It was hard to feel fancy walking down a normal sidewalk, passing tourists and ice cream stores and falafel restaurants and souvenir shops. But after a few minutes, we heard smatterings of applause and cheering, and a booming voice on a loudspeaker. And when we rounded the corner, we were greeted by an overwhelming circus of people and cameras and signs.
The red carpet stretched before us. It was bordered on one side by a wall that had the Paramount Pictures logo printed on it over and over, and on the other side by hundreds of reporters and photographers.
Behind the photographers, held back by metal barricades, were throngs of fans. Because there were no movie stars present at the moment, the crowd was relatively subdued, chattering excitedly instead of screaming. A lot of them held signs saying things like KURT I LOVE YOU! or MARRY ME, EMMA! One guy held up a sign that said READ MY SCREENPLAY, OSCAR GUARANTEED!
There were balloons, banners, and movie posters set up all over. Groups of people wearing suits and fancy dresses stood on the red carpet, talking and laughing. They weren’t famous, but they looked like they belonged there.
We showed our IDs at the check-in table, and they handed us little passes with our names and seat numbers on them. We flashed those to a pair of ginormous security guys wearing ginormous suits, and they opened a velvet rope and let us through …
Onto the red carpet.
I paused for a moment, taking it all in.
“Do we have to walk in front of all the photographers?” I asked Marnie.
“Of course,” she said. “What, you want to skulk around in the shadows?”
I shrugged, and she looped her elbow through mine. “No,” she said. “We’re here, and we’re going to work it. Even if we’re not famous … they don’t know that.”
Then she started walking down the carpet. I expected to be ignored, but the photographers noticed us. Some of them took a few pictures. One shouted “Who are you?” as though we might actually be somebodies, which was pretty flattering.
Then we heard a commotion behind us, and screams rose up from the crowd. We turned to see a wave of people making their way onto the carpet.
“Those are studio publicists,” Marnie said, squeezing my arm so hard it went numb. “See? They all have earpieces. Someone huge just arrived. Oh my God — it’s him. It’s Kurt. He’s here. Hand me my smelling salts.”
The crowd of publicists parted, and a man walked through … a man you could only describe as a movie star. You could tell from forty feet away that he had a magnetic, unforgettable quality.
He’s still not as cute as Reed, I thought.
The fans began to shriek like a bunch of teenage girls, even though a lot of them were my mom’s age or even older. And the photographers went crazy, shouting “KURT! KURT! LOOK HERE! OVER HERE!”
“They want eye contact in their pictures,” Marnie said. “See how he’s moving his head a little? He’s trying to give all of them at least one good smile. God, I have to marry him.”
I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. We stayed in our spot, trying to look nonchalant, as Kurt and his entourage slowly made their way toward us and then through the lobby doors.
“Should we go in now?” I asked. It was getting cold, and my shoes were a smidge too small. Standing in one place made my feet ache.
Marnie shook her head. “Just a few more minutes. I don’t want people to think we’re stalking him.”
One of the reporters looked at me and cocked his head to the side.
“Are you from that new Disney Channel show?” he asked, raising his camera.
I opened my mouth to say no, but Marnie cut me off.
“Yes, she is!” she said, smiling brightly. “This is Bernadette Middleton. She’s also Kate Middleton’s cousin!”
Before I could say a word, three dozen flashbulbs exploded in my face. And the air was filled with photographers shouting, “Bernadette! Bernadette, over here! Look right here!”
“Put your hand on your hip,” Marnie whispered in my ear. “Turn your body at an angle … and smile!”
We finally went inside. Marnie giggled maniacally as we got in line for our free popcorn and sodas, on the lookout for more celebrities. “Bernadette, I can’t wait to watch your show on Disney Channel. When is it on again? Oh, WAIT.”
Part of me was a little embarrassed, but I had to admit that I was enjoying myself. Finally, I was feeling the glitter. I could see what all the fuss was about — why people worshipped Hollywood and wanted to be movie stars (or be their friends). It was exciting.
“Can you imagine actually being one of those people?” I asked. “Having the paparazzi go crazy over the fact that you, like, got out of a car?”
“Ugh.” Marnie stuck her tongue out. “No. I hate actors. They’re so needy. Look at me! Admire me! Some of the people my dad deals with are positively dismal…. No, thank you.”
We wandered around, munching popcorn and trying to eavesdrop on Kurt Conrath and his publicists.
“So who’s my celebrity alter ego going to be?” Marnie asked, patting the flip in her hair. “How about … Ramona Claiborne? That’s a good name, right? I was born in Australia, but I disguise my accent flawlessly. I just landed a new show on HBO. You do realize it’s not cool for someone as edgy as myself to be seen with a Disney Channel starlet, don’t you?”
“You’re so generous.” I grinned.
“I know. I’m a genuinely awesome human being. Or Ramona Claiborne is, anyway. Let’s go back to the red carpet,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You can tell the photographers you talked me into admitting my true identity as Ramona.”
I laughed.
Then I realized she was serious.
“Marnie,” I said, “the movie’s about to start.”
It was true. Everyone was beginning to file into the theater.
“These things always start late,” she said. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can say we met through our acting coaches, and —”
“Marn,” I said. “I think we should go in.”
For a brief moment, there was something in her eyes that made me wish I’d gone along with it. We might have looked ridiculous, but it would have kept me from wondering if she resented me for having my own moment in the spotlight.
But I hadn’t asked her to lie to the paparazzi for me — she’d just done it.
I was being paranoid. Oversensitive. Marnie was only playing around. We were practically wearing costumes, for heaven’s sake. So she wanted to pretend to be famous for a couple of minutes — what was the harm in that? Wasn’t it weird and selfish of me to refuse?
But we’d missed our chance. We were already being swept toward the theater doors, and then we were ushered to our seats. The director of the movie got up and thanked us all for coming, and then the movie started.
It was a mindless romantic comedy, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and even Marnie was too lovestruck by Kurt to mock the happy ending.
Afterward, as we were leaving the theater, a lone photographer called out to us.
“Who are you lovely ladies?” he asked
I waited for Marnie to tell him we were none other than Ramona Claiborne, edgy actress extraordinaire, and Bernadette Middleton, teen celebrity darling and cousin of genuine royalty.
But she gave him her bored smile and said, “Just a couple of fans.”
Have you ever noticed that nothing in the entire universe is more comfortable than putting on pajamas after you’ve been wearing fancy clothes? The soft cotton felt like heaven on my skin, and my feet floated on clouds of happiness after being released from the too-small pumps.
Marnie and I brushed out our hair and flopped down on her king-size bed. We were still too pumped up from the premiere to sleep, so we stayed up and talked, rehashing the details of the evening and laughing. I realized it had been two years since I’d spent time like this with a friend.