15: A Grand Affair on a Narrow Plank

It’s the possibility
of having a dream come true,
that makes life interesting.

Paulo Coelho

Em stared out the window at the passing sights. Like most New Yorkers, she hated looking like a tourist, but she’d never been this far from home, and the scenery, sun and warmth were intoxicating. What’s more, she could feel the excitement in the air. Although she still wasn’t sure who Mandy was, this was a big event. She smiled at the thought of her friends and family seeing her on TV, and grinned at her superiors’ reactions. She’d already resigned herself to the fact her career was effectively over. However the investigation ended, life in the NYPD would be stressed to the breaking point. But she saw things through to the end, whether her superiors wanted her to or not.

She turned to Amanda, seated across the seat studying her script for the night. “So what’s the plan?”

Amanda glanced up, marking her place in the document. “Well, first we get dressed.”

“Your friends’ dress?”

Amanda giggled. “More like a custom-made designer gown. We’ll stop by their shop, where we’ll be fitted. I sent them your measurements, but they’ll need to tailor it. They also have make-up artists. To prevent us from traipsing around town in their outfits, they’re bringing in someone to do our hair. I haven’t touched mine up in a while, but yours... , “ she studied at Em’s hair and wrinkled her nose, “could use a little work. They’ll also loan us some jewelry, so be careful, or you’ll be out up to a million if you break a necklace.”

“Shit!” Em exclaimed, clutching her throat. “I could never pay that much back. How about if you wear the expensive shit, and I simply smile and stay in the background?”

“Don’t worry, you’re responsible and I trust you. You’ll be fine. Besides, if you’re accompanying me, you’re going to be in front of the same cameras I will.”

Em smiled. “My friends will eat their hearts out. I normally don’t worry about fashion, so my wearing an original designer outfit will get them to sit up and take notice. I’m normally more concerned with moving fast than being fashionable.”

“Speaking of lumbering around, I told them you’re not used to heels. They selected something lower to the ground, but they’re not boots.”

Em waved the concern off. “I’ve worn heels. I’m not crazy about them, but my girlfriends appreciate it. As long as I don’t jog, I’m fine.”

“Well, there’ll be no jogging tonight. It’s a stately procession.” She demonstrated Queen Elizabeth’s partial wave. “It’s not a red carpet like in the Academy Awards. Instead it’s a stage where I pose for photographs. There won’t be any fans clamoring. Mostly it’s photographers shouting instruction about how I should stand for the best shot.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not much fun, but it’s part of the job.”

“So everything is private, out of the public eye?”

“Well, if you don’t consider being broadcast to a national audience, it’s like sitting at home in your pajamas. Aside from the singing, dancing, speeches and being made fun of by the MC.”

Em laughed. “Sounds like an evening with my friends, but I don’t have to worry about tripping in front of a thousand cameras.”

“Your showing up on my arm will trigger questions, so expect a lot of stares and the occasional shouted question. We’ll be going to the Staples Center early so I can practice my dance routine and learn the steps. Since no one will be in the audience, you can meander around the back stage, seeing how everything is done. Just be careful, as there will be people running in all directions.”

“Believe me, between locker rooms, crime scenes and drunken cop bars, I’ve had practice sidestepping people.”

“That’s what I figured. After watching my routine a couple times, it’ll get pretty boring. You might want to wait to see the final act so you’ll be surprised with everyone else, or you can watch famous celebrities in their underwear running around changing costumes. But I forgot who I’m telling. You won’t recognize anyone anyway. You’re likely to chat up the backup dancers and the cleaning staff.”

Em held her hands up as if framing a scene. “Hey, if the janitors look good in their underwear, I won’t prejudge.”

Amanda punched her friend on the arm. “That’s quite ... Christian of you, making passes at the hired help while your date’s slaving away earning a living in the next room.”

“It’s the least I can do. After all, you can’t flirt with everyone. Someone has to help carry the load.”

Amanda shot her a curious glance. “You know better than to get in trouble, don’t you?”

“Please, give me a little credit. In spite of having a few rotating girlfriends, I’m not a player. I’m actually very loyal. I stand by my friends. They all know who I see. I don’t date them for the excitement, it’s so I don’t scare anyone away.”

Amanda leaned back, arching an eyebrow. “And keeping yourself emotionally distant because you’re not ready to commit to anyone?”

Em shrugged, glancing out the window at the passing palms. “Maybe. I love my friends, but I’m not in love with any of them. Instead, I see it as a service. I treat them to an intense burst of utter devotion, and they return it by listening to me gripe about my job. None of us could maintain that intensity for long, so by rotating among several people, everyone comes to the game ready to play.”

Amanda rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “Only you would use a baseball analogy to describe sleeping around amongst your friends. You’re just like a guy.”

“Hey, some women are into that.”

