Behind the Curtain (Sequel to "Letting Him Go")

Chapter 6 - The MET

She looks at me through a tangle of enormously long golden lashes that shoot out from her face like fireworks frozen in time. She can barely blink. Sarah is beside her, applying pieces of tape onto her eyelids to help hold them up against the weight of the golden spikes.

"Are you ready?" I take her hand and smile, reaching up to smooth out the creases in the large pink bow that decorates her head. Excitement dances through her eyes as she smiles back. She can't wait to give the world a performance that they are hardly expecting— a performance that they certainly don't deserve. But did they ever? 4 outfits. An entire story told on the red carpet through umbrellas, rhinestones, and trains of fabric. It's never been done, which makes it all the more exhilarating for her— filling her with the intoxicating joy of sharing art as she beams up at me, her green eyes illuminated by tiny reflections of the rhinestone tears that dot her cheeks.

"Yes," she breathes. She glows with anticipation. We stand hand in hand between the cream curtains of the red carpet entrance lined by tall security guards dressed in suits. The team is restless in the narrow walkway— Richy and the dancers receiving last minute touch-ups from Sarah, and Frederic frantically fixing Brandon's unruly bowtie. I won't be walking the carpet with them, but I remain quietly at her side in my white t-shirt and jeans as the chaos continues to swirl around us. Brandon appears in front of me.

"May I?" He holds out his hand, asking for my permission to take his position beside her.

"You may," I laugh, guiding her hand into his and reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. She uses her free hand to cover mine. "Good luck, beautiful," I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek. A soft smile dances across her bright pink lips and she nods. I step back against the curtains as she turns away, allowing Brandon to lead her onto the carpet and into the vast sea of adoring cameras.

I cross my arms against my chest, watching from the shadows. She gasps theatrically, her hand fluttering over her mouth as the endless train of pink silk floats like a parachute through the air behind her. The crowd roars with delight. Brandon and the team hurry around her, making sure the long silk is never creased or caught under her feet as she slowly ascends the steps. They say it takes a village—for Lady Gaga, maybe even two. But for Stefani? There's only one man needed for the job.

I watch as she bats her eyelashes dramatically under the flashing lights and I wonder if she is thinking of him. The gentle hands that carefully handled every dress she wore and the protective arms that guided her across countless red carpets— belonging to a man who knew her movements perfectly. The only Hollywood actor I've ever seen willingly jump from his seat to move her dress from the aisle before it could be stepped on.

"I got her, I promise." Big blue eyes blinked confidently at me. It was the world premiere—their first appearance together— and she had never walked a carpet without us. As her team, we were always by her side through every event—ready to catch any mishaps or any malfunctions of all her wildest wardrobe choices. We had been doing this with her for 11 years, and I was about to leave her and a priceless Valentino gown in his bare, inexperienced hands. Thunder crackled across the Venice sky above us and I sighed.

"Fine," I spat, holding the door open for him as he climbed into his car.

"I'll meet you guys there," he said, shutting the door behind him. 

It was a quick, 5-minute ride from our hotel to the end of the red carpet. I sat in the front beside the driver so that I wouldn't sit on her lovely dress—the baby pink feathers spilling all across the entire backseat. I turned around to look at her. 

"Alright." This was entirely unfamiliar—I was always the one to help her onto the carpet, but this time I would stay in the car. "I'll see you inside?"