12
“Luna Aldridge Makes Her First Red Carpet Appearance Since Divorce Scandal”
—Celebrity Today
MY MOTHER USED to love wearing makeup. The drawers in her walnut vanity were filled with ornate cases and gold gadgets. They were just as beautiful on their own as they were when you opened them, greeting you with rosy blushes and shimmery eye shadows, like a clam protecting a pearl.
I hated makeup. The way it sat on my skin and shifted when I got sweaty at practice made me look like a clown lacking artistic abilities.
But I loved to sit on the carpet in her bedroom, watching her apply lipstick and brush brown eyeliner along her eyelashes like a painter.
She’d glance over at me and laugh when she realized I was still watching.
She’d gesture me over, and I’d immediately hop up.
Opening another drawer, she’d pull out a hairbrush and run it through my hair until my head fell forward in a slumber.
“My Luna,” she’d whisper to wake me up.
“Why do you wear makeup, Mom? You’re already beautiful.” I looked at her in the mirror, confused.
“You think so?” She quirked a brow, still brushing my hair.
I shook my head eagerly.
A smile kissed her face. Then she pressed it to my forehead. “Beauty comes from in here.” She pressed a finger to her chest. “This”—she waved a hand over the items on her vanity—“is for fun. I do this for myself. But my beauty comes from what I love, not how I look.”
I used to feel anxious at the beginning of my career when makeup artists would rush around me with brushes and palettes. Stress used to stifle my breathing, like a chimney backed up with soot. I didn’t understand why they wanted to change my face. Was this fun for them?
Today was the first time in years I had to remind myself of those moments with her to keep myself calm.
My first public appearance in a long time.
“We’re not entertaining interviews tonight, because honestly, I’m not sure what direction some of these reporters will go,” Serena stated, sitting across from me.
She handled all events and appearances, carrying this large planner with her the day of.
It rested open on her lap. “Smile and ignore everything else.”
Cecilia paced the room taking assistant-related calls, while Willow, who managed social media communications, argued with someone from Luka Limited—the purse brand hosting the event that started in an hour and a half.
“Do not post anything of her—no one’s supposed to know she’s going to be there,” she ordered.
Then there were the numerous people from my sponsor, Charles Elizabeth, caring for the jewelry I’d wear.
Polishing it, and inspecting it for… well, I wasn’t completely sure.
“Got it.” I nodded to Serena, as my hair stylist, Edward, tugged my head back with a straightener.
We sat in my old apartment where I used to get ready for New York events.
Jeremiah had moved in during our marriage, tainting everything, so I had traded in the Village for Scarsdale last year.
You’d never know I didn’t live here anymore.
There were still clothes in the closet, silverware in the drawers, and meaningless décor on my shelves.
I didn’t come here much since everything happened.
There was too much noise now. But it didn’t make sense to have everyone drive out to Scarsdale for me, so I tried to ignore the spaces where Jeremiah used to keep his things and stared straight forward.
I looked past Serena to the window that painted a view of a West Village neighborhood.
There was a girl outside walking by with a bouquet of daisies.
She was on the phone, laughing hysterically.
It was so youthful. So much joy she couldn’t contain.
It made me laugh. Serena gave me a funny look, turning to the window.
I exhaled, trying to absorb the girl’s serenity.
Wasn’t that me just two years ago?
The idea of stepping onto a red carpet had been giving me a cramp in the center of my abdomen.
I used to blend in at these events. I’d have my photo taken. Answer reporters’ light-hearted questions. Go home. Make the Best Dressed list the next day. Now, all people cared about—no. Breathe.
I clutched the tennis racket charm on my bracelet.
At least on a court no one could interrogate me.
“Luna, tell me you are ready!” I twisted in my seat, finding Kelsey walking in with a garment bag and three more people. Edward finished up as if on cue, leaving to make room for everyone else.
As Kelsey began to unzip the garment bag, everyone huddled around her to see the dress, as if it were a newly engaged woman with a shiny ring. There was a big exhale of satisfaction as she pulled the dress out.
It was a black dress, similar to something I had seen at a fashion show in Paris. All black, no straps, fitted in the waist, bodice, and hips, just about floor length, with a leather strap wrapped around the waist, held up by a prominent gold loop.
“It’s stunning,” one of Kelsey’s assistants whispered.
“I love it.” Willow jumped.
