Chapter 37 Emmy
Chapter 37
There’s no other plausible explanation for that amount of screaming.
Emmy
“YOU. ARE. GOING.”
“I’m not going, Josie.”
“Did you read those texts? Because if you had read those texts—”
“I read them.”
“He’s practically begging you to come to Pershing Square.”
“Well, technically he is begging me.”
“Hence, why I repeat. You. Are. Going.”
A knock sounds at the hotel room door. It’s not polite or reserved or in any way normal. It’s the knock you use to warn people there’s a Terminator in the building. I whirl on Josie. “You called Val?”
Peyton, the little traitor, opens the door. Val, dressed all in white, is like a great gust of winter air swooping into the room, laden with shopping bags.
“I’m sorry they wasted your time.” I plop down on the bed. “I’m not going.”
The room erupts with protests.
“Listen!” I bark, lasering my gaze on each of them in turn. “I appreciate all of you, but you’ve got to stop. Jason and I didn’t work out. If we drag this out, it’s just going to be one disappointment after another, and I can’t take any more.”
I bite my lip so the tears don’t come. Walking away from him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t even know how I had the guts to do it. I wanted so badly to just climb into his arms, curl up, and let him hold me forever. But I don’t fit into his complicated Hollywood life, and Peyton and I deserve better. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s that I’m not bulletproof, and honestly, I don’t want to be in a relationship where I have to be.
No one challenges me for about ten seconds. Then a high-pitched little girl voice starts to read from a phone she’s not supposed to know the password to. “ Emmy, I know things didn’t end well the other night. It doesn’t have to be this way. Let me prove how I feel about you. Come to Pershing Square tomorrow night at eight. ”
“You little sneak!” I reach across the bed to snatch my phone from her. Peyton squeals and tosses it to Josie, who continues reading.
“I haven’t heard from you. But I’m doing this. I need you to be there. Please, Emmy. Tell me you’ll come.”
“Stop it!” I lunge for Josie, but by the time I grab her hand, the phone is already flying over my head to Val. He squints at the screen.
“Besides, your loyal stylist has the perfect outfit for the occasion, and it would be a travesty not to wear it.”
I give up and drop my hands to my sides with a huff. Val glances up from where he was pretending to read.
“You guys should be supporting me, you know,” I grumble.
“Oh wait, I remember how to do this!” Josie clears her throat and puts on a bored voice. “Emmy, we support you. The man of your dreams discovered the error of his ways and apologized to you. He wants you to meet him in a Cali winter wonderland and profess his love for you in front of millions of people. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t at least go hear what he has to say. But you know what? Let’s just stay in the hotel room and binge Netflix instead.”
Val tosses the phone back to me. “I miss the Emmy Ellison who was bent on total world domination.”
I thumb the screen absently. “Total world domination is a big responsibility.”
“That’s why every villain needs a sidekick.” Val’s eyes flash. “And that boy wants to be yours.”
I glare back at him. Maybe I should go and see what Jason has planned. Josie’s right—if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. It might be good publicity for the movie, too. At this point, with today’s premiere canceled, we need all we can get.
“What do you say, Mom?” Peyton’s big eyes are imploring. “We haven’t been to Pershing Square yet.”
I take a long, deep breath, then roll my eyes in my best Tony Stark impression. “Fine.”
“Woo-hoo!” she cheers, bouncing on the bed. “And shawarma after!”
An hour later, all four of us are in an Uber. I’m rocking my “butter” brand, the winter edition: wool camel-colored pants, fitted white angora Fendi sweater, black fleece-lined leather jacket, and shiny ankle-high red leather boots with garish Christmas tube socks all the way up to my knees. My lipstick is a red I didn’t even know existed. My eyelashes go on forever. My hair is in one long Elsa braid, throwing itself over my shoulder with sparkly, hair-sprayed abandon.
Val turns around from the passenger seat for the gazillionth time. “Don’t you dare let the back of your head touch that seat.”
I lean forward obediently. Val’s work is a level of perfection you don’t mess with.
The crowd is insane. As we pour out of the car, I’m swamped by fans asking for autographs. There must be five hundred people here. The air smells of desert night and lattes. The networks are here—camerapeople checking their equipment, announcers tapping their earpieces. Social media influencers cackle and pose into their phones. I catch a glimpse of Harper Rose and those two mynah birds, Amil and Isla. I don’t know what Jason is planning, but whatever it is, everyone is here to see it.
At exactly eight o’clock, a crew pushes the crowd back from a makeshift stage I didn’t notice was there until now. I think I spot Sean tugging a long, green-and-white-striped stocking cap down on his head, trying to look inconspicuous. And what the…? Is that Amanda leaning on the rink railing? I move in for a closer look as the DJ cuts off the holiday music, a final note bouncing across the night.
Then the Lost Star theme song swells over the speakers, and from the crowd, the whole team emerges onstage. All of them are wearing some kind of holiday getup. Jason Connor’s in a Santa hat with Yoda ears. Kayla wears a long, girlie nightgown with a Cindy-Lou Who hairdo. Andrew, with Orbit in his arms, sports snowflake leg warmers over his jeans. Amanda is wearing a Mrs. Claus apron, Jason “Mount” Ramirez’s ugly sweater has every winter holiday represented, and Sean’s stocking cap is jauntily placed.
