Lucky Me (31 page)

“Oh my God!” Mom cried, putting a hand to her lips in concern. “Harry!”

“You didn't tell us this?” I exclaimed, my eyes widening in disbelief. “Dad, how could you keep something like that from us? That could have helped get him a long time ago!”

“I know!” Dad replied, throwing his hands in the air. “Look, I know! But I didn't know for sure if it was him. I didn't want to jump to conclusions.”

Or, he wanted to protect his psychotic best friend because my dad was far too much of a nice guy.

“We'll need to see that photograph, Mr. Winters,” Detective Reynolds said calmly, clearly trying to restore peace to the conversation.

Dad nodded grimly, his face becoming pale. I felt kind of bad, but I also felt furious. We had been running around in circles for weeks while I continued to be tormented, and all this time Dad had the biggest clue of all hidden away somewhere in the house.

“We'll let you know when we find anything else,” Officer Donovan said, eyes shifting around the room awkwardly. I was a hundred percent certain the LAPD had never experienced craziness to this level before.

“I can't
believe
you kept this from all of us!” Mom practically exploded. She looked just about ready to chuck the whiskey bottle at Dad's face.

I rose from the sofa and did some heavy breathing as my parents argued. Watching their divorce sort of set off instant dread the moment they so much as disagreed now. But this wasn't a disagreement. Mom was livid, and I couldn't blame her. Detective Reynolds was trying to calm the situation down to the best of his abilities, but his luck was running short. Mike decided that was a good opportunity for him to start arguing with Officer Donovan about why we couldn't just “get the asshole when he was in the shower, or something,” to which the officer calmly explained that they didn't actually know
where
he was showering. Jack and Kenny began a hushed conversation to my right, as Chris silently watched on, which left me staring right at Milo. As usual. His eyes met mine and he crossed the room toward me. No one was even paying attention amidst the commotion Mom was causing by the bar.

“Hi,” I said softly.

“Hi.”

“Sorry about all of this,” I told Milo. “We're all nuts.”

“Listen,” he said seriously. “I know this is a lot. But we know who he is now, and we're close to getting him. We're not going to let anything happen to you.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, not really knowing how to respond. Usually when Milo was standing inches away from me, my thoughts involved removing items of his clothes. But this time I just wanted to hug him. Instead, I gave him a half-assed smile.

“You trust me right?” he asked.

“Of course!” I replied, without a second thought. “We found the guy! I couldn't have done that without you. Plus, now we know Jack isn't involved.”

“Well—”

“Milo.”

The look on Milo's face was a giving away pretty good hints that he was pretty certain Jack was still involved, but just didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone. After all, that hefty trust fund was still a mystery worthy of Scooby-Doo.

“Well,” Milo said. “Do you trust him?”

He looked over my head, and I followed his gaze behind me. Kenny was saying something to Jack, but he wasn't paying attention. His gaze was locked on me, jaw tightened.

Did I trust Jack? Boy, wasn't that the burning question in everyone's mind.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Ladies and gentlemen, this year's Mr. and Miss Golden Globe!”

I took a deep breath and gave myself a nod of encouragement. This was it. No more time to waste.

Carol pointed at the curtain and impatiently hissed, “Go! That's your cue!”

Dylan and I walked toward the curtain, with the sound of thunderous clapping making my ears ring. I kept telling myself it wasn't hard. All I needed to do was walk on stage, smile a little bit and then walk off. Really not groundbreaking stuff.

I did some more excessive breathing right as my Hermés pumps touched the stage floor in a feeble attempt to calm my nerves. I, Gia Winters, was sharing the same air as a room full of people I had idolized my entire life. The weight of that thought was crashing down on me a lot faster and harder than I had expected.

