Page 109 of Beyond the Bright Lights

Is this what it feels like to die?

Wait, I know what that feels like. No, this is worse.

Eloise was right about traffic. It takes us about forty-five minutes to arrive to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. We sit in a line of limos, waiting to be dropped off at the foot of the red carpet laid out for celebrity arrivals. That takes another ten minutes, and I'm surprised I haven’t lost my mind yet.

The moment the door to the limo opens, bright lights flash. Paparazzi snap away and microphones point toward me, yelling questions I’m not paying attention to as my eyes scan the crowd, trying to find her.

She's not here.

“She could be inside,” Eloise offers and gestures for me to start walking.

I don’t get far because my PR team said I had to stop to answer questions since I skipped all the press junkets. I’m asked about my sobriety, my next project, about Lana. Questions I don’t answer and, instead, I talk about my excitement for the film finally being out.

Once I’m done with red carpet interviews, it’s time for the movie to start. Inside the theater, I push past people in line, and emerge in the seating area to search the audience.

“She’s not here, buddy,” Jensen says, appearing beside me and clasping a hand on my shoulder.

I shake Jensen’s hand off me the moment I spot Rebecca. She sees me coming, full force, and frowns at the determined look I surely have on my face.

“I haven’t heard from her.”

I stop, a few feet away. “How does no one know if she’s coming or not?” I growl and the hum of chatter falters as people stare our way.

“I’m sorry. I tried calling, but it’s going straight to her voicemail.”

“What about Ginger?”

“I don’t have her number.”

I walk away, not caring how rude it is. I go up to Bruno. “Please. Tell me.”

He sighs and reaches into his pocket to extract his phone. He types out a text and waits. Nothing happens and before I can demand he call Ginger, the lights flicker.

The movie is about to start.

Fuck.

This is it. She’s not coming. She would have been here by now if she was coming.

I wallow in self-pity during the entire movie, not paying attention. It must have been good because everyone around me laughs and cries. Except for Bruno and Eloise. He’s showing her his phone and the two of them smile. I can't remember the last time seeing them smile like that. No, I do. It was in Silo when we all hung out.

I poke Bruno’s arm then point at the phone. He shakes his head, and I sink back into my seat, crossing my arms

The movie ends and the audience erupts into cheers. Then they stand and I’m getting bombarded with accolades. I'm overwhelmed, but at least I'm distracted from thoughts of her.

We file out of the theater, Eloise and Bruno leading me to the waiting limo. The shutters of cameras click rapidly, flashes near blinding as paparazzi yell more questions that I tune out. The world around me disappears as I wallow in pity. I hate when people pity me, yet here I am, the biggest offender.

“I don’t want to go to the premiere party,” I tell Bruno and Eloise the moment we’re inside the limo.

“Too bad, you’re going,” Eloise answers, smirking. She doesn’t see the scowl I'm sending her way because she’s frantically typing on her phone.

I lean my head back on the cushioned headrest and close my eyes. I’m too tired to fight with her.

It takes us about twenty minutes to reach the Hollywood Hills. The party is being held at a mansion owned by one of the Tyler’s Team producers. The guard at the tall black metal gate checks our names on a clipboard and nods, pushing a button to let us in. The driver takes a twisting cement driveway up a steep incline until reaching a two-story, mid-century modern home, painted white with black shingles and trimmings.

I barely register the interior as I walk in with Eloise guiding me by the elbow. Bruno is on alert behind me, but I’m zoned out. A zombie. My heart, dead and growing cold.

“It’s going to be okay, Mylan,” Eloise says next to my ear since the music is too loud. A DJ on an elevated platform in the living room bobs his head and shoulders as he manipulates the two pop songs and merges them together.

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