Remember When 3: The Finale Part 13

"You could feed a small country for the price of that dress!"

"Babe. I give enough money away to feed some very large countries. Don't get all guilty on me. It's okay to spoil yourself every now and then. Just let me do this, okay?"

I pursed my lips and squinted at him, but didn't answer. He knew he was winning me over. Because honestly? I really freaking loved that dress.

"Besides, it's a big deal for Siobhan to see her stuff strutting down the red carpet. When you're asked who you're wearing, don't forget to add where you got it. Got it?"

Okay, I admit it. I was wrong. Fairytales do exist. I suddenly had a new appreciation for Pretty Woman, because all I could think at that moment was that I was Cinderf.u.c.kinrella. There he was like a kid on Christmas, so excited to unveil his surprise and I was yelling at him for it. What was I going to do for an encore? Kick him in the nards?

"Fine. Okay. Yes. Thank you, Trip. This is really an incredible thing to do. I'm blown away."

He was smiling as bent his head to plant one on me, saying, "You can show me how grateful you are later."

Our lips met, and my fingers immediately went to the back of his still-damp hair. He slid his hands along my backside, pulled me tighter against his hips, and groaned against my mouth. I was feeling a little dizzy from his... enthusiasm, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, raising up on my toes and pressing into him. Just as things started to get interesting, he tore his lips from mine with a grunt and said, "s.h.i.t, Lay-Lay. We'd better get dressed. The car will be here any minute."

Trip was sitting in an armchair in a corner of the foyer when I met up with him. He looked positively drool-worthy, lounging out casually in his formalwear, his fingers against his temple, waiting for me.

I stood in front of his knees, gave him a twirl and asked, "How do I look?"

He didn't break his pose, but appraised me with a scandalous perusal along my entire body. "I don't know, babe. It hurts to look right at you. Gorgeous, in any case."

Then he got up from his chair, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me to him. "Stop smiling at me like that. It makes me want to blow off this whole night and just take you back to bed."

I almost let him.

I was a nervous wreck in the limo on the way to the Kodak Theatre. Trip kept his hand on my knee, and he must have been nervous, too, because his fingers never slipped any higher. The limo had a bar alcove with a few decanters of liquor, and I wondered how many times he'd taken advantage of such perks in the old days.

We made it to our destination in decent time, but had to idle in a queue of similar cars, waiting for our turn to pull up to the main entrance. That was the hardest part of the whole evening, I think. Just having to sit there and sweat it out, the raucous cheers of the crowd pouring through the closed windows in an oppressive deluge of sound. Despite the waning sun, the strobe-like flashing of hundreds of cameras punctuated the sky. Up ahead, I could see the sentinel of monstrous Oscar statues, their heads glowing a fiery gold, lining the entrance to the red carpet.

Holy s.h.i.t. I was really there. At the Academy Awards. Holy. Effing. s.h.i.t.

Are you there, G.o.d? It's me, Layla. It's been a while, and I'm really sorry about that, but I would be eternally grateful and all that jazz if you could help me make it down this carpet without stumbling, sweating, or otherwise embarra.s.sing myself in any way, shape, or form. I'm guessing you've never given stilettos a shot, and let me tell you, you are one lucky dude. They are like spikey little torture devices designed solely to make your feet throb incessantly while mocking your lack of grace. And we both know grace has never been high on my list of positive attributes to begin with. So, yeah, any help you can give? Greatly appreciated. Oh. And please don't let me have a wardrobe malfunction and slip a nip. Muchas gracias. Amen.

My nerves were pretty well shot to begin with, but sitting there, crammed inside some claustrophobia-inducing limousine, waiting indefinitely for the night to get underway, was positively nail-biting. Plus, I was trying to forget that the last time I'd seen Trip emerge from a limo, my world fell apart.

But then I made myself remember that I had asked for this. I was the one who begged and pleaded with my boyfriend to bring me to this thing. And he was the one who actually had to get onstage and speak!

I took a few deep breaths, determined to lose my anxiety, and instead focused on making sure Trip was okay. "How you doing over there, pal?"

Trip looked cool as a cuc.u.mber. So handsome in his tux. He gave me a calm smile, which would convince anyone else that a night like that was a common occurrence for him.

