Kissed Blind (A Hot Pursuit Novel Book 2) (25 page)

Twenty-Eight

The car ride to the event was silent—dead silent. No one dared cough, sneeze, or clear their throat. The five of us were seated in the back of a stretch Suburban. I glanced around a few times as we rode along and everyone stared off in their own directions, avoiding eye contact of any sort. It looked like we’d all go on pretending we hadn’t just heard what we’d heard. Which was what exactly?

What had Camille done twenty years ago that would be such a big deal now? Drugs? Prostitution? A brief stint in the porn industry? There were endless possibilities, but with as much as everyone loved Camille, would they even care about whatever it was?

However their relationship ended, which seemed imminent, I hoped Oliver and Camille would reach a peaceful resolution. I loved the happily ever after they’d represented until now. I’d seen enough bad divorces in Hollywood and all the mudslinging that went along with them. I didn’t want to watch that happen to Oliver and Camille, but my gut told me Camille wouldn’t let them go down without a fight. Oliver was her everything. The embarrassment of such an epic failure would consume her.

We approached the event and muffled cheers sounded off in the distance. A flutter of excitement grew in my belly as we got closer. We pulled to a stop. Vance scooted toward the end of his seat and put his hand on the handle to exit.

“I’ll get out first,” Camille barked. “They’ve been waiting for me, not you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Vance nodded. He shot a quick glance to Cici; this wasn’t the plan. “Please.” He extended his hand.

As the seal broke on the door, the noise level burst to decibels I could have never imagined. The crowds chanted Camille’s name. We filed out after her; Oliver first and then Cici, Vance and then me, the caboose, or ass end as he referred to me earlier.

When my heel hit the carpet, the energy of the crowd charged my skin like I’d had four shots of espresso. Vance caught up closer to Camille, and Oliver and I hung back.

Photographers and fans were herded behind red velvet ropes. They all leaned over shaking phones, pads of paper, cameras, basically anything that would grab the actor’s’ attention. A woman approached Camille and welcomed her with a kiss to each cheek. She did the same with Oliver. She spoke into a headset and began to lead them through a set of stations for interviews and photo opportunities. I walked along digesting the scene trying to contain my amazement. The clothes, the jewels, the people, the lights—it was incredible.

Camille came to the first stop and paused in front of a backdrop advertising one of the sponsors of the event. She struck a pose and held a smile as cameras clicked away. Thousands of shots were taken within seconds. Oliver was waved into the frame but stood back instead and allowed Camille the spotlight.

I took a brief moment to look around. Wherever I turned, I saw celebrity after celebrity: Rhys Black, Corrigan Jain, Scarlet Zen, Patricia Farrow, Cannon Jet, they were all around me and dozens more. The top actors and actresses in Hollywood were circulating within arm’s reach. It was unbelievable.

My eyes rounded back to Oliver, and he leaned toward Vance, saying something into his ear. Vance nodded and Oliver began walking away. Vance followed him over to a crowd of people behind the velvet rope where Oliver took photos with fans and signed autographs.

A journalist stepped up to Camille. Her first interview was about to start. It was something special to witness in person, given I’d only ever seen things like this from a thousand miles away glued to my television. I leaned in to get the full experience, not just the highlight reel.

The journalist adjusted her glasses resting on the tip of her nose and began with her questions: “A picture was released earlier today of Oliver leaving a notorious divorce attorney’s office. Is there something you and Oliver plan on announcing to the media tonight?”

Camille kept a stony smile and sold her ignorance. “Excuse me?”

“Are you and Oliver splitting up?” she persisted.

Camille laughed. “Oh, please! That? Oliver is a workhorse. He’s always studying his next roll. He was gathering research for an upcoming project. That’s all. I assure you all is well with us.”

“What about Oliver and...” She looked over at me. “Recently, allegations have surfaced about Oliver and another woman, would you care to comment?”

Camille looked over at me and then back to the journalist. “This line of questioning is rather insulting considering this is an event to celebrate
Acts of Desperation
. Now, do you have any relevant questions, or is this interview over already?”

Without flinching, the journalist launched into more standard questions regarding the anniversary of
Acts of Desperation,
and the progression of her career over the past twenty years. Camille regurgitated answers I’d heard and read a thousand times before: “I’m so very fortunate to be able to do something I love,” “I’m blessed to have had the success I’ve had and am forever grateful for Martin Rubenstein for taking a chance on me so many years ago. He’s an amazingly talented director, and I’d be nowhere without him.”

As Camille finished her last statement, a commotion erupted behind me. I spun and saw a man clinging to Oliver’s lapel, his body draped across the rope. Vance was already pulling the man off. As soon as Vance had him righted on his feet, the security on staff escorted the man off the premises. When the man was tossed out, the crowd erupted into cheers and clapped.

Camille had seen the disruption and commented back to the journalist. “Looks like another fan wanted to take a piece of Oliver home. Sorry about their luck, he’s all mine.”

The woman leading Camille along cut off the interview and took Camille to the next photo opportunity and interview location. Oliver eventually satisfied the crowds and joined Camille on some of the interviews and even posed for pictures. They fielded similar questions as they moved down the line and disregarded the allegations as easily together as Camille had done alone. After what felt like an eternity, and what would have exhausted any normal person, the energetic couple stepped inside.

We were surrounded by more famous faces. Actors that had worked with both Camille and Oliver struck up conversations with them like old college friends. How surreal it was. The conversations were all so surprisingly normal and not the least bit snooty. I would have thought they would have discussed caviar and diamonds, maybe the designer of their dresses and suits, but they swapped stories like it had been too long since they’d last seen each other. They were just real people whose faces happened to be on TV. It was crazy. It was awesome. And it was a million other things I didn’t have words for.

