“All right, that’s it. You look like a masterpiece,” the makeup artist said. “Let’s get this girl into a dress.” He kissed his fingers. “Perfection.”
I laughed. “Thank you.”
I chanced a glance in the mirror and gaped at myself. I still looked like myself but somehow better. So much more dramatic and defined. My cheeks were plump and rosy. My blue eyes luminescent. My lips wide and fire-engine red. It was better than I ever could have imagined.
I turned away from the mirror and reached for the dress. English was there with a smile, holding it out for me. Finally, I stepped into the jeweled Jimmy Choos she had talked me into.
English zipped me up and then took a step back. “Damn, girl, I can’t wait to see Campbell’s reaction.”
I ran my hands down the silky material. “You think he’ll like it?”
“If he doesn’t fall on his knees in supplication, then return the whole man.”
I cackled at her. “You know just what to say.”
She dipped into a small curtsy with a wink.
Having English the last couple days had been a lifesaver. I wasn’t sure I would have survived without her. Not with the alarming amount of comments, emails, and shocking phone calls. People were psychopaths. We’d quickly scrubbed all of my information from the internet and limited all forms of contact.
I’d posted a photo of Campbell and me together, per English’s suggestion, and closed commenting on the post. It was confirmation the world had apparently wanted, but I’d signaled that I wasn’t interested in anyone’s comment on my relationship.
Nate had also posted his video. And though some people had commented hateful things, they were far nicer to Nate than to me. Wasn’t internalized misogyny delightful?
“Thanks for all you’ve done, English.”
She grinned at me. “Hey, this is what I live for. There isn’t a problem I can’t fix. You are going to have a great time tonight. Forget everything else and just enjoy the night.”
I nodded. That was the plan. A few questions and then a fun night. Felt worth it.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Campbell had rented a room at The Beverly Hills Hotel for the evening. Both for us to get ready and to have a room nearby to crash in after the event. I hadn’t been looking forward to driving forty-five minutes back up to his place after a night out.
“Ready in there?” Court called.
English arched an eyebrow. “Are we ready?”
“Yep.”
I swallowed, and then English pulled the door open. Campbell waited for me when I crossed the threshold. He was dressed in a tuxedo, looking as dapper as I’d ever seen him. His artfully messy hair had been brushed off his face. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers. And my heart stopped as our eyes met.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
I thought he might actually fall onto his knees before me, as English had suggested. His eyes were wide and mouth gaped. We were long past prom, and I certainly hadn’t gone in a dress of this quality or this expensive. Nothing could compare to what I was wearing.
The dress was ruby-red silk that flowed around my hips like a waterfall. The straps were paper-thin strips of lace that fell off my shoulders. The neckline was purposely droopy, revealing the top crests of my breasts. I looked somehow taller and curvier and thinner and everything, all at once. It was a fucking miracle dress, and I felt like a queen in it.
“I am the luckiest fucking guy in the world,” he told me as he drew me into him and dropped his mouth onto mine.
I almost protested about my lipstick but fuck it. It was supposed to be smudge- and waterproof. If it wasn’t, I wanted my money back.
“All right, kids,” English joked. “Let’s get you into a limo. Have a great time.”
“What’s your plan for the night?” I asked, pulling away from Campbell.
Court got a look in his eyes that said dirty, dirty things.
English swatted at him. “I’ll be available if you need me. But you won’t need me.”
“Have fun,” Campbell said.
Then, Campbell whisked me downstairs and into the limo. The anxiety about the gala I’d been holding off all day suddenly hit me again.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Campbell wrapped his fingers with mine. “I want nothing more than to be seen with you.”
“It’s just a lot.”
“I know,” he said. “I know it is. Are you okay with it all?”
“No,” I told him truthfully. “I don’t really know how to react. People on the internet hate me.”
He nodded. “I was worried about that.”
“It’s weird to say I’ve mostly had a positive experience on social media, and now, I can see how it would be debilitating. Why you’re not on it.”
“I wish it weren’t that way for you.”
I shrugged. “Can’t change it now.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised.
Even though it felt like a promise he couldn’t possibly keep.