Finally, it was our turn.

Our door was opened, and the dull roar that I could hear from inside the car became a deafening cacophony of screeching and whistles and screams outside of it. Trip held his hand out to me, a smirk on his face, and I'm quite sure he was thinking about the last time I'd watched him escort someone out of a limousine. But he seemed much happier that this time, it was me. So was I. I made sure to exit the car while pressing my knees together, like Betty had warned me to do, and I utilized her tip so the cameras couldn't catch my hoo-hah in a Britney Spears shot.

It was still daylight outside, but that didn't stop my eyes from blinding from the flash of the million or so cameras aimed in our direction. All I wanted to do was get down the mile-long length of red carpet as quickly as possible, preferably without tripping and falling flat on my face. But every few steps, a photographer would call, "Trip! Over here!" and I'd feel Trip's hand at the small of my back, nudging me in the direction of a camera. We'd been there for almost ten minutes, and I don't think we made it further than ten feet down the carpet.

Trip had prepared me for that on the ride over. He'd explained that he always let the paparazzi take all the shots they wanted when he was at a work-related event like this. He did it in the hopes that they'd leave him alone when he was just out and about, living his life.

Not that they did.

But Trip was holding up his end of the bargain, turning toward each and every camera down that runway, smiling and waving to each and every person that called his name.

He leaned his head into my ear and said, "You're doing great. Only nine thousand more pictures to go."

I looked at him and he gave me a quick wink, which made me laugh and helped me to relax. There I was, a panicky mess, and my boyfriend was just eating it up. He flashed that megawatt grin, the full-force smile that always knocked me out. Me, and everyone else on the planet.

About midway down the carpet, I gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing him out into the wild. At my insistence, we'd made the plan ahead of time for me to fade into the background for a few moments, in order to let Trip be him for a while, soak up some of that spotlight on his own. After all, this was his world. I was simply along for the ride.

He was almost immediately intercepted by a certain up-and-coming starlet, and I recognized her from the tabloids as one of the many young women Trip had been linked with over the years. She was pencil-thin and beautiful, but had a big, poofy mop of hair that reminded me of Tina Yothers. The flirty way she talked with him confirmed that there was some history there. Thankfully, he kept the conversation to a minimum, and made his escape before she could tear off her Vera w.a.n.g and jump him right there on the red carpet.

He paused at the grandstand, listened to the screams from the women in the bleachers, and stopped for a few quick interviews with hosts from various entertainment shows.

At the end of the run, he reclaimed my hand again and we chatted with some of his industry friends who were gathered near the entrance. Introduction after introduction, I watched people's faces go from Who's this chick crashing our party? to Awww, really? Your high school sweetheart?

I got completely tongue-tied while being introduced to a particular silver-screen hottie who shall forever go nameless, in order to protect my cool. But I had the hugest crush on this actor growing up, and I kinda lost my s.h.i.t to find myself standing there actually talking to him. Well, I guess talking is a relative term. I don't even know if I was speaking English to the poor guy as I babbled my h.e.l.los.

Finally, finally, we made our way inside the building, and I went to give Trip a look of relief. But his mouth was set in a firm line, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his eyes narrowed at me in a scathing glare.

"What?" I asked.

"Clooney? Really, Layla?"

His jealousy made me giggle as I answered, "Sorry. I used to crush on him pretty hard when he was on Facts of Life. Did you ever notice that he had the same mullet as Jo Polnachek?" Trip didn't find that amusing, so I leaned up to whisper, "But I'm kinda partial to blonds these days, anyway."

That thawed him out. "Good thing. Because he seems to be partial to anything with a pulse these days."

I sat there with sweaty palms all night. It's not like I was the one waiting there, listening for my name to be called. But that s.a.d.i.s.tic camera shot when they showed every nominee as the envelope was being opened... Christ. I didn't know how they could stand it. And then to have to sit there with a smile still plastered to their faces when their name wasn't called? Ouch.

Presenter after presenter, envelope after envelope. All night, I was a nervous wreck.

