Authors: Alison Sweeney
“I would have thought you’d be jumping at the chance to step up.”
Go, Elle! Way to call her out.
“I
am
stepping up. In fact I was just emailing you about the new strategy I’ve worked up for the Jones and Jones account. And I am trying to cross-promote—”
“I know everything you’re working on, Priscilla. We’re
all
busy here. I’ve discussed this with Sophie and you’re going to handle American Wrestling. Sophie will fill you in on where the account stands today, and if you have any problems you can always ask her. But it’s your responsibility now.” Elle doesn’t change her volume, but her tone tightens up and I’m glad she isn’t looking at me. “Thank you, ladies.” And we are dismissed.
Priscilla glides out the door ahead of me and struts to the elevator bank. I follow and automatically press the down arrow button even though it is already lit. We ride the elevator one floor down in silence. I’m not feeling triumphant exactly, but definitely vindicated. I replay Elle’s words to Priscilla in my head as I stare blindly at the polished elevator doors. When the
ding
announces our arrival, my eyes refocus on Priscilla’s reflection. I see complete and utter hatred in her eyes for the
second before the doors open and her face disappears. It almost makes her unattractive.
The sheer venomous look catches me so off guard that I hesitate for a split second as Priscilla calmly steps off the elevator and disappears around the corner toward her office.
All of a sudden my self-preservation radar goes off. As I head back to my department, I do the math on everything I’ve heard about Priscilla and decide I’d better watch my back. Well, in the immortal words of Kirsten Dunst,
Bring It On
.
Billy climbs into
the back of the stretch limo as I switch seats to give us a little distance. While I hire limos and car services for celeb clients all the time, I’m very rarely in them myself. It’s a huge vehicle. An entire prom entourage could fit back here, but this ride it’s simply Billy Fox and me. Tonight he looks the part of a movie star—perfect and absolutely gorgeous in a slim silhouette Paul Smith tuxedo. I had arranged with the Paul Smith people to lend him the suit for the benefit event, but knowing it was coming did nothing to prepare me for the full impact of Billy Fox in evening wear.
“Hi, Billy. You look great.”
And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to… Sophie Atwater
. I clear my throat. “Everything go okay at the fitting this afternoon?”
Billy leans forward, and for a split second I hysterically think he’s going to grab my shoulders and kiss me like in some old forties movie. But he doesn’t. Instead I hear “Thanks” as he brushes his lips on my cheek, getting a corner of my mouth
by accident, and then continues the forward motion to reach into the mini fridge for a bottle of water.
“It was easy. They had some great suits to choose from. I feel very Sean Connery in this.” He offers me a bottle too, but I shake my head. Retreating back to his seat, he stretches his long legs out. I use this move as a desperate excuse to scoot farther back in my facing seat.
Swallowing a completely inappropriate giggle, I randomly remember a silly email forward that went around several years ago about which urinal in a row a guy should choose under different circumstances. Like if there’s a guy already at one end, you have to take the farthest urinal away. Because guys don’t want other guys to think they
want
to be near them. Or something weird like that. Anyway, that’s how I feel in the back of this huge car. With all this empty space, I am obsessed with making sure Billy doesn’t get the wrong impression about how I feel about him.
“Is it my breath or something?” Billy jokes, followed up with a test exhale against his cupped fingers. “Slide over to this side, will you?”
How can I refuse without looking even more like an idiot? I take his hand and cross over the divide, settling in beside him, but not too close.
“Um, how else was your day?” An inane question, I know, but the best I could come up with. The cheesy ambient “mood lighting” is making me a bit self-conscious. But maybe Billy doesn’t notice. After all, celebrities are used to traveling in stretch limos; maybe it’s always like this.
“It was fine. My agent gave me a new script to read. I really
like it. It’s a challenging character; I’d have to learn an accent. I’m kinda nervous about it actually.”
Okay, wow, Billy Fox is opening up to me. Confiding in me. I can handle this.
“Sounds intriguing. What kind of accent? I thought your role in
Bonaparte
was pretty challenging. You played the villain well.” And I’m not lying. For all his
People
’s Most Beautiful appeal, he’s an equally fine actor. There’s no need here for the often job-required flattery.