Once they’re in position, the music changes, and, flash mob–style, they launch into the big dance number from the season finale of Lost Star Dance Troupe Saves the Universe , season 4. It only aired a few weeks ago, so everybody recognizes it. My mouth drops open as the gang executes their moves to the pulsing music. It’s been months since they last danced this number, so it’s a miracle they even remember it. The best part, though, is that none of them are 100 percent in character. They’re laughing and carrying on and having a great time. At one point, Kayla gets turned around and panics. Ever the pro, Ramirez swoops in like Captain America, lifts her up, and deposits her in the right place with a spin in between. It’s supercute, especially with her Cindy-Lou Who outfit and the fact that Ramirez is four times her size.
Jason Connor, in a leather jacket and that Yoda hat, is obviously loving this. Snagging a giddy teenager by the hand, he hauls her under the ropes and throws her back and forth a few times before giving her a gentle push back into the audience. Her friends freak out, and I laugh, imagining how she’ll still tell this story when she’s fortysomething and married with teens of her own. At the same time, my heart aches as I watch him. This is the real Jason, the amazing guy I’ve fallen in love with. I’m going to miss him so much.
For the record, Fat Thor is still hot.
Sean swoops his arms upward, telling the crowd, More! More! More! They respond in a staggering wave of noise. Even the skaters on the rink have congregated to this side of the ice to see what’s up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harper Rose look less bitchy.
The Lost Star song ends on a surging note, and everyone but Jason exits the stage, either ducking under the ropes or, in Sean’s case, leaping over them like a stocking-capped parkourist.
Jason grabs a cordless mic from a guy in a headset.
“That was just to get your attention. Thanks, team! You were great! Weren’t they great?” The audience howls in reply. I join in, my hands forming a megaphone. Jason’s gaze finds me in the crowd, and he can’t contain his million-dollar smile. “Thank you, everyone, for coming out! I appreciate each and every one of you, but there’s one person in particular who I’m especially glad is here because this would’ve been a colossal fail without her.”
Josie jostles my shoulder. Hundreds of heads turn and bob, trying to get a look at me.
“Nine months ago, I met Emmy Ellison on The Terica Show , and the truth is I fell for her that very day. Now, you guys know her as the author of Hashtag Celebrity Crush , but I know her as so much more than that. She’s beautiful. She’s funny. She’s talented. And she’s five foot three inches of pure, hundred-proof fearlessness! She jumped into the Pacific Ocean to save a dog. I bet you didn’t know that. Who does that?”
He’s still breathing hard from dancing, and his eyes shine beneath the fuzzy trim of his Yoda-eared Santa hat. I don’t know if all the tingles in my body are from the chilly air or the fact that he’s telling all of LA how great he thinks I am. My mouth smiles against its will.
“And she doesn’t care what anybody thinks—not you, Harper. Not you guys, either, Amil and Isla. She’s the smartest, funniest, coolest person I’ve ever met, and I can be myself with her. She actually helps me be better than that. I know we’ve had our problems, but don’t believe everything you read on the internet. Emmy, will you come on up here? They can’t see you out in the crowd.”
Someone—I’m pretty sure it’s Josie—shoves me from behind. The crowd parts as I totter on wooden legs to the barrier and duck under it. Taking my place beside Jason, I survey the dizzying number of people who are here cheering me on, and who are also, at the moment, probably expecting me to say something. I lean sideways into the microphone. “I’m five foot five, actually.”
The audience rumbles with laughter, and Jason surprises me with a quick kiss on the cheek. God, he’s gorgeous close up. Why does that always shock me? I should be used to it by now. His arm around my shoulders is strong and warm.
“If you haven’t met her yet, this is Emmy Ellison,” Jason says into the mic. “She’s a New York Times bestselling author, and the movie based on her book is coming out on December fifteenth. That’s only a few days away! You’re not gonna want to miss it, and the book is even better than the movie. I wanted to introduce you all to her because she’s my celebrity crush. Every time I see her, I get all sweaty and swoony. I know it’s hopeless because she’s way out of my league. In fact, she’s already told me to get lost, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe I should ask her to dance. What do you think? Who knows? Maybe she’ll say yes.”
He’s been peeking at me throughout his entire outrageous speech, but now he full-on turns to me as the crowd roars their encouragement. “Emmy, will you do the Hashtag Celebrity Crush dance with me?”
I sputter out a cough. It’s been months since we did that dance for Operation Keanu Reeves. I don’t even know if I remember the moves. But colored holiday lights dance over my head. The collective murmurs of hundreds of people are in my ears. Jason’s blue eyes are imploring me with his curls poking out from under that ridiculous hat. Everyone is waiting for me. Everyone is rooting for me. Heck, I’m even rooting for myself.
I grin. “Sure, why not?”
He does the overly excited face, first to me and then the audience. “She said yes!”
