Infinity + One
Page 85

Unlike most celebrities, these two were not escorted by a publicist. They exited their limo just like other attendees and walked hand in hand through security and up onto the carpet. They were a last minute arrival, which usually means less press time, since everyone is in a hurry to get into their seats, doors are getting ready to close, and people are being directed away from the event because it’s about to start. Most of your biggest celebrities come right at the end, like Bonnie Rae did, just to avoid waiting a long time for the show to begin inside. But I can guarantee, regardless of their arrival time, Bonnie Rae Shelby and Infinity Clyde will be getting all the press coverage tonight.
I WAS CONVINCED we’d done it.
We’d gone to the Oscars together, dressed in our wedding clothes, as Finn had called them. And the response had been perfect. Cameras flashed, and every camera and all the attention was riveted on us. I almost felt bad for the people who got there at the same time, because they were ignored, and Hollywood stars don’t spend hours getting glamorous, starving for days so they aren’t bloated, picking out the perfect dress, only to be upstaged by a hillbilly and an ex-con.
I certainly hadn’t meant to upstage. I had just wanted everyone to see Finn and to acknowledge him. Not Infinity James Clyde the ex-convict. Not Infinity Clyde, the villain who stole America’s country bumpkin, but beautiful, smart, innocent, Finn Clyde. My Finn.
And I was pretty sure they had. The women had gaped. The men had paled in comparison, and because I was with him, I felt like the most beautiful woman in the room.
The truth of it made me giggle. We’d been up all night, so we’d slept all day, and we’d had to rush a little to get ready. I got ready for the Oscars in an hour. I was sure that was also a record. I was bathed and shaved, moisturized and perfumed, made up and done up with very little fanfare. But even without a team of people making me look like a movie star, I felt amazing. And because I felt amazing, maybe I looked amazing. Finn certainly did. He looked so handsome that I had wondered how I would make it to the theatre and keep my dress on.
However, resisting the urge to seduce my husband in the limo didn’t turn out to be as difficult as I thought it would be. Finn was tense and ill at ease, and the closer we got to the venue, the more nervous we both became. Finn was vibrating, his left knee shaking up and down as I pressed my hand to his thigh and promised him it would be okay. He’d just looked at me and told me I was beautiful, but he didn’t relax.
“When this is over, we’re going to go back to the Bordeaux. We’re going to stay there for a week. Maybe two. I’ve already reserved our room, indefinitely. They know where to bill me. And we are going to have a true honeymoon. We’re going to make plans, make love, and make bacon.”
“Make bacon?”
“I’m hungry.” I shrugged. “When was the last time we ate?”
“Yesterday, in Las Vegas.”
“Holy cow! I’m a terrible wife. A man like you can’t go that long without nourishment. I’m used to starving. Gran watched every damn bite I put in my mouth.”
“All right then. We’ll order bacon and eggs and a pile of potatoes. We’ll eat when we’re done tonight. We’ll celebrate. And I promise you can eat as much as you want, whenever you want, and I won’t mind.”
I laughed, and Finn took a fortifying breath, and with meat on my mind and a man on my arm, Finn and I had stepped out of the limo and taken on the red carpet.
I didn’t win the Oscar and I was relieved. I made sure I was snuggled into Finn when the camera panned to me as my name was read, and I had smiled brightly and given America a little thumbs up. But I had been thrilled when the award went to someone else. I’d probably clapped a little too enthusiastically, but had I won I was liable to go up on stage and say something I would have regretted—something that wouldn’t have played well in the media. Something like, “I love Jesus and I love singin’, so I’m thankful for the voice He gave me to sing this song. But I hate all you fake-assed people with your plastic boobs and messed up priorities.” And then I would have looked into the camera and said. “And yes, Gran. I’m talkin’ to you.”
And my drawl would have made them all think I didn’t have a brain in my head, and people would have laughed at me, and Finn would have said “Bonnie Rae,” in that voice he used when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at me, love me, or lose me. So it was good that I didn’t win.
Finn and I slipped out of our seats after that, and I called for our limo to return for us. We’d done what we needed to do, and it was time to eat bacon at the Bordeaux.
THE LIGHTS FLASHED behind us. Then there were lights in front of us, and lights to the side of us too. Not flashbulbs any longer, but blue lights, spinning. And the sirens wailed.
The window between the driver and the back of the limo slid down, and the driver informed us in a few panicked words that he was pulling over. We were only two blocks from the Kodak Theatre. They’d been waiting for us to come out—that much was obvious. Maybe they thought we were armed and dangerous and wanted to get us away from the crowds. Had Gran created this mess? And why did they want us at all? We’d carried out our plan to show the world we were together. But apparently the police had gotten the breaking news bulletin from E Buzz.
Finn looked at me as if he’d known it was coming. And he kissed me, quickly, almost desperately, as the limo came to a stop at the side of the road. I kissed him back frantically, and clung to him, wondering momentarily if there was still a way out, as if we could outrun the police that now surrounded us. There were police cars everywhere.