“Thanks. I couldn’t wait to play bad. It was such a one-eighty from all I’d done before. But this is different… It’s special.” And as if proof I watch this look come over his face. The way you’d always want a guy to look when he’s thinking of you, I guess. Thinking of what he loves. And clearly Billy
is
focusing on his one true love—acting. How can a girl compete with that?
And—yes, I’m aware—I’m taken. Why am I even wondering if a girl could compete with that?
I
certainly don’t want to.
“Well, I can’t wait to hear more about it. I mean, if you want to tell me…”
“I’d bore you to death on this one.”
“No, really,” I say, and again it’s the truth. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve suffered through a million actors waxing rhapsodic about the “craft” of acting. Detailing their characters’ “backstory” and “subtext” until you need toothpicks to keep your eyes open. But as I listen to Billy explain the story of his probable next picture, his low, sexy voice describing his character’s development, I am entranced.
We arrive at the hotel with no warning. One second Billy
has me in the imagined wilds of Africa, and the next, the doorman of the Beverly Hills Hotel is opening the car door. Thank God Billy is closest to the exit, because I need the extra few seconds to regroup.
“I’ll tell you the rest on the way home. It gets really good after that,” Billy says, as he takes my hand and extricates me from the back of the limo.
“I look forward to it,” I think I reply as I find myself standing not four inches from Billy’s face, looking up into his incredible ice-blue eyes. I can’t back up… the limo is right behind me. If anything, I should be moving forward to allow the doorman to close the door. But I can’t move forward, because Billy Fox is standing right in front of me, his hand holding mine, and he is
looking
at me.
“Billy! Billy, right this way.” I recover from my momentary trance and glance over Billy’s shoulder to see Darren White working his way through the crowd toward us.
Billy has seen him too, and the moment is gone.
“Billy, this is Darren White. He’s in charge of the auction this evening. Darren, this is—”
“Billy Fox, of course. It’s a pleasure. Thank you so much for hosting our charity event this evening.” Darren places his arm through Billy’s and begins proudly escorting him toward the paparazzi line. Gay men are equally entranced by Billy’s charms. I follow close behind, listening to Darren’s rundown. For those keeping score, my blood pressure has returned to normal, and the faint crescent marks on my palms from my fingernails are already fading.
“Sophie, where are you?” Billy turns around in the middle of Darren’s recitation and draws me up beside him. “Thanks for the walk-through, Darren. We’ll see you in the green room, then?” I watch Darren’s face fall before he recovers, and now the three of us are walking toward the wall of press gathered at the edge of the red carpet. Obviously, I’m not the only one susceptible to fantasies when escorting Billy Fox. The Texan is a walking heartbreak.
“See you inside, then. Thanks, Sophie.” Darren kisses both our cheeks and then disappears into the crowd.
“Okay, are you ready?” I give him a once-over to make sure he’s camera-ready (it’s a good habit—you don’t want your talent stepping in front of a hundred cameras with a ketchup stain on the tie or an open fly) and approve him with a mental thumbs-up.
“As ready as always.” Okay, so he’s clearly not lacking in confidence, but that slight twang completely mitigates any hint of unattractive arrogance. Billy seems good-natured about running the gauntlet of international paparazzi and press. But as I guide him through the reporters with their camera crews and audio recorders, I see a different side of Billy. He’s as polite and charming as always, but even more polished.
Billy definitely wins points with me as he smoothly handles each reporter with grace and skill, from answering questions about the hospital’s charity—he’s obviously done his homework—to subtly evading questions about his personal life.
”Billy Fox, man about town,” a practiced female correspondent in a low-cut, sparkly evening gown says. “What brings you here tonight?”
“I’m here to support the amazing work the hospital does. I can’t say enough about the work they do, not just for the children, but their families as well. When the hospital asked me to participate tonight, I couldn’t say no… I am thrilled to support this hospital, and I encourage everyone watching to check out their website and, if you can, give a little something for a really worthy cause.” Billy knew the statistics and supplied gossip-hungry reporters with enough personal stories, mixed in with the hospital’s talking points I’d sent over to him earlier, to be sure they’d make it on air.
