Last Night at Chateau Marmont
Page 78
Brooke merely nodded, praying this woman wasn’t going to add in her two cents about Julian. She couldn’t handle another opinion.
“Julian’s manager asked me to tell you that they had to get Julian backstage, but to proceed to your seat in the audience and he’ll send someone to get you right before Julian goes on.”
“Thanks,” she said. She was relieved she wouldn’t be seeing Leo or Julian but nervous about entering the theater area by herself.
She didn’t need to worry. “I’ll escort you both now if you’re ready.”
Carter shot Brooke a quick look and a huge smile. “We’re ready,” she said, linking her arm with Brooke’s. “Aren’t we?”
It was surreal. In the space of a single minute, one of the most famous actresses on earth had announced she thought Brooke’s husband was cheating and then linked arms with her to stroll through the crowd together as though they’d been friends for twenty years. Brooke’s face must have revealed her confusion and nausea and all-around discomfort; as the badge lady pointed to Brooke’s seat in the fourth row from the stage, Carter leaned in and whispered, “It was real nice meeting you. And you’ll survive this, I promise. If I can, anyone can. As for the show right now, remember to smile, smile, smile. Those cameras are going to be all over you tonight, just praying for a breakdown, so don’t give it to them, okay?”
Brooke nodded, wishing more than anything that she could press a magic button and be transported back to Nola and Walter and her favorite fleece sweatpants. Instead, she took her seat. And she smiled.
She grinned maniacally through Jimmy Kimmel’s opening monologue, Carrie Underwood’s performance, a song-and-dance duet with Justin Timberlake and Beyoncé, a prerecorded video montage, and a quirky little number by Katy Perry. Her cheek muscles were starting to throb when the girl sitting beside her, a Kardashian, she thought, although she didn’t know one from the next or why they were famous, leaned in and said, “You look hot tonight, FYI. Don’t let those pictures get you down.”
It had seemed impossible enough when it was just her and Julian in a hotel room together, but this? This was unbearable.
She heard the master of ceremonies announce that they’d gone to commercial, and before she could respond to the girl’s comment, Leo materialized at the end of her aisle, crouching down so as not to block anyone’s view, and motioned for her to follow him. You know things are grim when you’re happy to see him, she thought to herself. Smiling, smiling, smiling all the way despite feeling a strange light-headedness, Brooke ignored Potential Kardashian and politely excused herself as she climbed over people’s legs (was that just Seal she’d almost straddled?) and followed Leo backstage.
“How’s he doing?” She desperately wanted not to care, but knowing Julian and his stage fright, she couldn’t help but feel for him. Instantly, despite everything that had happened, she was transported back to the countless times she’d held his hand and rubbed his back and reassured him that he’d be great.
“He only puked, like, seventeen times, so I think we’re good to go.”
She glared at Leo, who stared at the ass of an extremely young girl as he walked Brooke to the viewing area at stage left. “Really?”
“He’s fine. A little nervous, but fine. He’s going to rock it tonight.”
She caught a split-second view of Julian before a PA, who was listening intently to an earpiece, nodded and gave Julian’s shoulder a little shove. He and his bandmates quickly took their positions at their instruments. They were still behind the curtain, and Brooke could hear Jimmy Kimmel joking with the audience, keeping them warm during the commercial break. The monitor in the viewing area was counting down from twenty seconds, and the hand that Julian had wrapped around the microphone was clearly shaking.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, Jimmy Kimmel announced Julian’s name and the curtain rose on all sides, revealing a crowd of people so huge and so loud, Brooke wondered if Julian would even be able to make himself heard. But then the drummer began with a soft tap-tap-tap, the guitarist played a few mournful notes, and Julian pressed the microphone to his lips and began to sing the words that had made him famous. The sound of his baritone voice reverberated around the stadium, causing the audience to quiet almost immediately; to Brooke, it felt like nothing short of an electric jolt.
She flashed back to the first time she’d heard Julian perform “For the Lost,” on that balmy Tuesday night at Nick’s. He’d already played Brooke’s favorite cover material plus two or three of his original songs, but when he played his brand-new song for the very first time, Brooke got chills. Since then, she had witnessed countless performances, but nothing could have prepared her for the experience of watching her husband sing his heart out for millions of people.
What felt like only seconds later, the crowd had erupted into ecstatic, frantic cheers. Julian was bowing and gesturing a thank-you toward his bandmates, and the very next minute he was walking offstage, the microphone still clutched in his hand. Brooke could see he was exultant, trembling with the excitement and pride of a man who brought down a house of his peers and his heroes. His eyes shone and he moved to pull Brooke into a hug.
She pulled away and he looked like someone had slapped him.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her by the hand. People backstage were swarming around, offering their congratulations and admiration, but Julian clasped Brooke’s hand and led her into his dressing room. He closed the door behind them and smiled widely.
Brooke looked directly into his eyes. “We need to talk about those pictures. It’s not a good time, I know, but I can’t stand wondering anymore. If you could hear what people are saying . . . what they’ve been saying to me . . .”
“Shh,” he said, putting a finger across her lips. “We’ll talk about everything, we’ll figure it all out. Let’s enjoy this here now. Let’s pop some champagne! Leo said he got us into Usher’s post-party at Geisha House, and I’m telling you, it’s going to be incredible.”
A million images flashed through her mind at the same time, and they all included reporters, flashbulbs, and a rotating retinue of scorned women offering unsolicited advice on how to survive the devastation and humiliation. Before she could tell Julian that she needed the truth and she needed it now, there was a knock on the door.
