Indiscreet by Nicole French

19

“Come on, Lil, let me see.”

A few weeks later, I stood in the middle of Will’s walk-in closet, hardly able to recognize myself as I stared at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

“I don’t know,” I said to Robin, the stylist sent from the studio.

We were getting ready to attend one of five separate premieres over the next year in support of one of Beauregard’s movies—a contractual obligation that Benny hadn’t been able to get Will out of. Apparently since Will wasn’t planning to make any other movies after this, they were going to milk his reappearance into pop culture for everything it was worth. Corbyn wasn’t particularly happy with the decision since they were in the middle of filming, but del Conte was adamant. Amelia’s new movie, a rom-com that wasn’t projected to do well, needed all the promotional boost Will’s star power could give it.

The studio, of course, had wanted Will to attend with her. It would be fitting if they were seen together. “Feed the frenzy,” in the words of the publicist who had come by Will’s trailer the day before to brief us on the event.

Will had given her exactly one second to take it back and then told her to get the hell out of his trailer. A quick phone call to Benny ensured that I would be attending every one of those stupid events, or neither of us would be going at all.

“Lil!” Will called from the bedroom. “Come on, baby, you promised I could see.”

I sighed and bunched my hair over one shoulder. “Fine. I’m coming out.”

I stepped into the gold-heeled Jimmy Choos that Robin insisted went with the dress and walked into the bedroom, where Will was having a suit fitted by an assistant from Tom Ford. It was amazing, really, what the designers were able to do last minute when their stuff was going to be seen on the red carpet.

“Well?” I asked, spreading the blue skirt out from my knees. “What do you think?”

Will looked up, and his handsome face practically turned to ash. “What the fuck is that?”

“Mr. Baker, this is absolutely en vogue,” Robin said as she came out behind me.

“It’s also absolutely fucking see-through,” Will retorted, bristling to the point that the assistant, crouched while hemming his pants, had to sit back with a mouth full of pins.

Robin sighed. “This designer is the next Balmain, and we are under orders from the studio that if Ms. Sharp is going to walk the red carpet with you, she needs to pull attention. This dress will do that. It photographs wonderfully, and the satin will positively shine under the lights.”

I looked down at the dress. The delicately beaded bustier top with gold over blue satin was beautiful and certainly would turn heads, but considering that the knee-length skirt was indeed completely sheer, I wasn’t sure it was the kind of attention I wanted. Right now you could completely see my plain black underwear, though Robin had already told me that a dark blue pair came with the dress.

“At least she’s got the body for it,” remarked Kelly, the seamstress on the ground. She rocked onto her knees and went back to working on Will’s hems.

Will’s look, also sponsored by the studio and the designers currently hurling their wares at him in hopes he’d get papped anywhere with them on, was relatively simple: an Italian cut, navy blue suit with a crisp, robin’s-egg blue shirt underneath that made his tanned skin glow and his eyes look almost turquoise. It was annoying, really, that he got to go the classic route while I had to be a walking attention-seeker.

Will’s eyes narrowed at Kelly, who shrank. “Maybe so. But if the studio is that insistent on getting this kind of attention, you might want to remind them about the last time I attended a premiere.”

Robin cringed next to me.

“What happened?” I asked.

Will scowled. “I got mobbed. Couldn’t even make it out of the car without a super-sized dose of quaaludes, which basically made me the worst interview on the face of the planet. So maybe they should dial back, eh?”

I had no problem with that. I turned to Robin. “Is there anything to try that’s maybe a little less…revealing? A little more, I don’t know…classic?”

Robin looked me up and down for the millionth time that afternoon. “Kelly, finish picking up Mr. Baker’s hemlines, all right? I’m going to make sure Ms. Sharp gets exactly what she needs.”

I was spun back into the closet and told to stay still while Robin figured out a new game plan.

“Classic, huh?” she said as she flipped through the clothes on the rack she’d brought with her. “Well, we can’t be too plain, you know. You’re the arm candy. We want something that pops in photos. So…yellow, no, that’s a finicky color, and we don’t have time to find the right shade. Red is boring—and I think Ms. Craig is wearing red anyway. Black’s out…”

“Why’s black out?” I asked.