Amanda stared at her friend a moment before shaking her head. “Once show time nears, you’ll need to remain seated. I’ll be popping in and out, changing costumes for different acts while showing up for reaction shots as they announce the awards. Anytime I’m not there, some cute seat filler will occupy my chair. Don’t waste your time flirting. They’re warned beforehand not to distract the performers, so they won’t respond. Besides, if you did, they’d run off mid-sentence anyway.”

“Sounds like an engaging evening.”

“No, more like an exacting dance, with the performers playing audience members between acts. We slip in and out of the audience as effortlessly as we change costumes. It’s exhausting, but it’s also an exhilarating experience which keeps your adrenaline pumping the entire evening. Afterwards, you’ll end up having to talk me down.”

“Discussing afterwards,” Em prompted.

“That’s when the real excitement begins. Once the show is over, everyone will be amped up and ready to burn off their excess energy. There are a series of after-parties, comprised of stars, promoters, agents and entertainment executives. There will be reporters heading in, but the parties themselves are no-camera zones. A few journalists will take a couple initial shots, and then they’ll pack up and head out. No one wants videos of their getting drunk and saying something stupid. It’s a chance to talk with people we don’t have the opportunity to at other times of the year. A lot of contacts are made and contracts arranged at these things, so I’ll try not to drink much. But ... there’s a lot of alcohol ... and other things. Please, don’t embarrass me by trying to arrest anyone. If I start drinking too much, slap my hand. I need to present myself as a professional who can fulfill contracts. Getting drunk and vomiting on someone’s shoes won’t help my career.”

“Don’t worry. I’m an experienced social drinker. I can make a single glass last hours, but I’ll probably drink ginger ale. I’ve been to enough events to know how to dance around the career pot holes. Just as an aside, isn’t it ... stupid introducing someone unfamiliar with the particulars? I know you like being an outsider, but you’ve got image consultants, public relations people and intricate contract negotiations. It sounds like this is asking for trouble.”

“No, none of those people know I’m gay. If they knew I was planning to come out, they’d do everything they could to stop me, including putting pressure on you. Their entire careers rest on my playing the innocent princess. Again, I trust you not to do anything stupid, including not offending anyone. But yes, it’s entirely possible this will end my career entirely, but it’s a chance I’m willing to risk. I’d rather be who I am than continue pretending to be someone I’m not. If this is the end of my career, I prefer going out on my terms, not anyone else’s.”

“Sounds like you know what you’re getting into. If nothing else, I can console you once your career goes up in smoke on the flight back home.”

“And it sounds like I picked the right girl to ask to the prom. Thanks for not backing out.” The car slowed, pulling up to the curb. “We’re here, so we’ll be wrapped up in our own worlds. After that, we won’t get to talk much. Don’t take it personally, but this is the biggest night of the year for me. This is the culmination of my entire career—each year it occurs—so forgive me if I seem distracted.” She leaned forward, kissing Em quickly on the lips. “And thanks for being here. It means a lot. Tonight will forever change how my fans, the public and the industry respond to me. If everything goes well, it should go smoothly while bringing me a lot of attention. If I screw it up, or do something stupid, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“No egg costumes, then?” Em asked.

Amanda clutched her hand. “No, and no meat dresses either. Save the theatrics for professionals like me. Now, let’s make you drop-dead beautiful. You can tell your girlfriends they owe me one, too. You should prepare yourself, for as much as you hate shopping and make-up, the next several hours will be sheer agony for you.”

Amanda and Em climbed into the limo as an assistant held the door. Mandy flowed across the open space, Em ... not so much.

“Damn. That’s the last time I’ll let someone do that to me! I—”

Amanda pressed her finger against her lips and glared at her date. “Watch it. For the rest of the day, we represent America’s ‘girl next door’, and you’re the American girl next door’s girlfriend. Your spouting off like a New York cabbie is likely to cost people their jobs.”

Em glanced at her hands, then looked up and flashed a winning smile. “Ever so sorry, Miss Charlotte. I don’t know what got into me. My attitude was unprofessional.” Dropping her impression, she continued in a normal voice. “I forgot the context. In New York, the take-no-prisoners attitude is considered professional attire. Here, it’s a shocking affront to America’s sensibilities. I’ll watch myself.”

Amanda fluffed one side of Em’s hair. “That’s bull crap and you know it. What kind of impression does New York’s finest send if you’re cursing a blue streak in front of a bodega? What impact does your ‘warrior princess’ attitude have on grieving spouses during interviews. You can be sensitive and caring when you want. You portray this tough-chick patina so no one sees your softer side.”

Em shrugged, examining the sparkling bracelet on her arm to avoid facing her friend. She sighed before continuing. “You’re right. I wear the attitude to compete in the machismo world of New York cops. When I started, most officers were eager to see women fail. To be taken seriously, I had to prove I could out lift, out run, out bully, out drink and out swear everyone. I won my acceptance through hard work. But you’re right, it’s an approach I can turn off. I’m not this way with my girlfriends. If I forget and bring it home, they remind me it’s not appropriate among friends. Yet...” she waved her hands to indicate the beautiful dress they’d glued her into to prevent gravity pulling it apart, “this isn’t exactly appropriate for friends to demand either. I don’t care what you say, these are the most awkward shoes I’ve ever—”

“Emma!”