“Julian’s manager asked me to tell you that they had to get Julian backstage, but to proceed to your seat in the audience and he’ll send someone to get you right before Julian goes on.”
“Thanks,” she said. She was relieved she wouldn’t be seeing Leo or Julian but nervous about entering the theater area by herself.
She didn’t need to worry. “I’ll escort you both now if you’re ready.”
Carter shot Brooke a quick look and a huge smile. “We’re ready,” she said, linking her arm with Brooke’s. “Aren’t we?”
It was surreal. In the space of a single minute, one of the most famous actresses on earth had announced she thought Brooke’s husband was cheating and then linked arms with her to stroll through the crowd together as though they’d been friends for twenty years. Brooke’s face must have revealed her confusion and nausea and all-around discomfort; as the badge lady pointed to Brooke’s seat in the fourth row from the stage, Carter leaned in and whispered, “It was real nice meeting you. And you’ll survive this, I promise. If I can, anyone can. As for the show right now, remember to smile, smile, smile. Those cameras are going to be all over you tonight, just praying for a breakdown, so don’t give it to them, okay?”
Brooke nodded, wishing more than anything that she could press a magic button and be transported back to Nola and Walter and her favorite fleece sweatpants. Instead, she took her seat. And she smiled.
She grinned maniacally through Jimmy Kimmel’s opening monologue, Carrie Underwood’s performance, a song-and-dance duet with Justin Timberlake and Beyoncé, a prerecorded video montage, and a quirky little number by Katy Perry. Her cheek muscles were starting to throb when the girl sitting beside her, a Kardashian, she thought, although she didn’t know one from the next or why they were famous, leaned in and said, “You look hot tonight, FYI. Don’t let those pictures get you down.”
It had seemed impossible enough when it was just her and Julian in a hotel room together, but this? This was unbearable.
She heard the master of ceremonies announce that they’d gone to commercial, and before she could respond to the girl’s comment, Leo materialized at the end of her aisle, crouching down so as not to block anyone’s view, and motioned for her to follow him. You know things are grim when you’re happy to see him, she thought to herself. Smiling, smiling, smiling all the way despite feeling a strange light-headedness, Brooke ignored Potential Kardashian and politely excused herself as she climbed over people’s legs (was that just Seal she’d almost straddled?) and followed Leo backstage.
“How’s he doing?” She desperately wanted not to care, but knowing Julian and his stage fright, she couldn’t help but feel for him. Instantly, despite everything that had happened, she was transported back to the countless times she’d held his hand and rubbed his back and reassured him that he’d be great.
“He only puked, like, seventeen times, so I think we’re good to go.”
She glared at Leo, who stared at the ass of an extremely young girl as he walked Brooke to the viewing area at stage left. “Really?”
“He’s fine. A little nervous, but fine. He’s going to rock it tonight.”
She caught a split-second view of Julian before a PA, who was listening intently to an earpiece, nodded and gave Julian’s shoulder a little shove. He and his bandmates quickly took their positions at their instruments. They were still behind the curtain, and Brooke could hear Jimmy Kimmel joking with the audience, keeping them warm during the commercial break. The monitor in the viewing area was counting down from twenty seconds, and the hand that Julian had wrapped around the microphone was clearly shaking.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, Jimmy Kimmel announced Julian’s name and the curtain rose on all sides, revealing a crowd of people so huge and so loud, Brooke wondered if Julian would even be able to make himself heard. But then the drummer began with a soft tap-tap-tap, the guitarist played a few mournful notes, and Julian pressed the microphone to his lips and began to sing the words that had made him famous. The sound of his baritone voice reverberated around the stadium, causing the audience to quiet almost immediately; to Brooke, it felt like nothing short of an electric jolt.
She flashed back to the first time she’d heard Julian perform “For the Lost,” on that balmy Tuesday night at Nick’s. He’d already played Brooke’s favorite cover material plus two or three of his original songs, but when he played his brand-new song for the very first time, Brooke got chills. Since then, she had witnessed countless performances, but nothing could have prepared her for the experience of watching her husband sing his heart out for millions of people.
What felt like only seconds later, the crowd had erupted into ecstatic, frantic cheers. Julian was bowing and gesturing a thank-you toward his bandmates, and the very next minute he was walking offstage, the microphone still clutched in his hand. Brooke could see he was exultant, trembling with the excitement and pride of a man who brought down a house of his peers and his heroes. His eyes shone and he moved to pull Brooke into a hug.
She pulled away and he looked like someone had slapped him.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her by the hand. People backstage were swarming around, offering their congratulations and admiration, but Julian clasped Brooke’s hand and led her into his dressing room. He closed the door behind them and smiled widely.
Brooke looked directly into his eyes. “We need to talk about those pictures. It’s not a good time, I know, but I can’t stand wondering anymore. If you could hear what people are saying . . . what they’ve been saying to me . . .”
“Shh,” he said, putting a finger across her lips. “We’ll talk about everything, we’ll figure it all out. Let’s enjoy this here now. Let’s pop some champagne! Leo said he got us into Usher’s post-party at Geisha House, and I’m telling you, it’s going to be incredible.”
A million images flashed through her mind at the same time, and they all included reporters, flashbulbs, and a rotating retinue of scorned women offering unsolicited advice on how to survive the devastation and humiliation. Before she could tell Julian that she needed the truth and she needed it now, there was a knock on the door.
