Page 4 of Everything In Between

THREE

jersey

“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 into position.

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.”

“So do you,” she says, glowing at me. “As always.”

“How’s everything going?” I ask her, and she launches into it.

“Can you believe it’s already been two years since my first album released?” Her eyes take on a wide, awestruck glint.

“Time flies, doesn’t it? But it’s done so well. I’m always so happy when I hear your songs come on the radio.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she says earnestly, reaching to play with a strand of her blonde hair. “You played such a huge role in helping me throughout that whole process. Without your help, I think I would’ve gone crazy.”

I hug her again, holding her close. “It was my pleasure. And I’m always here for you. Any time.”

“We’ll need to get together sometime soon. I have a few ideas that I’d love to run by you.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “You let me know when and I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best, Jersey. Really.”

“I agree,” Roy Stevens adds. He’s a producer who worked with Kira on her last album and has contributed to my songs in the past, too. “Not everyone would make an effort to come play at a thirteen-year-old’s birthday party.”

“Or donate to my charity auction,” his wife, Iris, says, nodding.

Roy raises his glass. “To Jersey, a class act.”

My cheeks flush but I raise my glass, taking a small sip, being mindful that I’ll be up on stage shortly. “Thank you, guys, so much. That’s so kind of you.”

I’m forever thankful for the friends I’ve made on this crazy adventure.

There’s something to be said about fame feeling lonely, but that is much less when there are people around you in the same boat.

As much as I love putting energy into my own career, I equally enjoy helping others in the industry too.

Taking my seat, I make small talk with some of the other celebrities at the table, catching up and filling them in on some of my upcoming events—without giving too much away, of course. Cal would love that.

An hour or so into the show, Bethany appears at my shoulder. “You’re on deck,” she whispers. “They’ve got two categories to go before yours, but they’re ready for you backstage.”

I excuse myself from the table and follow Bethany, where I meet Kelsey backstage.

She shows me where I’m supposed to wait until I’m announced.

When my name is called, the audience cheers loudly and I walk onto the stage.

I give smiles and little waves as I go to my mark, trying to ignore the anxious flutters in my belly.

You’d think at this point I’d be used to being up in front of audiences like this, and I am, but this is being broadcasted on live television, and who knows the number of people watching me give my very first award tonight.

Taking a deep breath, my eyes find the teleprompter in front of me—just in case—and I start my short speech about the award I’m presenting this evening, hoping my voice comes out level and not shaky.

“Every year, we gather to celebrate some of the biggest and most successful names in our industry. It’s an honor to have been invited to award the Best Hip-Hop music video of the year.” I pause to take a breath while the nominees are announced on the big screens behind me.

The spotlight falls on me again and the entire auditorium falls silent as I hold up the white envelope in my hand.

“It takes a lot of dedication, creativity, and motivation to create music that embodies the genre and can be appreciated for generations to come, which is why the winner of this award should be celebrated as a master of their craft. So, the winner of the Best Hip-Hop award is”—with a mega-watt smile, I look up and announce the winner into the microphone—“J-Money, Tell Me I’m Wrong. ”

The place erupts in cheers.

Music plays in the background as J-Money and a group of other people join him on the stage.

The attendant on stage passes me the award for the category that I hand to J-Money when he walks up to me.

He accepts it and surprises me by wrapping me up in a tight hug.

I laugh, a little awkwardly, and pat him on the back before he lets me go and turns toward the group of people behind him, holding it high.

His people all cheer and whoop, celebrating their success.

J- Money turns back to the microphone and addresses his fans. He has every pair of eyes on him—except mine. Every ounce of my attention is on the tallest and broadest man of the group.

And as luck would have it, his entire focus is on me, too.