be as bad as the time one of her spaghetti straps had fallen down, revealing far more of Connie Gordon than the press had ever seen.
‘CONNIE!’ they shouted now. ‘Over here.’
‘One more!’
‘This way!’
Connie smiled. She felt like such a fraud. It was her third red carpet event that week and she knew she must be the envy of every woman in the world and yet what she wanted more than anything was to be sitting at home in her favourite jumper and jeans, eating a large tub of ice cream in front of the movie channel. It really was absurd. After all, she’d worked extremely hard to get to this moment, hadn’t she? All the years of dance classes and auditions, drama classes and auditions, singing classes and auditions. This was what it was all about. This was the kind of event that said, Hey world, I’ve arrived. Aren’t you jealous? Don’t you wish you were me? Take that journalist over there, Connie thought, sidling over to a female reporter who was gesticulating at her so much her arms were in danger of spinning right off her body. What would the reporter give to change places with Connie – to wear the dress, to be photographed, to present the award? And what would Connie give to exchange places with her? The journalist would be going home in half an hour. For a moment, Connie imagined the scene. There’d be some cute guy cooking dinner for her and an adorable toddler would have just woken up to greet his mommy.
Connie sighed as she thought about the empty mansion that was waiting for her in Bel Air. She had a cook, a cleaner, a PA and a gardener. There was the boy who took care of the pool, the guy who took care of her cars. There was the hairdresser, the image consultant, the agent, the lawyer and the accountant. Then there was the orthodontist, the personal trainer … and on the list went. But there was nobody who’d be there to kiss her when she got home. Nobody to massage her feet and tell her she was gorgeous. Oh, she was told she was gorgeous often enough – by the fans, the journalists, the photographers. But they didn’t count. When she went home, she left the adulation behind and life felt very empty indeed.
‘Connie Gordon!’ the journalist yelled as Connie joined her at the barrier. ‘I have Connie Gordon with me,’ she said, turning to her cameraman. ‘Who are you wearing tonight, Connie?’
‘Oh, it’s a Tierney Mueller.’
‘And you look gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Thank you,’ Connie said graciously.
‘I hear you’ll be presenting an award tonight.’
‘Yes. Best supporting actor.’
‘And which of the nominees do you favour?’ the journalist asked.
‘I think they’re all incredibly talented. I couldn’t possibly choose,’ she said diplomatically. That was the game to play: be gracious, be diplomatic and keep bloody smiling.
The ‘Cream of the Screen’ ceremony was fairly new as award ceremonies went. Not quite as glitzy as the Oscars nor as prestigious as the Golden Globes, they were still an opportunity for the stars to come out and shine. As Connie entered the Art Deco theatre where it was being held, she caught sight of a few of the famous faces there. She had to stop and pinch herself sometimes. At events like this, she still felt like such a newbie even though she’d been in the business since she was six.
‘Connie!’ a voice called. She turned around and came face to face with Carter Maddox, the infamous journalist, and he had a camera crew with him. ‘Over here, Connie!’
There was no getting away from him so Connie dug deep for her smile again and joined him.
‘And you are looking very glam tonight. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Carter.’
‘Who are you wearing?’
‘Tierney Mueller,’ Connie said, sighing inwardly at the originality of his questions.
‘And who’s accompanying you tonight?’
Connie’s eyebrows rose. Now, that was a question she hadn’t been expecting.
‘Don’t tell me the gorgeous Connie Gordon is alone tonight?’
‘Yes, I am, Carter.’
‘Well, men of America, you should be ashamed of yourselves,’ Carter said, turning to the camera. ‘I really think you should’ve made more of an effort.’
‘No, really Carter – don’t—’
‘Isn’t there anyone out there who’d kill to have this lovely lady on their arm?’
Connie rolled her eyes, imagining the crank letters from the men of America she’d be receiving over the coming months.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a voice announced on the tannoy. ‘Please take your seats. The ceremony is about to begin.’
Connie sighed with relief and made a hasty departure from Carter Maddox.
She was just entering the auditorium when she felt a hand on her bottom. Spinning around, she came face to face with Jeff Kline.
‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said.
If anyone else called her gorgeous tonight, she would scream.
‘What are you doing here, Jeff ?’
‘Nice to see you too! Not still sore, are you, honeybun?’
‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your honeybun! Not since you sold out to the Hollywood Recorder.’
‘But sweetcakes! What did you expect me to do?’
‘You’re a piece of slime, Kline,’ she said, rather liking the rhyme that made. ‘Go to hell.’
She made her way to her seat and hoped that she wouldn’t meet any more of her ex-boyfriends that evening.
But, alas, it wasn’t to be.
They were half an hour into the ceremony when Connie was escorted backstage and given a scarlet envelope and statuette for the award for best supporting actor. It was the moment she’d been dreading.
Just take it slowly, she told herself, hoping she wouldn’t trip over the ridiculously long dress. Nice and slowly.
Waiting for her cue backstage, she wondered how long it would be before she could sneak home. There was a party after the show – several parties – and she’d been invited to all of them but she could think of nothing worse.
‘You’re on!’ a girl backstage suddenly yelled at her.
‘Oh!’ Connie yelled back, venturing forth onto the stage where she was greeted by wave after wave of applause. The host had stepped to one side and the microphone was left for Connie. Walking up to it, she dared to look out into the audience, which was a great mistake because her heart rate doubled almost instantly. It was one of the reasons that the theatre had never tempted her. A live audience – there was nothing scarier.
She cleared her throat and began. ‘Being a supporting
