10. Effie
TEN
EFFIE
If the lead up to the Grammy nominations had been a whirlwind, this would be a cyclone? Hurricane? Both were likely worse than a whirlwind.
Though nothing about all the events and interviews and photoshoots packed into the three-month sprint from “nominations announcement” to “Grammy Awards” was very bad at all.
Was it because every time she looked into the wings while recording yet another late night show, Brett stood, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, watching her?
Occasionally, they had joint interviews, where they gleefully praised one another, on live TV. It was the most fun Effie had promoting an album, and it did wonders for album sales. But it also just felt fucking good for her to show the world more of The Girl than The Brand .
They were just tumbling off her penthouse elevator when Effie stood bolt upright, stunned by an idea.
“I’ve just had an idea. Brett—would you walk the Grammys’ red carpet with me?”
Brett stopped and turned around slowly. “You’ve never walked a carpet with anyone, princess.”
She shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling softly. “I never wanted to before now.”
He gathered her hands in his. “I would be honored.”
And so, they began the planning for their outfits, consulting designers, hair and makeup artists, photographers.
“I’m thinking,” Effie said, leaning back onto her massive white leather sofa. “Our next single is going to be ‘Golden Lining,’ followed by ‘Twisted Heart,’ but we haven’t announced either. So, let’s inspire our outfits after those—narratively, it makes sense, too?—”
“—since ‘Golden Lining’ and ‘Twisted Heart’ are two sides to the same story—” Brett interjected as he paced.
“And it’ll be like a little clue to anyone paying attention for what to expect next.”
Effie, of course, was the twisted heart of the narrative. A nod to how she felt so many times over the years in the industry, forced to conform to some warped, idealized version of what her fans expected and her team curated. With this album, she put more of her authentic, inner self on it than she ever had.
Her strapless gown for the Grammy Awards was long, black, lacy, and regal. Edged all around with sparkling rubies and red silk. When she walked, it gave the sense that she was the void, and the void was bleeding.
When Effie stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras went wild. Her train pooled around her, mimicking a shimmering puddle of gore. Her stylist had dyed her hair a darker shade of brown, covering the caramel highlights that had been her trademark and colored her lips blood red. The effect was truly stunning.
If Effie won Album of the Year, tonight would be a landmark event for any artist, and everyone knew it. The cameras flashed as photographers called her name, reporters turned, eyeing her as their next mark. The red carpets always made her heart flutter—equal parts nerves and excitement—but when Brett slipped out of the limo behind her, and the crowd went doubly wild, her entire body flushed with adrenaline.
“I’m right here, princess,” he murmured, lacing his fingers with hers. His hand in hers was stillness in the chaos of this storm.
Brett, in an all-white silk tux with golden details, including faint angel wings outlined on his back, walked right next to her, as planned. And they made an impressive pair.
Dutifully, Brett posed with Effie— his princess, she thought—as bulbs flashed and photographers called to them.
“BlueBird!”
Shouted from all around, their official couple name sent excited shivers down Effie’s spine.
She breathed it all in. Not long ago, she thought her career was done. After thirty years old, an unthinkable age for a female popstar, she didn’t dare dream of reaching greater heights than she already had.
Whatever happened tonight, she was proud of herself and Nightowl Recordings . With Brett at her side, and their album receiving unprecedented critical and fan appreciation, she felt blessed beyond her wildest dreams.