In the background I could hear Tina Fey say something that was obviously hilarious and witty because light laughter rippled amongst the audience, as Dylan and I stopped in the center of the stage and smiled. But I couldn't hear anything. Everything felt like a blur, like it wasn't even happening for real. I felt like I was competing in a pageant, or I had just gotten married and we were about to begin our first dance as husband and wife. Which, you know, wasn't terrible. But I was about ninety-six percent sure I was in love with Milo, so the fake marriage was a little inconvenient. I couldn't even see where Milo was in the crowd, even though I was desperately scanning the room for him. He was definitely in the room, right? Had he said he was going to be there? It was like a thick cloud of fog had consumed my brain, and I couldn't think straight. I could see everyone in the room, but I couldn't really tell what they looked like. I squinted a little, thinking the lighting was probably just hitting my eyes. But it wasn't that. Something was off. Plus, I was smiling so much I was scared my jaws were going to crumble under the pressure.

Someone was speaking into a microphone, but I couldn't really tell whom. They were doing a good job because the crowd kept laughing. Only I couldn't really hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat. Dylan and I slowly made our way toward the other end of the stage, carefully walking so that I wouldn't do something stupid like trip on the bottom of my dress and rip it.

A loud bang suddenly went off and everyone in the room gasped. I whipped my head around to face the crowd, unconsciously digging my nails into Dylan's tuxedo sleeve. The stage lights were still kind of blinding, but I scanned the audience through squinty eyes.

“GUN!” Someone yelled and I heard some people cry out in panic.

My eyes frantically searched the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. Everyone had jumped into action, celebrities scrambling to and fro. Security guards were emerging from everywhere as another shot went off.

“What the hell?” someone yelled.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my eyes finally fixating on a revolver that was pointed to the ceiling. My eyes slowly traveled down the arm that the gun was attached to, to find out who it belonged it.

I yanked on Dylan's arm, pulling him further back from the front of the stage. Standing a few yards away from me, staring me dead in the face, was Frank Parker. Only I wasn't sure that it was Frank. I only had a vague sense of what he looked like, so I couldn't be sure. Plus, everything was still blurred, and I was scared my eyes had suddenly gone wonky. Maybe my tears were the cause of that.

“I WANT EVERYONE DOWN. RIGHT NOW,” he yelled, and fired another shot into the ceiling.

There was more screaming and panic as everyone crouched down. Some people hid behind chairs, others crawled underneath tables for safety. In that moment no one was a celebrity. No one was special. We were all vulnerable, and in extreme danger. Dylan and I reflexively hit the stage floor, still clutching onto each other. Oh my God, I was going to die in the same room as George Clooney and never get to tell him I love him.

“Not you, Gia,” Frank said with a smile. He slowly lowered his arm and pointed the gun at me. “I have other plans for you.”

This cannot be happening to me,
I thought.
Not like this. Not now. Not here. Not him.

“Pleas—” I began to say, with strength I didn't know I had in me.

Frank's blurred face distorted and suddenly a face I was extremely familiar with replaced it. Jack's.

“Gia,” he said, calmly, pointing the gun at me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head fiercely. “NO.”

“GIA!” Jack was yelling, but his voice sounded distant. “HELLO? GIA!”

Wait, what? I looked around the room in confusion. The whole room was disappearing and Dylan wasn't next to me on anymore. Jack and the gun were gone too, but I was still lying face down on the stage.

“GIA!”

“WHAT!” I yelled out in confusion, and suddenly I could see my bedroom ceiling.

I blinked a few times, feeling completely dazed. What had just happened? Oh right, I was about to get shot. Wait, so what was I doing in my room? Oh God, maybe he shot me and they took me to hospital and said I would survive but I would lose my memory for like, three months, and now it was three months later and I was home but I couldn't remember anything!

“Jesus, can you wake up already?” Jack's annoyed voice filled my ears.

I shot upright, frantically scanning my pajamas for any signs of a gunshot wound. Nope, nothing. I touched my head. No massive bandage around it.

“Gia, what the hell?” Jack said, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I—” I looked down at myself. “I think so. What happened?”

