Chapter 21
twenty-one
IAN
The movie premiere was chaotic, but that was nothing new.
Fans gathered behind barriers at the entrance, yelling and waving. Cameras flashed in intervals along the red carpet as photographers yelled out instructions. A long line of interviewers and hosts waited for their turn to speak with anyone involved with the Inferno Man franchise.
Admittedly, I didn’t love this part of my job. When I cut back on accepting new roles in the future, I definitely wouldn’t miss all the chaos and demands and travel that went along with promoting a film.
I was loitering near the arrival area, killing time by signing autographs and taking photos with fans while waiting for Joan’s car to arrive. Darren remained by my side, always vigilant. Eddie J and Gloria were both nearby as well, on their phones.
At my request, Gloria had sent a hair, makeup, and wardrobe team to the beach house early in the day.
I’d had a lunch meeting with my agent, and then I’d gone directly to an appointment with my designer.
Due to these obligations and prior commitments, Joan and I had been forced to prepare for the evening’s festivities and arrive separately.
But now, with the cast photos and several interviews already out of the way, I was just waiting for her arrival so we could do a pass on the red carpet before heading inside for a viewing of the film.
I felt terrible about leaving her alone all day, but she’d told me over and over that she was fine—more than capable of handling a little time on her own. So, I’d trusted her.
But I knew she wasn’t used to this type of spectacle or the hectic nature of these events.
How she’d be pulled in different directions and overwhelmed by so many people and so much noise and attention.
Uneasiness churned in my gut at the thought of her walking into all this chaos without me there to prepare her.
“The driver said they’re here,” Eddie J called suddenly.
My attention immediately went to the arrival area, some fifty feet away, where limos and hired cars released their passengers. My eyes searched for Joan, but I didn’t see her.
“Oh my God,” Eddie J muttered.
I followed where his gaze was fixed and did a double take at the woman standing there. She’d just stepped out from behind the man helping her from the car. It was Joan, but . . . it looked nothing like her.
Her hair—her hair was platinum blond and pinned up with loose curls framing her face.
I was used to seeing women and men heavily made up for the camera, but even from this distance, I could see that the makeup artist had not gone for a natural look.
Joan’s lips and eyes were dark and dramatic, cheeks glossy with color.
But perhaps the most noticeable change to Joan’s appearance was the spray tan.
The dress she wore was gorgeous. I’d had a designer send over four options for Joan to choose from.
They’d been altered for her body, and the elegant beaded silver gown she’d decided on suited her.
The strapless column hugged her form, leaving her arms and shoulders bare.
But all that skin on display looked nearly orange from the airbrush job.
The person who’d just emerged from that car looked nothing like the woman I loved. It was like they’d covered up her natural beauty, her confidence—everything that made Joan, Joan.
“I’ll go get her,” Eddie J said, and I realized I’d just been standing there, staring in disbelief.
Spinning to face Gloria, I lowered my voice until it was practically a growl. “What did they do to her?”
My manager pursed her lips. “I sent a trusted team over, Dorian, but they ran into some issues. Her hair, for one. The root touch-up didn’t cover all that gray, so they just went blond. I, for one, think it makes her look much younger.”
Anger burned beneath my skin. I knew my face was hot. “It was supposed to be simple hair and makeup, Gloria,” I gritted out between clenched teeth.
“I don’t see a problem.” She returned her attention to her phone. “They did her hair and her makeup.”
“She didn’t need a dye job or-or a shitty spray tan.”
My manager huffed an annoyed sigh and met my gaze. “You should be more grateful, Dorian. She had a farmer’s tan, for Christ’s sake. What was I supposed to do? Let you be humiliated at your own premiere? A fucking farmer’s tan.”
“She’s a fucking farmer, Gloria. What did you expect?”
“Heeeeyyy!” Eddie J called abruptly, and I spun to face him.
He was standing there, wide-eyed with Joan.
They were much closer than I’d expected, close enough to have easily heard the last part of my conversation with Gloria.
I’d gotten carried away. I’d just been so angry—at the ridiculous expectations and superficial beauty standards and the way Gloria had tried to shame someone I cared about.
I was used to people passing judgment on my face and my body. It was just life in this business.
