Chapter 11
A few days later, I’m in my hotel room trying dresses on for the awards show.
I’ve been turning over the conversation with Spencer and Hannah in my mind, and the confidence I took from it is definitely lingering.
I’m ready to take on this evening, whatever it brings.
To try to keep control of my own actions and let the universe do the rest. As far as spending time with Avi, at least. For everything else, I’m still feeling pretty nervous.
And from a clothing perspective, I feel completely lost. Alison brought over a few of her favourite outfits last night, though she was pretty fierce about not wanting me to steal them like I did her cardigan, and stayed to watch a film and take advantage of my room-service bill.
It was nice, and she only slightly rubbed in my face the fact that I was taking her advice and going to the awards show.
All of the options she brought seemed good at the time: a light-blue satin slip, a beaded gown she wore to her senior prom at school and a long, draping dark-red option.
But now that I’m trying them on, none of them feel quite right on me.
They’re beautiful, they all look beautiful. On Alison. Because they’re all her: her sparkle, her shine, her ability to enter a room and command the attention of everyone in there instantly. And on me, they look wrong.
I pull the blue satin one on again and assess myself in the mirror. I have an hour until I’m supposed to be meeting Avi downstairs and I just finished my hair and make-up, hoping it would improve the overall effect – bring it together, maybe. But the dress still doesn’t look right on me.
A knock sounds at the door and I open it to find Sienna.
‘Oh,’ I say, stepping backwards. A little surprised she’s here.
I’ve barely seen her recently; her visits to my trailer have been fewer and further apart since she’s been filming, which, honestly, has made my job on-set easier.
I like her, but every time I see her I get slightly derailed by the anxiety that she might be waiting in the wings to replace me at any second.
Though we’re far enough through filming now that hopefully that shouldn’t be a concern any more – at the very least, reshooting my scenes would be a huge cost. Still, I can’t help but feel it lingering slightly: the feeling that I shouldn’t be here.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘Is this a bad time?’
‘No,’ I say, stepping aside to let her through. ‘I’m just getting ready for—’
‘The Olivier Awards,’ she says, smiling.
And in this moment, I realise how insane this all is.
I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before – this woman must feel really weird that her boyfriend is taking me as a date to the awards ceremony instead of her.
Honestly, it’s actually completely ridiculous now I think about it.
But I’ve been so selfishly caught up in my own stuff the last few weeks that I’ve barely stopped to even consider how it must feel for her.
I mentally add self-obsessed to the list of things Alison would probably chastise me for if she were here.
‘Yeah,’ I reply. Suddenly not sure what to say.
‘I just came to say bye,’ she says. ‘I’m heading off to a modelling contract tomorrow. I wrapped yesterday, so I won’t see you again on-set.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, her words hitting me with a wave of shock. Because if she’s leaving, that means…
There’s no need to worry about her replacing me any more.
The tension I’ve been holding on to for the last few weeks suddenly dissipates from my limbs.
I didn’t realise how much it was weighing me down – the fear that my big break, that Amelia, might be taken away from me.
Especially since things have been going well and I’ve been enjoying it more than ever.
And maybe I was stupid to even believe it in the first place.
But now, I don’t have to worry about it at all. Oh, thank fuck for that.
I do my best to not let my emotions show on my face, because whether she knew about it or not, it would be pretty rude to look so pleased that she is leaving, especially given I’m about to steal her boyfriend for the evening.
And I’m not pleased, I realise with a jolt.
She’s been kind to me when she didn’t need to be and I’m suddenly sad that I won’t get to see her again for a while.
‘Well… it was really nice to meet you,’ I say, recovering some of my composure. I feel bad that I misjudged her when we first met, that my insecurities probably got in the way of us spending more time together. ‘I guess I’ll see you on the press tour?’
‘I guess so,’ she says, smiling. She hitches her handbag over her shoulder, as if she’s about to leave. ‘Have a great time this evening,’ she says before she does. ‘The Oliviers are always a hoot.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, adjusting the dress again.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asks, turning back towards me.