“You were dreaming or something and then suddenly you started yelling real loud. It really freaked me out! I could hear you from downstairs!”

“I was dreaming?” I repeatedly stupidly, slapping my palm against my forehead.

“Yeah! It was really weird.”

Thank you Baby J! It was all just a stupid nightmare. No gunshot wounds, and my memory was still intact. I think. I glanced at my doorway, where Nadia was standing with a concerned look on her face.

“We're okay. Thanks, Nadia,” Jack said, without casting a look over his shoulder. She nodded at me and walked away, looking unconvinced.

“What was I yelling?” I asked, running my hands through my hair.

Jack took a seat on my bed next to me. “You first started calling out for someone named George, and then randomly started yelling out ‘no!'”

Well, Clooney should be flattered that in my final moments I called out for him and not my own parents.

“Oh my gosh, that was the worst dream ever,” I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “I was at the Golden Globes and yo—”

I paused. Telling Jack that he shot me in my nightmare didn't seem like the best idea.

“Who?”

“Frank,” I replied, looking at my hands. I couldn't bring myself to look at him as I lied. “Frank showed up and shot me.”

I was expecting Jack to say something insensitive like, “how stupid is that?” Or, “suck it up and move on, Princess.”
But instead he sighed and said, “Gia, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you tonight. Not when I'm around. Don't worry.”

“Jack,” I said softly, terrified that I might start crying. “I'm really scared.”

“I know.”

“What if he shoots me?”

“He won't.”

“But what if he does?”

“Gia!” Jack said impatiently. “Then I'll shoot him back. Okay?”

“Are you kidding me? So you're going to let him shoot me, but then fix it by shooting him back? That's ridiculous!”

“I'm not a psychic. How am I supposed to know that he's going to shoot you until he actually does? And I can't shoot him if he doesn't shoot you. That would make me look like the bad guy.”

I glared at him and his frustratingly logical reasoning. “I hate you.”

Jack smiled. “I can make it up to you by telling you about the paternity scandal with the previous Miss Golden Globe. That is, of course, if you're interested.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you insane?” I exclaimed. “I'm practically having a heart attack over here, and you want to exchange gossip?”

“Suit yourself,” he replied with a shrug. “Let's just say her boyfriend won't be too pleased.”

Okay,
now
I was interested.

“No, wait! Tell me! Whose is it?”

“Up and at ‘em!” Jack ignored me, his smile widening as he ruffled my hair. I pushed his hand away and kicked the blanket off me. “Your mom has you on a tight schedule today. The makeup artists are already here.”

I pouted as I watched Jack leave the room. Everything else in the dream may have been fake, but the date wasn't. Today really was the day of the Golden Globe awards. I had barely finished processing the nightmare I had just endured, and now Jack had just sprung another one on me. I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, doing some mental pep talking as the water hit my skin. Today was quite possibly the most important day of my life, and I wasn't even close to prepared to face it. I spent some extra time washing my hair, climbed out of the shower and threw on whatever clothes first caught my eye.

“Jesus what are you doing, building a new shower?” Jack cried, bursting into my room.

I ran the towel through my wet hair with a scowl. “Oh my gosh, it's been like ten minutes! I needed to get dressed.”

“If you've finally awoken and are bright and fresh,” Jack said sarcastically. “Then can you please join me in the living room? Your mom has turned me into her personal secretary for the day and I'm not okay with that.”

“You're such a complainer,” I told him, chucking the wet towel on my bed. Anya would deal with it later.

“I'm just getting started.”

I followed Jack down the elevator and into what used to be a living room. Instead it had been turned into a full hair and makeup studio. Mom's makeup artist Kat was holding an eye shadow palette in one hand, mixing two shades of colors together. Three strangers beside her seemed to be struggling to work a curling iron. My mother was sitting in one of our throne-like armchairs with huge rollers in her hair. She was holding her hands out in front of her with her fingers apart from each other, waving them lightly so her nail polish would dry. She was cradling her mobile between her shoulder and ear, yelling at someone to “get it done
right now.”
Tables and chairs had been completely rearranged and there was a full-length mirror resting on a wheeled base sitting in front of Mom.

