𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢)

fifteen [s]

saturday,
may 4th, 2020

SHAWN MENDES

I sit alone at the foot of the hotel bed, my eyes skimming over the letter I wrote for Trinity. Or about her. I'm not sure. I don't even know why I'm reading it over. It's not like I'm suddenly going to grow a pair and show up at her office or anything now that I'm in New York. No way. She deserves her privacy and space. I'm not going to invade that.

I hear the hotel room door click and I'm quick in folding up the letter and tucking it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket so that whoever enters doesn't see what I'm reading.

"Hey man," Andrew beams, "you ready?"

I sigh and nod, standing from the bed and stepping in front of the full length mirror to check my outfit. I'm dressed in my custom Versace dark shaded red suit and waistcoat with a black shirt and a silky tie underneath. Suede Versace black loafers feel foreign on my feet, but overall comfortable.

I tug on the fitted collar flap of my suit jacket, straightening it out and squaring my shoulders. My hair is tousled as usual because I told Anna, my hair stylist, I didn't want an extravagant hairstyle. She reluctantly agreed. She wanted to coat a few curls in red hairspray, but I shot that down quickly.

"You look great," Andrew says as I turn to face him.

I offer a thin-lipped smile, doing a tiny little twirl for my manager. He chuckles, ushering me out of my room. I follow him down to the lobby. We meet Josiah downstairs and the three of us hop into the limousine Andrew ordered. Tiff and Anna aren't accompanying us as they only flew to NYC to tend to my pre-Gala state.

We each drink a glass of champagne after proposing a toast. Something about my blossoming career. I down my bubbly in a shot, earning quizzical looks from my peers.

I shrug, "Confidence boost."

It isn't long before we pull up outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute. Josiah, Andrew and I hop out of the limo. Josiah heads out first, making sure to capture exclusive shots of me with his high-tech camera. I follow Andrew out, who grasps my shoulder gently and guides me about.

He isn't walking with me (obviously) but he'll be hanging around by the interviewing sector and looking out for me. Josiah will bypass the crowds of obnoxious photographers by the red carpet and head straight to the other end to photograph me from there. I'll do some filmed interviews and the three of us will take our seats at our table by the stage. I'm actually not performing as it's my first Gala, but I'm not too bothered. I'm just looking forward to chilling with my two buds and watching these amazing performances.

"Shawn!"

I hear shouts of my name resonating in my ears as I approach the start of the red carpet. I watch Josiah and Andrew stand off to the side, my manager shooting me encouraging thumbs ups and my photographer doing his beloved job.

I take the carpet, wearing my best smile and posing for the blinding flashes before me. I've grown quite accustomed to them so it's not too irritating. There's multiple requests bombarded at me and I attempt to follow all of them. I throw up a peace sign, show off my smiley grin and pull straight and serious looks as well. I spend a good twenty minutes on the carpet, certain that there'll be hundreds, if not thousands, of photos of me online by tonight.

I make my way through the interviewer scattered, carpeted, tent-like hall. I spot Josiah and Andrew conversing with another glass of champagne each clutched in their hands. I approach a lonesome interviewer who's speaking with the cameraman. She grins and ushers me over, speaking into her mic.