Em blushed, glancing up apologetically. “Sorry. Hard habit to break.”

“Just watch it. You don’t need to prove anything, tonight. You’re here to support me, and I’m here to demonstrate to the world how friendly a lesbian singer can be. Now, there’s still a lot to cover, and this drive won’t take long.” Amanda examined herself in the small drop-down mirror attached to the ceiling. “Do you have any questions about what we’re facing?”

“No, besides your excellent overview, it was drilled into me in the chair of feminine torture. By the way, you look exquisite. Positively ravishing.”

Amanda laughed, snapping the mirror back into place. “Of course, they spent a fortune to assure I’m gorgeous for the entire evening. I look like a giant Barbie doll. This outfit requires a half hour and two people just to pee. As soon as we’re done with the pre-Grammy interview, I won’t wear it again. It takes too long to change in and out of.” Straightening her dress, she turned and regarded her friend. “What will you say if someone asks how long we’ve been dating?”

Em laughed like a spirit alighting on a flower petal as she imitated Amanda. “Long enough to know better than discussing age and my date in the same sentence.”

“Excellent. Have you discussed marriage yet?”

“Not before she wrestles my pa-pa and his alligators for the right.”

Amanda giggled. “Not quite what I’d recommend, but just off-beat enough to keep them off balance. Nice touch. OK, it’s official. You’re prepared.”

The driver’s voice sounded over the intercom, “We’re here. Hope you’re ready.”

“Isn’t he allowed to speak to us?”

“No. Everyone has their own preparation routine. Some drink like fish, some like silence. The last thing anyone wants is someone yakking as they’re preparing themselves.”

The limo slowed and the two women smoothed their outfits, taking a deep breath. When it stopped, a man in a suit opened the door and Em swung her legs out. They seemed impossibly long. She wondered when she’d grown another four inches, before remembering her heels. The attendant offered her his hand, but she waved it aside, getting out on her own before turning and offering her hand to her companion.

Since no one recognized her and the walkway was empty, the wall of reporters swiveled to see who appeared. That meant they concentrated on Em’s derriere, which she had to admit from checking back at the studio, looked damn good in her incredibly restrictive dress.

Mandy took Em’s hand, sliding forward in her seat and standing up. She was no longer Em’s friend Amanda. She expanded into the role. When she arose it was like the sun god rising with the morning light. Smiling with pride in her friend’s success, Em offered her arm. Mandy slid her arm through hers and the two set off.

She grasped Em’s arm as they neared the staging area, before moving away and strolling before the phalanx of reporters. Mandy captivated their attention. She glowed before the cameras and the flash photography highlighted her healthy tan. Her dress contained metallic threads which reflected the lights and was offset by a gauze fringe which softened the glare. She looked wonderful, and Em shook her head at how much her friend had changed in only a few hours. She’d been right hesitating before admitting who she was. These were two completely different people.

Em was glad for her. She could tell the shy little thing adored the attention, even as she reveled in its absence when it became overwhelming. Em didn’t mind the fascination. She was here for support. She’d get her share of photos, but it would only highlight Mandy. The media would obsess on their relationship and it would focus even more attention on Mandy’s career. With luck, she’d be doing interviews for weeks about Em’s appearance by her side. Best of all, Em didn’t have to deal with the fallout. All she had to do was handle the flak from the NYPD. With Mike watching out for her and her career essentially over anyway, she could easily withstand a little extra attention. She’d never shied away from disapproving whispers. However, Em realized her neighbor was gone from her life forever. Once they identified her, the media would flock to her apartment and Amanda could never return. They’d still talk—from a distance—but Em understood she could never cross into this high-stakes world of constant attention.

But Mandy didn’t look relaxed. Instead of shouting questions, like Em expected, they shouted instructions.

“Move to the left.”

“Head up.”

“Look to the right.”

“Scoot down a smidge.”

“Head back.”

Amanda was so busy adjusting her stance, her grin grew strained. It didn’t seem like fun. The journalists didn’t see her as a person, she was merely a manikin in a dress. The networks would run fashion comparisons disparaging which didn’t work while lauding the extravagant one deemed just provocative enough.

Once they slowed, and the next sacrificial lamb approached, Mandy held her hand out and Em strode forward, joining her date, hoping to escape the media’s crosshairs. However, as she took Mandy’s arm in hers, someone thought of a question worth asking.

“Is this your girlfriend? Are you a couple?”

Before Mandy could respond, Em lifted her hand and kissed it. Dozens of camera flashes fired. Dropping her hand, Em again linked hands with her date and they departed with neither one speaking a word. The press got their image, something to compete with the fashion skirmish.

As they made their exit and the reporters focused on the next faceless outfit, Mandy leaned in, whispering to her companion. “Thanks for being here. I’m used to the photographs, but considering I’m coming out to the entire world, my stomach is in a constant flutter.”