Robin turned to me with bored eyes, as if I should know the answer. “It doesn’t photograph well unless you’ve got a dramatic cut. Texture, fabric—none of it shows at night with a heavy camera flash. We need color and contrast, and since your skin is a little darker…” She flipped her finger up and down my body, which had gotten a bit darker after a month spending half my days by the pool. “Classic? I’m thinking a fantastic summer white.”

She yanked out a dress and hung it in front of the others before turning to help me out of the sheer monstrosity.

“I have a feeling about this one,” she said. “Just you wait.”

* * *

Four hours later,after Will had gone back to the studio to rehearse a big action scene they were filming later that week, and I had spent most of my afternoon being primped and prodded into oblivion by Robin and her team, I was waiting in the kitchen, standing awkwardly and as still as possible so I wouldn’t ruin the “look” that Robin had so assiduously put together. So long as the dress wasn’t overly revealing, I trusted her judgment completely, and over the course of four hours, we developed a rapport together I liked a lot. But it was really hard not to ruin it. I desperately wanted a cup of coffee, but was terrified of spilling anything on the sleek white fabric.

Robin was a pro, and after styling half of Hollywood’s elite for the last ten years, she had a lot of tips and tricks for me on my first red carpet. I wasn’t scared—okay, I was, but not really. I’d been on stage plenty of times in the past, and this didn’t require anything more than stepping and stopping while Will answered all the questions.

But it was our final chat that put the fear of God in me.

“There,” she said as she made the finishing touches on my hair, which had been styled in its natural curls with a bit of added volume, draped over my shoulder in a loose ponytail. “This is going to work. Amateur, my ass.”

“What’s going to work?” I wondered. “Who’s an amateur?” Robin seemed like the picture of professionalism to me.

Robin froze, clearly caught in something she shouldn’t have been saying in the first place. I watched as several thoughts clearly flew across her face. And in the end, she settled on candor.

“They’re waiting for you to fail,” she said as she went back to doing my makeup.

I balked. “What? Who?”

Robin shrugged as Kelly gave her an incredulous look from where she was steaming Will’s clothes that would be brought back to the studio.

“What?” she said. “It’s the truth.”

“Well, yeah,” Kelly mumbled, turning back to the clothes. “But that doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

“Shit,” Robin swore when my face must have bloomed red. “Now, don’t get all riled up about it. You’ll ruin your makeup. That’s the nature of this town, you know. Everyone is waiting for someone else to fall on their face so they can use them as a stepladder.”

I took deep breaths and tried to remain still as she finished her work. But in the end, my curiosity got the better of me. “Who?”

Robin shrugged. “Oh, no one in particular.”

“Robin, come on,” Kelly said.

Robin pressed her lips together, then sighed. “All right, fine. You might want to know that the blue dress was suggested by Amelia Craig. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But she recommended it to us, and the studio endorsed her decision.” She shrugged. “Honestly, it would be a great dress with a bit of lining. We just didn’t have time to do that.”

I was much too incredulous to think about dress lining. “Why would she do that?”

Over the last several weeks, my relationship with Amelia had been mostly cordial. Conscious of my misgivings about her, Will regularly invited me on set, especially when they had scenes together, but after seeing for myself that Will was nothing but professional with her, and she with him, I had started coming less and less frequently. I didn’t want to babysit Will anyway. I wanted to trust him.

Robin shrugged as she pulled out a tube of lip gloss. “Listen. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is this.” She stepped aside so I could view the total transformation she’d engineered in the giant mirror over the sofa.

“Oh, Robin. It’s…”

“Fucking amazing, I know. This is the best way to show those bitches up. They wanted you to arrive looking tacky, but we made you look like a billion dollars instead. You and Mr. Baker are going to look fan-fucking-tastic together, and every reporter there is going to be asking, ‘Amelia who?’”

* * *

As I walkedoutside to wait for the SUV to arrive that would take Will and me to the screening, I wasn’t so sure that was the question I wanted. Shouldn’t I have gone for something more sedate? Something a little less attention-seeking, despite what the studio said?

Or maybe I shouldn’t have been going at all.

Before I could consider abandoning the night, the familiar Yukon rumbled up the driveway, and through the front window, I could see Garret and Hakeem’s faces brighten with surprise.

“Hey!” Garrett shouted as he jumped out. “Somebody cleans up nice.”