“Wow,” Serena awed, mirroring the reactions of the people from Charles Elizabeth.
I turned to Cecilia, who was always the first one with an opinion, but had said nothing. “What do you think?” I asked.
“It’s beautiful, but I liked the red one.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You’re radiant in red.”
If you told me there was a rabid bird trapped inside my chest, fluttering its wings with no intention to stop, I would’ve believed you. But I didn’t let it show on my face as I entered the swarm of well-dressed guests.
Most red carpets were made up of one long pathway, about a mile long and the width of a three-lane highway.
The first half was usually lined with fans behind a barrier, and journalists chatting at the center of the carpet.
Halfway down, spectators and fans were replaced by photographers snapping photos of celebrities that would make magazines the next day.
There was a line in front of me waiting to talk to reporters. Hats, hair, and more blocked my view.
Kelsey tugged on my dress. A makeup artist touched up my lipstick. Cecilia reminded me of a missed call from Walt. And Serena attempted to share logistics.
“Once the line minimizes, don’t make eye contact with any of the interviewers. We’re going straight to photo-op,” Serena told me, her face pinched with seriousness. I nodded.
I shifted my gaze back and forth, trying to see what was happening at the start of the line, when someone in front of me moved, granting me a view of the people behind the barricade.
It was like pulling a curtain back from a window. The crowds of fans wanting autographs and pictures were shouting, and journalists were spread out every ten feet with microphones and camera crews, interviewing people.
Once I digested the scene, the sound hit me like a tidal wave.
My attention was pulled in a million different directions; first I heard my name from a girl in the crowd, and just like that, my presence was known. Once everyone’s eyes were fixated on me, the questions started flooding in.
“Shit,” Serena muttered. She laid a hand on my back and ushered me forward, out of the line, and past everyone shouting my name.
“Ms. Aldridge, just one question!” a reporter on my left shouted. “Luna, are you dating Kieran Alexander?” another asked, trying to shove a microphone in my face that someone else shoved away. “Who are you wearing?” a different interviewer shouted from behind me.
The audience on my right was asking for photos, pushing out their hands to touch and film me.
“Just stay straight,” Cecilia reminded me.
“Luna, I love you!” I heard a girl scream. I couldn’t help but turn. The girl was young, in high school maybe. She still had braces. I recognized her immediately.
“Luna, no.” Serena tried to stop me, as I diverted our path and walked to the barricade on my right. Phones flooded my vision, and my name crowded me. Everyone closed in on us, trying to get closer.
“I remember you—Taylor, right?” I asked. Her eyes melted in surprise, and she smiled so big that I could see the color of the rubber bands on her teeth. (Sparkly purple.)
She nodded.
“You were at my match last year. I signed your tennis racket. It was hot pink, I loved it. Are you still playing tennis?” I asked.
“Yes.” She nodded eagerly. “Not with that racket, though, I would never. I have it hung above my door.”
I laughed lightly. “That’s so sweet.”
“I love your dress, and your hair, you look so beautiful,” she gushed, pointing out my belt and long hair.
“My friend actually picked this dress out. I’ll have to tell her you like it.”
“Can I get a photo?” she asked.
“Of course.” She excitedly pulled out her phone. I leaned in so she could snap a picture of the two of us, cheek to cheek.
I said my goodbye, telling her, “I look forward to seeing you play in the future!”
I turned and found an ocean of people behind me, watching us this entire time. But they spun in the opposite direction at the sound of his name.
“Kieran Alexander! Here, Kieran! Mr. Alexander! Just one moment here! Look here, Kieran!” Fans, reporters, photographers. There was a roar of excitement for him from what seemed like all of New York City.
Hollywood’s biggest star, Kieran Alexander, was here.
And he was staring right at me, confused.
He looked untouchable. His hair was arranged in that perfect, disheveled way. Chestnut in this light, rather than blond. The cut of his black suit swept around his chest and waist. He pulled a ring off and on his finger, standing still, watching me.
It didn’t matter how much I hated him. My hatred didn’t strip him of his ability to walk into a room and take the air away.
I averted my gaze before parting from the crowd and returning to my path.
“Well, that wasn’t part of the plan,” Serena stated. “But at least you didn’t talk to the reporters.”
“Please no reporters,” Cecilia groaned.
“No reporters,” I agreed. “Let’s get these photos over with so I have a moment to breathe before I have to sit with him.” Turning around, I couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t bring me any comfort.