires it. His timing is perfect. He's hitting all his marks. “Stace,” he says. “Remember when you tried to talk me out of this part?” I nod, but he's not looking at me anymore. “You are a brilliant, a brilliant poet, but you're never going to make it as an agent.” More laughter. “So, I wouldn't be up here if it wasn't for my friend, my
partner in crime, my brother, Jason Collier.” Everyone applauds. “You are the finest director I know. The most brilliant mind. You see the world and then you bring it into focus for the rest of us. And Sarah, you are the lightning rod we all coalesced around. So generous with your talent and your art. I'm so grateful. And Stacey, Jesus, Stacey. What the hell am I supposed to say? This is for you, baby, and all those beautiful monsters in your head.”

He gives a little thank-you nod and steps backwards and walks off the stage. The band starts playing, and Sarah puts her hand on my arm like she wants my attention, but I just shake my head.

•   •   •

It seems like he's backstage forever. There's a song and then they give out another award. I see him finally, trying to make his way back to his seat. He doesn't have far to go, but it's slow going, people are stopping him, shaking his hand, offering congratulations. I try not to watch him. I don't know what to do with my face.

When he finally sits down, Sarah reaches over me to grab his hand and squeeze it, and I push myself into the back of my seat to get out of their way. “We have so much to celebrate,” she whispers before she pulls her hand away.

I keep my gaze firmly on the stage and the presenter who's talking. I'm not sure what the award is for, but I watch like it's important, like I really, really care. Tommy slides his hand under my arm and winds his fingers through mine, and he leans his shoulder against me, holds his head close and in a low voice says, “So what are your thoughts on going public with this? Because I think we just went very, very public.”