19. Walter
Walter
FOUR AND A HALF YEARS AGO
NEW YORK—Walter wasn’t prepared for the yelling.
Watching clips of red carpet arrivals didn’t capture the dizzying volume of so many voices clamoring for attention. Hey, famous person, over here! A cacophony of voices calling out again and again, as if they were casting lures. Look this way. No, this way! Give us a smile!
It wasn’t catcalling, exactly—the celebrity/press ecosystem was a symbiotic relationship—but in practice, it didn’t feel different enough to ease his conscience.
There was something predatory about lying in wait, even in a setting this public, with prey that had plenty of warning.
He felt like part of a mob, a seething, barely civilized mass.
Walter wondered if the glitterati ever got used to the onslaught of flashbulbs.
Would he get used to being on the other side of the firing line, jostled by his more ambitious colleagues?
He hoped not—unless he was kidding himself about this being a temporary gig. Walter checked his phone for the twentieth time. No need to push to the front of the scrum until she arrived.
His pulse spiked. After a three-week trial run repackaging content from other sources and manning the tip line, he had been liberated from desk duty for the night.
It was an audition of sorts, if not the kind the performers arriving for this evening’s benefit would recognize.
Walter had asked if he needed to research any of the actors and musicians and dancers who were supposed to be in attendance tonight, but his boss had told him to focus on what—or rather, who—he already knew.
As if that would make his job simple.
She’s not a world-famous pop star, he reminded himself. The competition for her time would be less fierce. All he had to do was get her attention and make sure they got a clear shot of her face, preferably in the same frame as her date. For bonus points, Walter could try to get a sound bite.
“What do we want to know?” If she’ll talk to me, he silently added. The surprise of seeing him might be enough to make her stop. After that, he had no idea what to expect.
“Keep it simple,” his boss told him. “‘Who are you with? Are you having a good time?’ Don’t try to discuss anything serious. Or ask what she’s wearing. We care about people, not brands. If some designer wants free advertising, they can pay for it.”
It was an embarrassingly pedestrian assignment—not at all the type of thing Walter had gone to J-school for. Then again, pride didn’t pay the bills and his student loan deferment would expire in a few short months.
That was the stark economic reality of his life, yet for some reason Walter felt as though he was making excuses.
Maybe it was the background hum he’d been feeling all day.
Not just dread or nerves or resignation, though there was some of that mixed in, but a distinct buzz of anticipation as the hours trickled past, bringing him closer to this moment.
A car door slammed. Walter used every inch of his height to peer over the heads of the surrounding reporters and photographers. Standing on the curb as her town car slowly pulled away was a woman in a sky-blue dress with a head full of curls.
“Excuse me,” he said, already pushing toward the temporary barrier that had been erected to keep the press and other peons away from the VIPs.
As the crowd around him shifted, she came in and out of view.
He glimpsed a sliver of profile, the flutter of a delicate sleeve, a bangle sliding over a slender wrist. How was it that she looked like a different person, and yet Walter would have recognized her anywhere?
He pushed harder, worried she’d pass his vantage point before he reached the front. When he was two bodies back, he decided to seize his chance.
“Hildy!”
Somehow she heard his voice amid the chaos of the red carpet. Walter felt a thrill of satisfaction when she abruptly stopped, glancing behind her before turning to search the throngs on the other side of the partition. He shoved past the last person standing between him and Hildy.
She blinked several times, polished smile faltering for an instant before she lifted her chin to a photo-ready angle. Well? her dark eyes seemed to say. What now?
Rational thought fled, leaving Walter with a single resounding impression.
It’s Hildy.
She was almost close enough to touch.
A dark-haired man in a sleek midnight-blue suit placed a hand at Hildy’s waist. Had he been there this whole time? Maybe Walter didn’t have the chops for this job if he hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t alone.
Other people—other couples—were backing up behind them. Walter felt his window closing. He forced his lips to move.
“Who are you with?”
It was more of a croak than the confident shout he’d practiced in his head, but Hildy heard him just fine. Her brows drew down in a look of confusion as she took in his press badge. Had she assumed he was there as a starstruck civilian, eager to gaze upon her magnificence from a distance?
“David Wong,” her date supplied with a polished smile. “New York City Ballet.” He paused, waiting for Walter’s belated nod of acknowledgment before continuing. “Hildy and I are happy to be here supporting the arts—and each other.”
While Walter fumbled with his recorder, the handsome ballet dancer pulled Hildy closer. She turned to gaze into his eyes, their posture giving the unmistakable suggestion of intimacy.
“Got it,” Walter’s photographer said, nodding at Hildy and her companion, who took that as their cue to stroll onward, hand in hand.
Hildy shot Walter one last burning look before disappearing into the theater, because of course he was still standing there staring after her like a stray dog.
If he had to name her expression, Walter would have said she looked almost angry.
But what did Hildy have to be mad about?
Young, rich, and beautiful, with the world on a string—including her obviously smitten date.
As he walked back to the subway, Walter told himself the evening had been a success. Crucially, he had something to file (Media heiress Hildy Johnson has a new dance partner!). Perhaps more importantly, he’d found the answer to a personal question, one that had plagued him for years.
Had there been something special between them?
Seeing her on the red carpet confirmed his suspicion that the Hildy Effect wasn’t unique to him. Her charisma had always been weaponized. It was just Walter’s bad luck to get caught in her blast radius when he was too young to know better.