But before Garrett could open the back door, Will was stepping out, looking, for the first time since I’d ever met him, every inch the movie star he really was. His suit fit immaculately, the blue shirt popping the same color as the sky. His blond hair shone like a mop of gold that matched the gold-trimmed aviators perched over his knife-straight nose and the delectable gold stubble that glimmered over his jaw in the sunshine. He was worlds away from the scruffy, unkempt stranger I’d met on the hillside. I paused, unsure.

And then he took off his sunglasses, and he was my Will again.

“Holy shit,” he murmured as he looked me over. “Woman. Jesus. Are you trying to kill me?”

I bit my lip, peering down at the sleek white dress that Robin had picked out. It was about as simple as it got, a dusky silk slip dress that floated over my curves like rain, with whisper-thin straps over my shoulders, and a bias-cut skirt that ended at my knees. I had kept the gold-heeled Jimmy Choos and wore only a thin gold chain around my neck and delicate hoop earrings that Robin had also provided to match a small gold clutch. After hours of primping and polishing, I looked more put together than I ever had in my life. And also felt more terrified.

But when I looked up again to find Will’s warm gaze floating over my body, the fear dissipated a little. After all, I wasn’t alone in this. And neither was he.

“It’s not see-through,” I murmured with a shy smile.

He shook his head. “That’s not what’s going to kill me, Lil. You look incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said as I walked to the car.

Will took my hand and pulled me close.

“‘Taffeta, darling’?” he murmured when I offered my cheek instead of my lips for him to kiss.

I smirked at the familiar Monty Python quote. “I figured you wouldn’t want lip gloss on your collar. Robin worked hard on all of this, you know.”

For that, my jaw was firmly clasped and turned so that I was looking straight at Will. He stamped a brief, thorough kiss on my lips that took my breath away.

“These lips are mine, Lil,” he growled. “Not Robin’s. Not any stuck-up designer’s. Mine.”

And as he kissed me again, every inch of polish and sheen fell away to reveal the raw, primal man I had known from the beginning. Apparently dressing up brought out Will’s possessive side. Well…I couldn’t say I was totally disappointed.

* * *

Will wasquiet as we drove through Los Angeles, and the silence was instead filled by a girl named Gail, another assistant sent from the studio to help us through the process, and likely, to help maneuver Will through awkward situations.

“Gosh, you’re pretty,” she said again as Garrett turned down Hollywood Boulevard, coming to a stop behind the long queue of cars in line for the arrival. “They really did not tell me you were so pretty.”

“Um, thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to make of her surprise. Instead, I looked out my window toward the growing crowds. “Is the street closed?”

Gail nodded. “Oh, yes. That’s pretty standard for a premiere of this size. I mean, it’s not an Oscar contender or anything, but the fact that Fitz was coming and he and Amelia are filming together right now is a big deal.”

Next to me, Will shuddered at the use of his stage name. I wondered why he kept allowing people to use it if he hated it so much.

“All right. Fitz, Maggie, here’s how it will work,” Gail said, chipper and oblivious to her client’s irritation. “Garrett pulls up the car, and you let Hakeem get out first. The event planner didn’t do a very good job of blocking the drop off, so the fans have been a little crazy. There are a few police officers there, but Hakeem will help you through. Once he gives the okay, I’ll open your door to let you two out. Come out, wave at the fans, smile. Then step and repeat, and after that I’ll escort you to the media outlets that Beauregard is prioritizing for this campaign. Sound good?”

“Do we have leashes too?” Will asked.

Gail blinked. “I’m sorry?”

I chuckled, trying to make light of the comment even though Will’s mouth was pressed into a firm scowl. “He’s joking. So that’s it? Follow you around and we’re good?”

Gail grinned. “That’s it!”

A roar sounded from down the street, signaling that another big name had arrived. Will hunched down into his seat.

“We’re two blocks out,” Garrett spoke into his Bluetooth headset.

“Who’s that?” I wondered aloud.

Hakeem turned around. “Head of security. Takes a lot of people to put on one of these things. There’s usually a lot of dudes like us to make sure the fans don’t get out of hand.”