“Holy mother of—”

“Yep,” Jack said, nodding his head. “Beauty apocalypse.”

“Mom,” I said, to let her know I was in the room.

She reflexively turned to look over her shoulder, her phone accidently dropping onto her lap and onto her silky robe. Her massive rollers bounced up and down as she turned her head.

“Gia! Finally! Come over here, we have to get started on you,” she exclaimed, picking her phone up and replacing it to her ear. “Oh damn, I messed up my nail polish. You'll have to do this one again, Kat.”

“Hey Kat,” I said. I gave the strangers an awkward wave. “Hi guys.”

“Hi sweetheart,” Kat said warmly. Her blonde curls were layered with baby pink streaks. “This is Tom, Chloe, and Ruby, my assistants for today. Gosh, you've become even more gorgeous since the last time I saw you.”

I gave her a small smile, but my concentration was still on the makeup and hair products scattered all over the place. Dad wasn't going to be pleased.

“Well, go on,” Jack whispered, nudging me with his shoulder.

“What are you going to do?”

“Security stuff. Make a plan. Remake it. Watch some TV. Knit a sweater. Adopt a kitten. I don't know, anything but this.”

I watched as either Ruby or Chloe—I didn't know who was who—pulled out eyebrow tweezers from a black pouch.

“Take me with you?” I whispered hopefully.

“Sorry, Princess,” he replied. “No way you can escape those tools of torture.”

Jack left the room just as Mom hung up the phone, looking more hassled than ever.

“Those idiots still haven't delivered your dress yet,” she told me, before I could ask her what was wrong.

“Seriously?” I gave her an incredulous look. “Why do they even have it? I thought all the alterations were complete!”

“I had to send it back to Monique to get the hook changed. It was tacky.”

I put my palm to my forehead in frustration. “Mom! I need that dress! What am I going to wear tonight?”

“Don't worry, I just gave them an earful. They said the driver would be over within the hour.”

I did a silent prayer that the traffic in L.A. would magically disappear and the dress would arrive in one minute flat. The last thing I needed was something else to stress about today.

“Chloe, you can get started on her eyebrows,” Kat told the girl holding the tweezers. “Tom, you can fix Eve's nails.”

“Oh, Gia I almost forgot,” Mom turned to me as I lowered myself into an armchair next to her. “Aria and Veronica will be over in a half hour or so. I invited them to come help us get ready.”

I gave a sigh of relief. Finally, some comfort through the madness of Golden Globes preparation.

“Wait, but they obviously don't know about . . .” My eyes flickered to the makeup artists, who seemed less than interested in our conversation.

“Of course not,” Mom assured me. “But Detective Reynolds and his band of merry men will be over in a while, so make sure you keep the girls busy.”

Chloe told me to lean back so she could start on my eyebrows and I started to question what was more painful: getting shot at the Golden Globes by a deranged stalker or getting my eyebrows plucked.

__________

With two hours left to go before we were meant to leave, I was well on my way to becoming a human Barbie doll. My hair was resting in rollers slightly smaller than what my mother's had been, and I had been plucked just about everywhere a hair was brave enough to grow. My skin felt raw from all the scrubbing and I smelled like a mixture of nail polish and eucalyptus lotion, but all in all I was pretty happy. Plus my dress had finally arrived, so all peace was restored in my mother's heart. Kat was on the phone somewhere in the house, and Mom was in Dad's room helping choose the right bowtie, something I knew would take forever because they'd be arguing over every shade of red. Mike was in his room with Chris, probably doing something illegal. Hopefully he was teaching Chris to speak. Kenny was who knows where. He was a slippery one for such a big guy.