He relinquishes the mic, and his hand closes over mine, warm and familiar. I plant my feet as the noise level drops to whispers. We share a smile just as Duran Duran’s “Rio” takes over the night.
Then we dance.
I don’t know if any of these people saw our video of this dance or not. It’s possible they recognize it from the movie trailer, or maybe they’re just feeling the magic of Christmas in Cali under the stars. Either way, to say that the crowd is freaking out would be an insult to them. They are losing their ever-loving minds, and it’s glorious.
As for me, I’m already lost. Everything is muscle memory at this point, and I get to be Nora/Margarita/Emmy, spinning and swaying and moving and surrendering. Hands up! Push, push. The wave! The wave! Then it’s the whole thing again, but faster. During the parts where I’m in Jason’s arms, I’m Baby in Dirty Dancing . Other times, I’m Alex in Flashdance . I’m not that great. I know I’m not. Jason’s ten times better than me, but I can’t stop smiling, and the overwhelming energy surging through this place fills in all my gaps.
Jason called me his celebrity crush! Jason organized this crazy flash mob for me. Jason is looking at me in a way that only ever used to happen in my dreams. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but one thing’s for sure… I’ll never forget this.
The song starts to fade, but something else is coming up at the same time—a salsa. Jason yanks me into his arms, our feet automatically switching to the one-two-three-skip beat. I remember to keep my elbows out and tap my toe in just the right place. Jason turns me, throws me, moves me this way and that, but the thing he taught me about the salsa is that as long as you keep up with the footwork, it all looks good.
If the crowd was wild before, they are a mob now. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think alien ships had come down and started sucking people up into them—there’s no other plausible explanation for that amount of screaming.
Our gazes lock, our feet doing all the work, upper bodies hardly moving. I can barely hear the music for all the cheering. The lights swirl like tiny nebulae in the sky above as Jason tips me into the final dip. Then the song is done.
But, apparently, we’re not.
The next song kicks in. It’s the Renegade TikTok dance. Jason gives me a nod, and on the starting beat, we hit the whoa, clap, scoop, wave .
“Come on, TikTok fans!” he shouts. “If you know it, join in!”
As the ocean of people roars their approval, Jason’s helpers haul away the ropes and now the stage and dance floor are open. With a wooooooo! Peyton appears beside us, renegading it up like the adorable little maniac she is. Jason taps her on the shoulder, and the two of them double-time it, mirror image–style. My face hurts from smiling as I watch them.
The DJ plays a bunch of other popular TikTok clips in a row. I catch Sean slow dancing with Josie to some other song nobody else can hear. I think I even spot Terica in the crowd. When our show is done, the DJ cycles back to regular programming so everyone can free dance to holiday music.
I whirl, looking for Jason, but Sean kidnaps me in an embrace first, swaying me to “Last Christmas.”
“You did good, Florida.” His eyebrows are up, mouth serious. “I gotta admit, I almost gave up on you there for a minute.”
“Thank you,” I say, because I didn’t get a chance to before. “For everything.”
He shrugs it off. “That’s just what you do. The Sean O’Sullivans look out for the Jason Connors. But I don’t have to worry about Snack anymore. He’s got you.”
I love this side of Sean, the warm, gooey middle inside the insanely confident candy coating. I give him a sly grin. “You were actually the best hugger.”
His whole body reacts like volts of electricity have been channeled through it. “I knew it! I knew it!” Then he relaxes and gives me a wink.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jason and me,” I say.
His response is quick and wise and unapologetic. “You’ll figure it out. Ope! I think someone wants to cut in.”
Sean whirls me in a circle twice, fast, and then releases me into Jason’s arms as the opening bells of “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” ring through the square. Together we rock side to side, Jason’s arms cinched around me, my cheek against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding, or maybe it’s mine. It reminds me of the hug I asked for months ago, but this time it’s more.
He opens a gap between us so he can pin me with those Gulf of Mexico eyes. “How’d I do? Do you think it’ll make up for the premiere?”
“This…” I look around at all the happy commotion. “Is even better than a boring old premiere.”
His expression softens. “And us?”
I take a deep breath, tearing my attention away from the flashy Hollywood splendor back to reality. Because despite all of Jason’s efforts, our situation hasn’t changed. I reach up and trace one sideburn down his perfect cheek and square jawline all the way to his superhero chin. “Listen, Jason, I love what you did for me tonight, but—”
He cuts me off. “I pick you , Emmy. I don’t care what anyone has to say about it. I’ll find another job. I can still be there for Margarita and the baby. But there will always be room on my dance card for you. You and Peyton both. I’ll love her, too. I promise.”
I don’t say anything. According to Josie, I’m supposed to be content with what I have. To decide what’s enough. But Jason Connor just offered me the whole universe. What am I supposed to say to that?
My internal organs launch another Klingon fire drill, and it’s all forehead prosthetics and anarchy in there. But my heart is drumming out a steady beat, and I’m counting on it to keep those losers in check. I open my mouth to respond, but something catches the corner of my eye. It’s Margarita and her new boyfriend, or date, or whoever he is. Except I recognize him. Oh, God and Tom Hanks, I recognize him! How could I not?