It’s stupid, reckless, a distraction when all I should do is focus on the upcoming season and prep my new team foranother successful year. But even with all that in mind, the urgency is becoming too much to push to the side.
It’s late, but I don’t hesitate to reach out to my personal assistant to see if she’s awake and available to chat. She sends me a quick message back. I waste no time and press the call button.
“Hey, I need you to get me a new suit, and make sure it really makes a statement.”
I had already planned on wearing a traditional black coat and tie, but suddenly, I have the sense that I need to up my game. If Jersey Matthews will be at the VMAs, I want to look my best. A deep-seated eagerness amplifies this, convincing me that this might be the only opportunity I get to talk to her. I’m not about to waste it.
THREE
jersey
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
“Wait, wait, wait!”Kelsey screeching has me pausing midstep before I set foot on the red carpet. I spin around to see her hurrying toward me, looking alarmed.
“What is it?”
She scuttles next to me and adjusts the neckline of the luxurious silver Agnelli dress I’m wearing before dropping into a squat and fixing the skirts, fluffing them out in the right way.
Kelsey Hurst, my publicist and professional perfectionist. She’s been with me for about three years and is personally responsible for every stunning red carpet photo and every dodged media scandal since, including the recent messy breakup with my ex. She fusses over my hair and blots at my makeup to remove the shine before giving me a satisfied once over. “Okay, you’re perfect.”
I shoot her a blinding smile, one I’ve been saving especially for tonight. I can hear the cameras clicking already, and though I’m swept up in the craze and the flashing cameras, I glue that exact smile in place and start the grueling process of the red carpet walk.
“Jersey!”
“Jersey, this way!”
“Jersey, give me a smile!”
The paparazzi are relentless with their orders, telling me to turn this way and that, and to give them a special pose that they’ll be able to sell to the tabloids. Their goal is to get the best shot tonight, and my job on the red carpet is to give it to them. It’s not my favorite thing to do, but it’s part of the deal.
I’m on the carpet for about thirty minutes before Kelsey ushers me off into the safety of the venue. As soon as I’m sheltered from the cameras, I let my posture fall a bit, no longer needing to meet those high expectations. I inhale through my nose and close my eyes as I roll out my tight shoulders, trying to drown out the noises of the cameras and the paparazzi from the echoes of my mind.
Bethany is beside me, straightening my dress and hair as Kelsey reads off the order of operations for tonight.PEMDAS, right?I’m presenting an award and nominated for another. Tonight will be a busy night, not a leisurely one.
Thankfully, I’m presenting the Best Hip-Hop award, which is closer to the beginning of the show, and the one I’m nominated for, Song of the Year, is near the end. I’ll be able to sit and watch a few of my friends—or as close of friends as one can get to the cutthroats in the industry—perform and receive awards of their own.
“Okay, so we’re told they want you backstage about ten minutes before you’re presenting, then you can go to your seat for the rest of the show.” Kelsey reads off her card. “So, we’ll show you to your table and get you situated. That way, the cameras can get shots of you reacting to the opening of the show. Then Bethany will let you know when they’re ready for you backstage and I’ll be back there to meet you and get you intoposition. Did you memorize your speech? Or do you want to run through it again?”
“I’m good,” I assure her. “I’ve read it a thousand times. I think I could do it backward if I had to.”
She gives me an affirmative nod. “That’s exactly what I want to hear. And if worse comes to worst, it will be on the teleprompter for you, too. All right, let’s go find your table.”
I follow closely behind Kelsey. Along the way, I stop to say hello to some of the other artists in attendance tonight, giving hugs and snapping selfies. Some of them I haven’t seen since I attended the VMAs two years ago, and I’m thrilled to get the opportunity to check in with them and congratulate them on their accomplishments and nominations.
All the while, my security watches me with eyes like a hawk. Though there are plenty of celebrities here, and just as many security guards to match, they are vigilant in making sure no one who isn’t welcome gets too close.
I’ve been fortunate not to have had to deal with extreme stalkers or fans who take things a little too far—but still, one can never be too careful. I take my security with me everywhere I go when I’m out in public. With my luck, the one time I don’t is when something bad will happen and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I don’t take any chances.
When I make it to my assigned table, I eye my seat and set my clutch down before looking at the other people who have been assigned to my table.
“Kira!” I say excitedly when I see the young pop artist’s face across from me. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” I hurry around the table with my arms outstretched.
Kira stands from her seat and hugs me back. “I know. It feels like forever ago.”
I pull away and hold her at arm’s length, taking in the lovely vintage ballgown she’s wearing for tonight. “You look incredible.”