The drive to the Beverly Wilshire was a short one by LA standards. But already, Rodeo Drive was packed with fans and reporters, anxious to see the music celebrities in attendance at the gala that supported music education in local schools. If I got past my anxiety, I was excited to go. I’d been to plenty of things like this in Lubbock, but somehow, it wasn’t quite the same. Okay, not even close to the same as being in Los Angeles, surrounded by celebs.
Campbell took my hand in his as we got into line with the other limos. “This is going to be fun.”
I laughed. “How can you know that?”
“Because I’m here with you. I never thought I’d be here with you.”
“Me either.”
“So, I’m determined to forget the onslaught of online madness and just enjoy the evening with my girlfriend.”
I beamed at that word. I still wasn’t used to hearing it from him. Even in high school, the word wasn’t something we’d really used. Our relationship had always been so secretive. So, maybe this was what we needed to get past all the errors of our past.
“All right, I’ll give it a shot,” I said as he drew me in for a kiss. “I want to have a good time, too. Plus, English prepared me for everything.”
“She’s good like that.”
I nodded in agreement.
Then, we were at the front of the line. A man in a tuxedo and white gloves opened the back door. I took a deep breath before taking his proffered hand and stepping out of the limo. When I’d said English had prepared me for everything, I meant, everything. She’d walked me through a red carpet step by step so that I wouldn’t gape at what I saw in front of me. And still, it was hard not to be awestruck by the beauty of it all.
A long red carpet had been rolled out in front of the famous hotel, leading inside through the arched glass doorways. Either side had been roped off, and reporters waited to speak to the incoming attendees.
Campbell next came out of the limo. He slipped an arm around my waist, giving his best smolder to the cameras that now flashed dramatically. “Ready?” he asked as he pressed a kiss into my hair.
“Ready.”
The red carpet welcomed us with open arms. My smile didn’t even have to be faked. It was exhilarating, and all my earlier fears disappeared. This wasn’t so bad at all. Campbell was charming, and everyone loved every second he gave them. He was still my Campbell, but I could see how he was so much bigger and better in this world. And why he’d prefer to not have to be the person they all expected him to be.
The first reporter pushed a microphone toward us. I recognized him as one of the reporters that English had slipped the questions to. “Campbell, it’s so good to see you out in public with your new girlfriend. So many of our followers have been asking about this mystery woman. We’ve heard the rumor that she’s the ‘I See the Real You’ girl we’ve always wondered about. Can you confirm?”
Campbell laughed, self-effacing. “The mystery woman you speak of is my girlfriend, Blaire.” He squeezed my waist. “We dated in high school, and yes, I wrote ‘I See the Real You’ around the time when we were last together.”
“And with this relationship rekindling, will we get new songs about the lovely Blaire?”
I met Campbell’s gaze, and he winked. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see when the new album releases.”
We continued along to the next reporter I recognized. “Campbell, it’s good to see you out in LA.”
They clapped hands like old friends. English had said that Campbell already had a good relationship with this guy. I could see the camaraderie as they talked.
“Blaire,” he said, turning to me, “we’re glad to see you in LA. About time someone settled down the Campbell Abbey.” Campbell laughed and shook his head, but the guy continued, “We noticed on your social accounts that you were close with the internet sensation Nate King.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Nate and I have been friends for a while.”
“Just friends?” He winked at Campbell. “Sorry, Campbell.”
Campbell arched an eyebrow. “Do you think she’d be here with me now if she was dating someone else?”
“We’re just friends. Nate and Campbell met when he was in town. And as you can see on Nate’s accounts, he’s already congratulated us on our relationship.”
“And how are you handling the talk of Campbell and Nini Verona’s relationship?”
I stumbled on that one. A furrow forming between my brows. We hadn’t discussed this one. That was a name that had come up a couple times while I was around Campbell, but he’d always adamantly denied that they’d ever dated…kind of like I was doing right now with Nate.
Campbell interceded. “Nini and I have never had a relationship. That’s an old rumor after I performed at a fashion show she was in. We won’t be taking any more questions about that.”
We moved away from that reporter, and I leaned over to whisper, “Are you and Nini just friends?”
He shot me a look, and my stomach dropped.
“Oh,” I whispered.
“It was a few weeks right before the tour started.”