I was even worse when it was Trip's turn to get up there. Someone had come down to our seats to escort Trip backstage, and I found myself sitting next to some hot young tuxedoed stud. I wondered how someone went about obtaining a job as seat-filler and debated asking him about it. But before I knew it, Trip was being announced.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Three-time Academy Award nominee and Oscar winner for Best Actor in a Leading Role... Please welcome... Trip Wiley..."

And there he was, amidst the applause, strutting out onto the stage and taking his place at the microphone, preparing to address his peers. The thing of it was, though, is that no one was among his peers. Trip Wiley had no peers.

He was confident, polished, incredibly talented, undeniably hot. I was sure that the men in that room would give their left nut to live his life for even one day; the women would sacrifice anything to be in his bed for one night. He may have lived this part of his life with them, but he was most decidedly not among them.

He smiled as the cheering died down and his smooth voice proceeded to give a brief explanation of the category he was presenting before announcing the nominees... for cinematography.

There could be no more perfect category for that man to announce. He made sure to become familiar with the work of each and every nominee, subjecting me to an endless viewing of The Proof Beyond, where he paused practically every frame, pointing out "the brilliance" in every shot. It took about four hours to watch that movie, and I'd still really like to see it someday. My vote laid squarely with Anya's Garden, however, and it was a much-discussed debate between the two of us all week.

But sure as s.h.i.t, he opened that envelope-and I swear his eyes flicked toward me for a split second-as he smirked and announced, "And the Oscar goes to... The Proof Beyond."

Oh, he was going to be impossible to live with after this.

A few minutes later, he was back in his seat, grinning smugly, but staring straight ahead at the stage. I flipped him the ten bucks I owed him, and he didn't even so much as glance my way as he wordlessly stuck the bill in his front breast pocket.

Jerk.

Just for that, I leaned my face in close to his ear and whispered, "Congratulations. But there's something you need to know. I took my panties off before putting on this dress tonight."

That was a lie. I was totally still wearing my undies.

I sat back in my seat and waited for his reaction. I wasn't sure if he had heard me, because he was still staring straight ahead. But I noticed that his bottom lip had dropped just a fraction of an inch.

A whole five minutes went by before his mouth was at my ear, whispering, "Did you leave the garters on?"

I pursed my lips to keep from cracking up, then mouthed the word, "Yep."

He was staring straight ahead again, but I watched a muscle working in his jaw and felt his hand tighten on mine as he shifted in his seat.

Ha! Sit on that, Fonzarelli!

Chapter 19.

s.e.x, POLITICS & c.o.c.kTAILS.

The after-party was at Chteau Blanco, and the vibe in the place was positively electric. For all the formality and nervousness before and during the show, it was replaced with relief and laid-back after. The men all loosened their ties and some even ditched their jackets. The women had changed into comfortable shoes, and I wished I'd known that that was a thing so I could have been more prepared. But seeing as it was Trip's first time at one of those things, he didn't know to give me the heads up.

We said h.e.l.los to a million people and were introduced to a million more before we found a booth along the wall that we could claim as our home base. Not that we sat for very long. There were elbows to rub, introductions to be made, a.s.ses to kiss. I'm not going to name-drop here, but let's just say I was blown away to be in the same room with most of those people. Faces you'd know; names you'd recognize. From rising stars and veteran actors to acclaimed directors and legendary producers. At one point, Trip pointed out Harvey Weinstein, and I thought I was going to bust a rib cracking up.

"You think he's forgiven you for dumping that pasta in his lap ten years ago?"

Trip raised an eyebrow as he shot back, "I know he hasn't."

We laughed at that as Trip excused himself to hit the bathroom. I kind of had to go, too, but there was no way I'd be able to get out of my dress on my own. Thank G.o.d I knew I'd have some help with that later, wink wink.

I saw that he'd gotten tied up talking to some people, so I went to the bar to grab him a club soda and lime. I couldn't find him after that, so I just decided to wait in the alcove near the restrooms.

"Well, h.e.l.lo, there!"

I turned and registered the lecherous man who had just greeted me. The look on his face and the way he was licking his lips made me feel like a triple-decker hot-fudge sundae. And not in a good way. I gave him a polite smile and said, "h.e.l.lo."

"I don't think I've had the pleasure."