We ambled down the red carpet in a hall with arched ceilings. The walls were lined with framed posters of all the roles Camille had played over the years. The poster for
Acts of Desperation
was one of my absolute favorites and was twice the size of all the other posters. Camille was naked down to her waist and shown from behind, her hair twisted in an intricate chignon of sorts, and hands laced at the base of her neck. It was an elegant yet powerful image that captured the essence of the many struggles in the film. Camille had done such a phenomenal job with the role.

Vance and I hung back at our locations and watched everyone and everything. The socializing went on for a while longer, and Camille and Oliver made their rounds circulating through the room. Soon large doors were opened and everyone was led into an inner dining hall. Round tables were set up throughout the room with white table cloths, and small bouquets in short vases sat in the center of every table. The chatter of hundreds of different voices mixed with the theme music from Camille’s films playing in the background.

Camille and Oliver tucked themselves in a semi-private corner away from the crowd, and Vance and I stayed off on either side of them. A waiter approached with a tray of fluted glasses filled with champagne, and they each took one.

Camille faced Oliver. “Even though we might have our differences, we rose to our heights together. For tonight and forever, let’s celebrate that.” She lifted her glass to Oliver. “To you, my husband, and to your constant, unwavering support.”

Oliver’s eyes glazed with a vacant look as if a million different thoughts tumbled around in his brain. His extended silence added more tension. “Yes, support I have given. And were it not for your role in this movie, I would not be where I am. But all good things must come to an end. So, to happy endings.” He lifted his glass to meet hers, but not the smallest hint of a smile existed on his lips.

For a second, Camille’s skin grew splotchy and red, but she sucked in a breath through her flared nostrils, and it slowly faded away. “Well, I’m not sure what to say to that.” Her glass remained lifted in the air but neither was about to drink.

“Say you’ll sign the papers.”

“You’re unbelievable and you’re timing impeccable. Tonight? You have to do this tonight?”

“There’s never a perfect time for something like this. Since this movie is where we got our start, it’s an appropriate place for it to end.”

Camille’s fingertips turned white as she squeezed the flute tighter. “No.
We’ve
earned this place where we are. I’m not going to let you kill us.”

“What? Like you k—”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t dare finish the statement with the look she gave him. “Either agree to sign the papers, or when I stand up to give my commencement speech about my lovely, successful wife, everyone will learn the little dark secret she holds so tightly to her chest.”

“You wouldn’t. You promised me.” Her words escaped through clenched teeth.

“I think we broke our promises to each other a long time ago. This can go away. People split up all the time. We can do this peacefully and go our separate ways. Read the papers and give me what I want, I’m not being unreasonable.”

“And you won’t be the least bit embarrassed that Hollywood’s royal couple is splitting up, the shame of it all?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it can be peaceful, or it can’t. The choice is yours.”

Camille held her champagne close to her eyes and stared at the thin line of bubbles streaming up her glass. She put it to her lips and tossed the entire contents down her throat. She set the glass down on a passing waiter’s tray and grabbed another before walking off. I looked at Vance and began after her.

“Diana,” Oliver called. “Let her go. She needs a moment.”

I nodded and went back to my post.

Oliver headed over to some nearby actors and slapped one on the back as he said his hello. I glanced at Vance and would have loved to discuss what we’d just witnessed, but he shook his head ever so slightly. He was right, now wasn’t the time.

Nearly an hour had passed before Camille resurfaced. She entered the room with two drinks in her hand, a short tumbler of amber liquid and another flute of champagne. She walked up behind Oliver and tapped his shoulder. She whispered in his ear, and he excused himself from the conversation.

Camille handed Oliver the amber liquid.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I had it brought in especially for you. Smell it and you’ll know.”

He put the glass to his nose. “Is this?”

“Blanton’s Gold, your favorite.” She watched him as he swirled the liquid around in his glass. “And a peace offering.”

He took a sip and savored it. “Camille…”

“I don’t want this to end, but it seems I have no choice. We’ll get through this night, and I’ll have my attorney look over the papers. But I’m asking a favor first.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Tonight, give me tonight. It’s a celebration, so let me have this one last thing. No talk of any of this, or anything else. Agreed?”

He took another sip. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she cleared her throat.

He was silent for a beat. “Okay, I’ll give you tonight.”

“And your speech?”

“Say no more. You’ll love it.”

She raised her glass. “Cheers to us and our last great show. Bottoms up.”

She drank her champagne, and Oliver downed the bourbon in his glass. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

“My God, that’s so good,” he said, exhaling through rounded lips and closed eyes.

She took the tumbler from his fingers. “Dinner is about to start, and they’ll be asking you to step up and give your speech in a few. You should get backstage soon. I’ll meet you at our seats and get you another one of these. I need to powder my nose.”

He stopped her before she was able to walk away and whispered something into her ear that evoked an odd expression. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes said something else, and then they went their separate ways.

.              .              .

Vance stepped up behind me and glanced down at his watch. “Cici is backstage and I’m supposed to be up there when Oliver goes out.”

“Right. I’ll be in the front of the room with eyes on their table.”

“Good.”

Vance left to take his position. At least we’d advanced to saying short sentences to each other. The emcee for the evening took center stage. Based on the round of applause she got, she was someone important in Hollywood, but I didn’t recognize her. She began with a brief opening statement and encouraged people to take their seats. After a short introduction, the lights dimmed, and Oliver joined her at the podium. Behind him, a white screen dropped, and an image of Camille was displayed.