Chapter Eight
Griffin watchedas Beverly juggled a series of phone calls as they rode in the limo from the airport to the Stark Century Hotel, a stunning property in the heart of Century City, just minutes from the theater that would be hosting the premiere.
“No,” she was saying to the studio publicist, “I can go to the boutique for a fitting, but I need to get dressed and do makeup at my hotel.” She paused for a beat as she shot him an I’m sorry look, then, “That’s fine. Just tell me what time everyone is arriving. Perfect. Great. That gives me plenty of time to meet Chris and get to the press function before we need to do the red carpet routine.”
She wrapped up the conversation, then fell back against the seat, shooting him an apologetic glance as she did so.
“I’m sorry this is so crazy,” Beverly said. “Everything moves at the speed of light the day of a premiere, and I made it worse by waiting until the morning of to fly in.”
“Not a problem. My sister’s done the premiere thing, too.” A dancer, Kelsey had made a splash in her now-husband’s photography exhibition of erotic images, A Woman In Mind. And that had led to a starring role in the film adaptation of a Tony award-winning musical, The Far Side of Jupiter.
“Oh, that’s right,” Beverly said. “I loved her in Jupiter. She lives out here, doesn’t she?”
“I thought I’d hang out with her while you do your thing tonight.” He watched her face, trying to judge if she was truly okay with him not going. He hoped so. He’d been to his share of Hollywood parties—his friend Bird had directed him when he’d done voiceover work for a major release, and Bird had insisted Griffin come to a few parties at his house—but there was no press there, he could dress how he wanted, and he didn’t have to stay too long.
A film premiere was basically an excuse to gather every camera in the greater Los Angeles area in one place.
Right now, he was known as a reclusive writer and voice actor. There’d been some press about the fact that he was a burn victim, but not much, and not in any of the major trades, and it never trended on social media. Griffin Draper had been burned as a child in Santa Barbara. Griffin Blaize mostly remained a mystery.
That, he knew, was partly because his success was small-scale. Success, yes. But not world premier, multi-million dollar movie budget, red-carpet success.
Hidden Justice had that potential, though. And what then?
“We’re here,” she said as the limo pulled to a stop. She took his hand and offered him a small smile. “You looked a million miles away. Or were you only back in Texas, wishing you hadn’t come?”
“Definitely not,” he said, lifting her fingers and kissing her hand. “I was thinking that in the not too distant future, we’ll have our own premiere.”
He thought the words would make her smile, but she only studied his face.
“What?”
“I just—I’m sorry. I was only thinking. I don’t want—never mind.”
“Beverly…”
“I want that to be fun for you. For both of us.” She lifted a shoulder. “That’s all.”
He started to ask her what she meant, but the driver had come around to open the door. Just as well. To be honest, he understood. She wanted him there, on the red carpet, soaking up the accolades. Not hiding in a hotel like he was doing tonight.
Tonight was her movie, and he’d only be her date, so she got it, even if she’d prefer he came with her. But Hidden Justice belonged to them both. If he stayed away that night, would she understand that, too?
It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, because that required considering the possibility that he’d make that red carpet promenade, light bulbs popping, recording who he was and what he looked like. And as his stock grew in the industry, they’d dig. There’d be stories on the Internet, pictures on social media. Interviews with the hospital staff at the various burn centers that had treated him.
They’d find out about the protocol and poke into that. And they’d definitely analyze his work to death. Ripping apart his primary theme of physically or emotionally scarred antiheroes who somehow manage to find redemption.
And wouldn’t that be fun, living inside a snow globe while the outside world shook him up?
“—don’t you think?”
“Sorry, what?”
She flashed an indulgent smile. “I was just saying that this is one of my favorite hotels in the city.”
He had to agree, all the more so as they passed through the ornate lobby with the stunning floral arrangements, then finally settled into their penthouse suite, courtesy of the studio.
“This is exceptional,” he said, pulling her close as they stood by the window admiring the view that reached all the way to the Pacific. “I should make it a habit of dating movie stars.”
“So long as that movie star is me, I have no objection to that policy whatsoever.” She spun in his arms and smiled at him. He’d taken off the hoodie once the bellman had dropped their bags, and now he wore only a plain, black T-shirt, his face and neck unprotected.