‘Oh… Yeah,’ I say, ready to brush it off. But something about the way she’s looking at me compels me to be honest. ‘I just… I borrowed this dress from my sister and I don’t feel like it looks right on me.’
She assesses my dress and frowns. ‘I think you look great,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Besides, don’t they always ask you who you’re wearing at these things? I’m not sure “I stole this from my sister” works as an answer.’
‘I think you’re overthinking it,’ she replies. ‘But if you want some help—’
‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘Honestly, it’s no trouble. I’m not packed yet. And I’ve got some pieces in my room you could borrow.’
And I hesitate for a second. But truly, I don’t have time to overthink this in the way I usually would.
‘That would be great,’ I reply.
★ ★ ★
A few minutes later, I’m in Sienna’s hotel room.
It smells just how she looks, like fresh-cut grass, flowers, summer.
There are a few outfits laid out across the bed that I assume are for her travels – all carefully coordinated and presumably designer.
Her make-up counter looks straight out of a Vogue GRWM video.
Clarins and Chanel. I can’t see a single drugstore brand on there.
No wonder her skin always looks so beautiful, I think.
I have a flash of the current chaos of my hotel room: clothes splattered across the floor.
The probably expired E45 cream I stole from my mum, which is the single product in my one-step skincare routine.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ she says, wrinkling her nose a little, and I stifle a laugh. Because she looks serious and I can’t see a single thing out of place.
She rifles delicately through a few dresses hanging in her wardrobe.
‘I had my stylist set some things aside for tonight,’ she says as she goes.
‘In case you didn’t want to go, Avi asked me as his back-up.
’ What the fuck? I think, registering how calm her tone is.
The ridiculousness of this situation hitting me all over again.
How is she okay with her own boyfriend treating her as back-up to his co-star? Hollywood is so weird.
‘Sienna…’ I say, about to apologise.
‘Boy, am I glad you said yes, though. I kind of hate these things,’ she says. ‘And I’m flying to Paris early tomorrow. So you’ve saved me. I have a date with some room service.’
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. She must mistake my surprise for nerves, because she turns back from the wardrobe and looks at me apologetically.
‘I mean,’ she says. ‘They’re always pretty fun. I’m sure you’ll have a great time. It’s just… it all gets a little tiresome, you know? The same people. The same questions, over and over. Once you’ve done them a few times, it’s all quite…’ She trails off, and returns to the wardrobe.
I falter for a moment, surprised again. I’ve always assumed that someone like Sienna, born and raised Hollywood, would enjoy these events. That everyone enjoyed it. But it appears I was wrong about that. Perhaps she and I aren’t as different as I thought.
‘Got it,’ she says, pulling out a navy silk dress. It’s stunning. ‘I think this will look great on you.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, touching it. The silk feels like water.
‘Of course,’ she replies. ‘It’s Prada, in case they ask. I’m pretty sure we’re the same size, but try it on just in case.’
I take the dress from her hands carefully since it’s probably worth more than anything I’ve ever worn, and she turns away to allow me to change. I pull it on, the zip sliding up to just above my tailbone. It’s riskier than anything I’d usually wear: backless and impossible to wear a bra.
‘Done,’ I say, and she turns.
‘Perfect,’ she says, touching up my hair a little. Tossing it over my shoulder. And something happens – I feel a spark, the same joy I get around Alison sometimes when we’re getting along. The kinship I feel with her – not, usually, with anyone else.
I step aside to look in the mirror.
The material clings to my body like it was made for it, hugging my form so masterfully it has created shape where there is usually none.
I feel the same as I did in Alison’s dresses, like I’m wearing something not meant for me. But the longer I look, the more I feel like I could be the person who wears this dress. Who attends the awards shows. Who has a big part in a major movie. I could be the person who’s made it.
Just for one evening.
‘Thank you,’ I say, a little overwhelmed.
★ ★ ★