He looked forward, where the crowds along the street and sidewalk were getting big enough that several of the police detail had been engaged to make sure everyone kept their distance. We slowed down, stopping and starting behind a few cars as other premiere attendees got out at the roped-off entrance of the red carpet. It was set up to run alongside the theater for a solid block before the actual entrance to the building. The walls of the theater had been painted a bright red, matching the overall color scheme of the film, and several massive movie posters and graphics lined the wall for the celebrities to pose against as they made their way slowly in front of the line of reporters and photographers.

I stared out my window at the scene ahead. The long red carpet was dotted with various people dressed up as much as we were. Some were celebrities I recognized—B- or C-level stars with recognizable faces who likely played supporting roles in the movie at hand or who were there for the exposure. Behind them were the fans—the ones who screamed loudly every time a new celebrity exited their car. Spotlights shot up into the air, crisscrossing here and there while loud music pounded down the boulevard. The whole thing was chaos.

“Looks like it’s going to be a good one,” Gail said. “Tricia said Amelia brought out the entire cast of her last film too.” She looked back at Will. “But they’re all waiting for you, you know.”

She said it like it was a compliment, but Will just stared fixedly at the floor of the car. You would have thought he was getting ready to jump out of a plane without a parachute rather than meet his adoring fans.

“Will,” I said. “Are you okay?”

I reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder and was surprised when he snatched my hand and squeezed it tightly with both hands, forcing me to scoot across the car next to him.

“I fucking hate these things,” he said, still studying the floor mats.

“Okay, we’re next,” Hakeem announced as the car pulled forward and then stopped at the theater entrance. He put on a pair of sunglasses, likely to ward against the constant glare of flash photography. Then, after he got out and scanned the crowd, he turned back to the car and opened our door. Gail hopped out and gestured to me.

“This way!” she said.

I slipped out, grateful that most people still didn’t seem to know who I was. The photographers looked away, bored already with me, which gave me a second to process where I was. The crowds. The lights. It felt like this small city block existed in a whole other dimension. This wasn’t reality, it was some imaginary space called Hollywood.

I turned back to the car, ready to take Will’s hand. I couldn’t walk this by myself—we were in it together.

But no one emerged from the car.

I stepped back to the open door and found him still sitting, frozen in place as he stared blankly out toward the wall of cameras.

“Will?” I called, holding out my hand.

My voice was mostly swallowed by the hysteria behind me. I glanced worriedly toward Garrett, who shrugged. There was a long line of cars behind us, all carrying other attendees for the screening. The next driver glared at me.

I got back into the SUV. “Babe. Hon. We have to get out now. We’re holding up the line.”

I’d read about this in the many, many articles about the “dead” Fitz Baker. That he was terrible with the press. That he was increasingly surly and arrogant the more his fame grew. That he’d suffered from debilitating social anxiety, and in the end had been heavily medicated for it. For the first time, I could see why.

I set a hand on his shoulder, and pressed harder when I found that he was shaking and his breath sounded forced. Will pulled off his sunglasses and closed his eyes.

“We should go,” he said. “Max can sue me if he wants. I—they can’t see me like this.”

I glanced out toward the crowd, all of them peering eagerly toward us to see what the holdup was. There was nothing I’d rather do than shut the door and tell Garrett to keep driving.

But I remembered that nasty look on Max del Conte’s face at the idea of ruining Will’s future. Like he almost looked forward to that as much as he wanted the money Will’s star power could undoubtedly earn. No. I wasn’t going to let him get the satisfaction.

“What can I do?” I asked hurriedly, rubbing my hands up Will’s arms, face, neck—anything I could possibly think of to mitigate this panic.

My touch seemed to work. Will fixated on my fingers as they encircled his wrists; his breathing regulated a bit when I pressed his face into my neck.

“What helps?” I asked again as I wove my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck.

“You do,” he whispered. “Oh, God. You do, Lil.”

After another minute or two, long past the time the cars behind us had started honking their horns, Will sat up and straightened his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he said with a long exhale. “I can do this.” His shoulders were still shaking slightly and his eyes were wide, but he nodded. “Let’s go.”

I stepped out of the car, and he followed me

“Lil,” he called as the roar from the crowd went up.

I turned around to find him staring right at me, like the crowd and the cameras and the lights and the music didn’t exist. “What is it?” I called back, straining my voice to be heard.

Will gulped and reached for my hand. “Don’t let go.”