But Gloria had no right to take Joan—beautiful, honest, fierce Joan—and try to change her to fit these horrible, unrealistic standards.
And now Joan stood there, silent and watchful, looking uncomfortable and rigid, shoulders tense and nearly around her ears.
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, straightening.
“No,” I insisted. “I was just explaining—”
“Ian,” she said firmly. “It’s okay.”
Gloria stepped close and lowered her voice. “You are both on camera right now, creating drama. Not the good kind. And you can’t call him Ian right now,” she snapped in Joan’s direction. “Dorian, you need to walk the red carpet. Joan can meet you inside.”
“That’s fine,” Joan agreed at the same time I said, “No, she’s coming with me.”
I held out my hand, but she didn’t take it. She just stared at me, face hard, jaw set.
“I’ll take you,” Eddie J piped up. He slipped his arm through Joan’s before I could protest. Then he gave me a meaningful look. “I’ve got her. You go to work.”
They turned together toward the theater, and Eddie J led her behind the barricade and away from the red carpet.
Staring after them, I swallowed hard. I’d been uneasy all day. I’d known that leaving Joan alone to get ready had been a big mistake. I should have insisted. I should have demanded—
“He’s right,” Gloria said, her nails digging into the sleeve of my tux. “It’s time to get to work.”
For the next hour, I did my job. I smiled even though I was miserable.
I appeared at ease even though I was an anxious mess.
I spoke with the press even though all I wanted to do was hurry inside, talk to Joan, and set everything right.
I needed to apologize for the makeover. She didn’t need a fucking makeover.
When I finally made it into the theater, I wasn’t even surprised that she was nowhere to be found. I pulled out my phone to call Eddie J and tried to head back outside, but Gloria planted herself directly in my path.
“You cannot leave,” she demanded. “We have networking to do at the after-party.”
Ignoring her, I turned away and put my phone to my ear.
“You’d better get out here,” my assistant said without greeting. “She asked to go home, but I have been stalling like a goddamn courtroom attorney.”
I was already moving. “Where is she?”
Eddie J gave me instructions on where to go. Joan was in the car, and the driver was waiting while Eddie J stood outside the vehicle making excuses.
“I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Ian,” Eddie J said.
I sidestepped someone with a microphone. “What does that mean?”
“Gloria,” he said bitterly. “Your manager did this on purpose.”
Someone with a camera tried to wave me over. I kept my head down and finally ducked out onto the sidewalk. I had a block to go.
Sighing, I admitted, “I know you don’t like Gloria.” It was an old argument between us. “But she’s a good manager.”
“A good manager doesn’t manipulate you. A good manager doesn’t go out of her way to hurt your girlfriend. A good manager doesn’t want to fuck you.”
“Not this again.”
Eddie J made an outraged squawk. “You tell Gloria you’re bringing someone—not a Hollywood someone, not another actress, not a setup for publicity bullshit—but a real-life woman, a person you obviously care about. Of course, Gloria would react like this and try to fuck it all up.”
I didn’t take the time to respond. I didn’t know what to say to any of that anyway. No part of me wanted to think about Gloria’s intent tonight. Because Eddie J was right. It had been purposeful and malicious. But I didn’t want to be worked up and angry when I tried to talk to Joan.
I turned the corner at the next intersection and saw the car idling and Eddie J standing nearby, phone still pressed to his ear.
Disconnecting the call, I broke into a run. Ignoring my assistant and the stern look he threw my way, I opened the door and slid into the backseat.
Joan looked up, startled. She’d been picking apart a tissue, the remains in her lap. But I couldn’t see any evidence of tears on her face.
“Joan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about all this.
” I gestured broadly, trying to encompass the hair, the spray tan, the disrespect, all of it.
“I should have stayed at the house this morning. I wish you had called me, or you could have told them no, to all of it. You didn’t need some ridiculous makeover. ”
She looked away briefly before clearing her throat. “It’s fine. But I think I’m going to head back. Let you do your thing. I know you have a party afterward.”
My phone was still clutched in my hand. It started vibrating, but I ignored it. “We don’t need to go to that.”
“It’s okay,” she argued. “You go ahead. I’m sure the film will be great.”
Her voice was flat and emotionless. Fear climbed up my spine, and I shifted closer, even as I felt her getting farther and farther away.