He extended his hand, so I took it, but before I got the chance to introduce myself, he added, "But I sure as h.e.l.l look forward to it."

Ewww.

Again, I merely gave him the briefest of smiles, my expression and my body language clearly screaming not on your life, pal.

Only, he wouldn't release his death grip on my hand until I pulled it out of his grasp. It was all I could do not to dig out my bottle of Purell right there on the spot.

He gave a quick scan to our surrounding area before leaning in, still licking his lips like a lizard, so close I could smell the cognac on his breath as he sneered, "I'd almost say it would be worth a million dollars to find out." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, waiting for me to take the bait.

Now. I should mention that while this guy totally skeeved me out, I didn't know who he was. As obnoxious as his indecent proposal was-and dude. Seriously? We've all seen that movie-I didn't want to create any problems for Trip if this were some major player. I also didn't want to create a scene in the middle of the party. But even still, I didn't realize my free hand had been clenching into a fist at my side until Trip appeared.

Good thing he did. Apparently, I was gearing up to go full-on knuckle sandwich on this guy's a.s.s.

"Robert. Good evening." Trip slipped his arm around my middle, never breaking eye contact with Robert the Lizard as I handed him his drink. It was enough to get the disgusting man to take a step back and resume life outside of my personal s.p.a.ce.

Robert tried out a jovial tone. Aren't we all just a bunch of silly friends, here. "Mr. Wiley! I was just getting acquainted with your..."

"My girlfriend, Bert. My very serious, very last girlfriend. Get the picture?"

Every second I had to spend in that lecher's presence was worth it to hear those words come out of Trip's mouth.

"And she's not interested, so take a hike." Trip took a swig of his drink, staring off beyond Robert, already bored.

"Now, Trip. You don't think I'd have tried anything if I knew she was with you! I just saw this lovely creature standing here all by her lonesome and thought she might like some company. Isn't that right..."

I guessed that was the part where I was supposed to offer my name. But where did that smelly b.a.l.l.sack get off trying to get me to vouch for him? Who the h.e.l.l did he think he was?

When I didn't fill in the blank, he staggered a bit as he added, "And it's not like I wasn't willing to pay."

There he went, treating me like some streetwalker again! As infuriated as I was, I could tell that Trip was about to blow his top. His entire body tensed, his eyes turned to ice, and his jaw was clenched so tightly, I thought he must have been grinding his teeth into a fine, white powder inside his mouth. He started to lean in Robert's direction, but I constricted my hold on his hand as The Lizard finally wised up from the look in Trip's eyes. He put his hands up in defense and said, "Hey. Whoa, there. Okay, okay. I hear ya. No need to get all up about it."

Trip took that step anyway, inches from Robert's face, staring him down with unleashed fury. "If you weren't such an old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I'd pound your face into a pulp for the way you just spoke to her. Seeing as we may be working together soon, I'm going to refrain from kicking your a.s.s."

Wait a minute. This was Bert Goldblatt? The director Trip had been meeting with?

Bert's eyes darted around the room, looking for someone to save him from a well-deserved a.s.s-kicking.

Trip's voice didn't even sound like his own as he demanded, "Apologize."

"Trip. You're taking this all the wrong-"

"Apologize. Now."

I wanted to step in and tell him it wasn't necessary. I wanted to just get the h.e.l.l away from the guy. But Bert turned toward me, sticking his sagging chin out a bit smugly as he said, "I'm sorry."

He finally chose to take his leave, but tossed over his shoulder as he did, "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to taste those t.i.ts."

Trip turned into the Hulk before my eyes. He slammed his gla.s.s down on a nearby table and lunged at Bert, but I was in the way. Bert jumped back and smiled, but there was fear in the weasely man's eyes. I put my hands on Trip's chest, trying to keep him from killing the guy. "Trip! Stop! Please don't do this. It's over, okay? Please!"

Trip looked from the man's retreating back to me a few times, still practically growling. I knew if he really wanted to go after him, I was no match to physically hold him in place. My words had already halted him, so I continued with that tactic. I put my hands to his face, and turned the focus of his eyes to mine. "Trip! Baby. Please don't. He's a pathetic excuse for a man. Please don't ruin tonight over him, okay?"