I had no room to talk since I’d been dating Nate more recently than that, but I had purposely not thought about how many other girls he’d dated before me. He was a rockstar. The number was likely staggering. And it didn’t matter, did it? He was here with me.
We stopped in front of the next reporter. She wasn’t a person that English had prepped us for. She had the same magazine credentials, but we’d been expecting someone else.
“Do you have a minute, Campbell?” she asked politely.
He glanced at me, and I shrugged. Last one, and then we’d be finished.
The reporter asked a few of the same questions we’d already heard from others. She was on the same script as what English had sent out.
Then, she looked over at me. “Blaire, what do you make of the reports that you were pregnant with Campbell’s baby in high school and had an abortion?”
Ringing.
There was ringing in my ears.
My vision dimmed to nothing.
My stomach plummeted to the concrete.
Suddenly, I was shrinking in on myself and lying on a bed with blood between my legs and tears on my lashes and pain in my abdomen. There was nothing but heartache and a deep aching sadness that I could never recover from. Just pain and pain and pain.
I choked as I remembered my mother driving me to the hospital for my ten-week OB/GYN visit. Ten weeks. Soon, I’d find out if I was having a boy or a girl. A tiny thing was growing inside of me. No one could quite see it yet, but I could. I could feel it. My breasts ached all the time, and I couldn’t stop peeing. I was exhausted and threw up more than I’d ever in my entire life. Even worse than the terrible stomach bug I’d had sophomore year.
I was eighteen and pregnant, against my mother’s expressed wishes. And I wanted this baby. This beautiful baby boy or girl would be mine. The only thing I had left of me and Campbell. He was gone. He was in LA, living his dream. I was here in Lubbock, living a nightmare. But at least I had the baby.
Then, I was in the hospital, getting a standard ultrasound. The doctor paused. Her face fell. She said, “Oh.”
I sat up straighter at the word. Then, I heard the words in a daze. Something about no heartbeat and unviable and miscarriage. Horrible, terrible, disturbing words. I started to cry. My mom stared, frozen, unsure how to comfort me. I wanted Campbell more than anything, but he wasn’t here.
The doctor gave me pills to induce the miscarriage and explained what was coming next. I barely heard them through my sobbing. I was making a scene, but no one faulted me, except my mother, who seemed to be giddy with happiness. She was hardly hiding it either.
The doctor informed me it was common. That fifteen to twenty percent of all pregnancies ended in miscarriage and possibly even more than that if you considered miscarriages before people knew they were pregnant. She tried to make it all sound rational in her soft, careful voice.
I took the medicine and left with my mom. Her words still rang in my ears as I stared forward with red-rimmed eyes and no baby.
“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Marie. This is the best thing that could have happened to you. You have your whole life ahead of you. This is going to make everything so much easier.”
I wanted to vomit, just hearing her say that. As if miscarrying Campbell’s baby was exactly what I should have wanted for myself. When it was the last thing I had ever wanted.
Pamela asked if I needed any help. I gave her the list of things to buy to make the next month more bearable physically. Though nothing could fix it mentally. She dropped me off at the house and then went to the store.
My first instinct was to crawl into bed and cry for another decade. Instead, I called Campbell. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night I’d told him I was pregnant. I never expected him to answer.
“Blaire?” he asked in confusion.
Wherever he was, it was loud. It was a two-hour time difference to LA. He shouldn’t have been anywhere that sounded like a nightclub.
“Hey,” I said weakly.
“What’s up? I’m at work right now, and it’s not a great time.”
“I…” I said, stumbling at the dismissive tone of his voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Can it wait until I get off work? I’ll call you back.”
“Sure,” I lied. I was going to be bleeding for the next four hours. Passing his baby from my body. What else did I have to do? “Sure. Yeah. Call me back.”
Maybe things would have been different or at least better if he’d called, but he hadn’t. Not that night or the night after that or the night after that. He didn’t call again at all.
The miscarriage was the absolute worst thing that had ever happened to me.
But the one word that I’d never used to describe it, that the doctor hadn’t even used, was abortion.
I’d wanted that baby with every fiber of my being.
I still wanted that baby.
And now, I stood before some asshole reporter, spitting that word in my face for a headline, and all I could do was return to that eighteen-year-old girl who had felt like she was dying. All I could do was retreat.