I found myself watching Billy in interview after interview put a different spin on each story, giving people a fresh, personalized version, with the same unflagging amount of charm as when we started. One thing’s clear. He’s an undeniable pro at delivering exactly what you might wish.
“Billy, thank you so much for your time,” says the last reporter. That’s my cue to pull Billy away from the press line and get him situated inside.
“Thank you, Shandra. Mitch.” I wave to the producer on his cell phone behind the camera guy and then lead Billy through the behind-the-scenes crew to the green room. I flash our credentials, and we’re in.
“Damn, there is a lot of press here tonight. That’s it, though?” And then seeing the stern expression on my face, Billy immediately adds, “I mean… I could do more, I just…”
“No. I’m kidding. You did so great out there, I wondered if you’re even human.”
“Not human, huh?” Billy chuckled. Why did I try to tease him?
“I mean, you never seemed tired or unsure of yourself. I was just thinking you’re the perfect client, and then you had to ruin everything by being normal!” Always go for the joke when you’re about to totally embarrass yourself.
“What exactly is ‘normal’ in your world, Sophie?” Billy stands next to me, and the moment has become unexpectedly intimate. Or maybe I’m just paranoid.
“Well, my life is the
opposite
of normal. Just ask my boyfriend.” Okay, okay, I know that wasn’t the subtlest move in history. I panicked. A gorgeous movie star with I-want-to-run-my-fingers-through-it golden hair and a lanky cowboy frame flirts with you and see if you stay all calm and cool.
But Billy just lifts up the edges of his ridiculously beautiful lips and gives me a completely unfathomable look. I really don’t know what might happen next. My mind is running through a million scenarios. But luckily, it doesn’t matter what I might have done if Billy had kept looking at me in that inscrutable way. Because Darren saves the day, again.
“Billy, thank you again so much for doing this for us.” Darren’s entrance mercifully brings the air back into the room. “I was just speaking to the chairman of the hospital board, and he is—we are
all
—thrilled to have you here.”
“I’m glad to do it,” Billy says simply.
“Here is your script, a copy of tonight’s silent auction items, and the
Playbill
we had made up for tonight. We also have a little thank-you gift.” Darren is going a mile a minute, and then he stops, the gift bag held out in midair, as someone squawks in his earpiece. With an apologetic “I’m sorry” face, he darts off. I had managed to grab the script and glossy program from
Darren first and am juggling them with the surprisingly heavy gift bag when everything starts to slip from my hands. I awkwardly manage to secure a grip on the gift bag at the expense of all the papers, which fan out on the floor at my feet.
“Here, I got it.” Billy hunches down and collects the papers before I can even kneel down next to him. He’s putting the script back in order, but I can see the amused smirk on his face.
Nice moves, Ace
. Billy looks around the room. “Let’s sit.”
The “before you hurt yourself” hovers in the air unsaid.
As Billy flips through the program, reviewing the schedule for the evening, I pull out my BlackBerry. I check three voicemail messages… all work-related, nothing from Jacob… and then the emails. As I’m responding to a few, I glance up and see Billy concentrating on the script. He actually has a pen out and is marking a few changes. I keep being surprised by his depth and commitment. “You want something to eat? They have a buffet in the corner.” I ask because I’m
starving
but I don’t want to get up and go over there by myself. And aren’t guys always hungry?
“Sure.” Billy smiles and we go check out the spread. “Finger foods. My favorite.” There is a lovely assortment of everything from egg rolls to chicken fingers. Billy and I load up a few tiny plates and juggle our drinks from the bar back to our seats. I’m having a Diet Coke, though I would dearly love to add some rum to it, just to take the edge off. But I don’t see how to make that happen when Billy hasn’t left my side since we arrived. Not that Billy seems the type to care, but drinking alcohol while on the job—especially in front of a client—is a PR 101 no-no.
As we feast, we chat about the people we see walking by, always easy conversation. And then Billy asks if this is my first time at the pink Beverly Hills Hotel with its iconic script signage.
“I’ve visited the Polo Lounge a couple of times. And I had a client in a fashion show here last year. They did a celebrity catwalk. It was a great event. Some real estate tycoon beat out Kobe Bryant in the auction for a Ferrari. This guy bid like half a million bucks on the thing or something. The whole crowd was going crazy.”