Page 73 of The Pursuit of Happiness
Selene waves a hand in front of us in a stopping motion, “I can’t believe you would ask such a stupid question.”
I frown, “It was worth a shot.”
Selene turns on her heel and strides for the door, “Be ready in two minutes. The show is starting and a stage crew member will be here to grab you.” She exits and the door slams behind her.
Sly laughs immediately, “Why is she so bothered by the shoes?”
I roll my eyes, “She has a thing against feet.”
He shakes his head, looking disappointed, “I don’t want to know.”
I walk back to my chair and sit as the pain from these heels intensifies. I was standing for too long. I want to cut my feet off, that’s how bad they hurt. As someone who does not wear heels often, I can truly say I do not feel like I am going to survive the entire night if I have to wear these shoes. I rub my ankle even though it doesn’t do much of anything to alleviate the pain. I clench my teeth as the blood flow starts to regulate.
Sly pushes off the counter and kneels before my chair, grabbing one foot and removing the heel. “What are you doing?” I ask, my body relaxing as the heel comes off, leaving my foot to breathe and not feel confined. The relief is instant.
He looks up at me doubtfully as he starts rubbing the sole of my foot. I lean back in my chair and moan at how good it feels. “Why are you wearing these if they hurt that bad?”
“Selene Stone.” Two words. Just two words and there is no explanation necessary.
He removes the other heel and gets to work on that foot. “As soon as we’re done with this show, the heels are coming off.” He demands as if I’m arguing. That was the plan all along.
The door opens again and I know it has to be the stage crew member. It’s a younger man, probably around twenty-one. He looks from Sly who is actively rubbing my feet to me and looks immensely uncomfortable. “Okayyy. Um, we need you. It’s showtime.”
Sly slides the heels back on my feet gently and helps me out of my chair. He leads us out of the dressing room as we follow the crew member. His hand holds mine the entire time and he walks slowly, carefully so as not to make me walk any faster in these already uncomfortable shoes. I silently thank him.
Once we make it to the entrance, I grab his forearm and squeeze. He looks down and gives me a reassuring look. He looks at me with pride in his eyes as if he feels more confident in my ability to do this than I have for myself.
In a matter of moments, we’re guided onto the stage as our introduction is made and the crowd is cheering and applauding. I hold Sly’s hand and force a mask on myself, playing the socialite part perfectly. I slip into the mask of someone who is unbothered and confident. I wave to the audience and don’t stop until Sly stops us in front of the white leather chairs placed next to the desk for us.
Sly seems like more of a natural than I am. He has such a lightheartedness about him that makes it easy for him to open himself up to a crowd. He’s more outgoing and sociable than I am and I know him well enough to know that while his act is convincing, he’d rather not be on this stage either. It seems we’re in the same boat.
“Welcome, Aria and Slater! It’s a pleasure to have you hereon the show,” John greets in a voice feigning sincerity. I take the opportunity to assess him from where he sits, not even four feet away. I’ve seen pictures of the man, but I’ve never had the misfortune of meeting him in person. Not until now.
He wears a perfectly tailored, navy blue suit that looks like it was tailored to his body. He pairs it with a red tie and a white button down underneath. His snow-white hair is styled neatly with a hefty amount of product and the crow’s feet lines around his eyes give him a mature look, most likely from faking so many fucking smiles. He has age lines on his forehead and around his mouth and I assume he must be in his mid to late fifties. His eyes are a blue so bright, so unlike Sly’s, that they instill a deep sense of discomfort in me. I feel goosebumps rising on my arms and the hair on my arms rises.
Sly nods appreciatively, playing the role of the polite guest, “Thank you so much for having us.”
“Yes, thank you,” I add, giving him a bright smile that doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
John reaches for something on his desk and produces two, small microphones that clip onto us. “Do you mind?” He asks Sly.
Sly grants him permission and he pins the microphone to Sly’s dress shirt. He smiles at me, an oily smile and walks around his desk to ask, “May I?”
I hesitate. He’s reaching out to fasten the microphone to the top of my dress which rests dangerously low on my chest. I don’t entirely feel comfortable with the idea of him being this close to me, let alone touching or grazing my breasts with his knuckles. As he’s about to make contact with me, Sly intercepts his hand and takes possession of the microphone. “I’ve got it,” he says calmly, but I can see the rage simmering below the surface.
I relax, a subtle breath escaping me as Sly takes over, fastening the microphone to the top of my dress, his knucklesgrazing the smooth flesh beneath the neckline. He gives me a quick look of encouragement as John nods, “Better off. I wouldn’t want to tear such a lovely dress. You look ravishing, Aria. Absolutely stunning,” he compliments as he moves around the stage and retreats to his desk. His energy is so high, as if he took five shots of espresso before the show started. I know better though, and know it’s all for show.
I beam, batting my lashes, “Thank you, John.”
“So, I have to ask,” he changes the subject and I stop breathing. Is he going to say it? Is he going to bring up the tape? Panic floods my chest and Sly places a hand on my thigh to ground me. His mind must’ve gone where mine has. “How does it feel to both be nominated for the same award? Are you in constant competition?” The audience hangs on to his every word.
I laugh and wave him off, “No of course not.”
Sly adds, “Honestly, we don’t even talk about the award.”
I look at Sly and give him a gentle look, “There’s no competition at all. I mean, I know I want to win and I knowhewants to win, but honestly, it never really comes up.”
Sly nods, “It just slips both of our minds when we’re together.”
