Bounce, p.9
Bounce, page 9
Dani and I finally step through the hotel doors, and the chaos from outside is instantly gone. There is a gush of beautiful quiet. The all-white ultra-luxurious lobby feels like a tranquil spa. It’s bright and airy, and flooded with light. I look back over my shoulder. Photographers are lining the huge glass windows outside, flashes going off.
I turn back to Dani.
“I’d seriously like to kick some of those guys in the—” She stops. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I mean—I guess.”
“That was a little bit scary”—she takes a deep breath and smiles on the exhale—“but we made it!”
I try to force a smile. I’m honestly a little bit stunned. Being famous isn’t so easy! Ahead of us, Movie Star/Supermodel strides up to a reception desk made of glass and topped with rows of tulips. Nothing about the lobby looks like Christmas. It’s more like a museum of modern art with oversize funky paintings and hulking sculptures. And there are other guests. We are not the only ones here. There’s a handful of important-looking people, neatly dressed. Some are standing and quietly chatting, others are sitting on long, bright-orange sofas and lime-green lounge chairs—reading, drinking tea, talking into phones, clicking away on laptops. Low-key piano music is floating in the background.
I stand next to Dani and Hank at the bottom of the grand staircase and glance all around.
Dani has the best look on her face. “This place is so super rad.” Her eyes get big as she looks up at the gigantic pink glass crystal chandelier hanging over us.
I tilt my head back and stare up at it too. The chandelier is a rainbow of pinks and yellows.
“Whoa, gorgeous,” Dani breathes. “So—”
“Fancy,” I finish. “I mean . . . this hotel must be so expensive!”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dani asks, a curious look on her face. “There’s something different about you. . . .”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Something different, yeah. You could say that.”
I drop onto one of the bright-orange couches.
Dani sits herself down next to me.
She doesn’t say a word. She just sits back, silently inhales, and flashes me a radiant smile. Everything about Dani feels so relieving. I’ve only known her for, like, five hours, but she’s honestly one of the most instantly lovable people I’ve ever met.
For a long minute, I say nothing.
I turn back and look right at Dani and her sparkly eyes.
And then, sitting right here on the bright-orange couch, with Hank standing guard and a few curious onlookers stopping and staring and snapping photos of me, I feel myself take a big, deep, lung-filling breath for what feels like the first time.
28.
THE WOMAN WALKING ACROSS THE lobby right for us is tall and Asian, with shiny black hair parted in a zigzag and pulled back tight, away from her face. She’s dressed in a tight, slim lavender dress.
“Ms. Jasmine!” she exclaims in an elegant and formal British accent. She extends her hand, and it takes me a second (and a glare from Movie Star/Supermodel, now standing beside me) to realize that I am supposed to reach out and clasp her hand in mine and shake it.
Our hands meet. “Nice to meet you,” I say, trying very hard to be perfectly polite and well-mannered. I immediately stand up stick straight, suddenly very aware of my posture.
“So nice to see you, Ms. Jasmine. It is entirely my pleasure,” the lady tells me. She finally lets go of my hand. “I am Octavia Grace, and I will be serving as your on-call butler at your service, to make your stay with us an unforgettable one.”
I look shocked, like, Butler?
Octavia Grace’s eyes never leave mine. “If there is anything you or any of your party need, I will be delighted to respond to all your requests, Ms. Jasmine. Your bags have already been taken up, so if you please, let me show you to your suite.”
All of us—Movie Star/Supermodel, Hank, Dani, Octavia Grace, and I—climb a red-carpeted staircase leading up to two side-by-side gold-encased elevators. Everything that Octavia Grace says sounds so charming. She’s cheerful and very positive.
“We’ve been expecting you, Ms. Jasmine, and the entire staff has been made aware of your incredibly hectic schedule.”
When the elevator arrives, the golden doors slide open. Hank stands back until all four ladies—including me—step on, and then he gets on too. For an awkward moment all five of us stand in the elevator and nobody says a word until Octavia Grace glances nervously at Movie Star/Supermodel and says, “We understand this will be an extremely busy Christmas Day, and we will do whatever we can to accommodate you.”
Movie Star/Supermodel is too busy scanning her phone to reply. She doesn’t even look up.
“Thank you,” I quickly blurt out, strangely feeling embarrassed by a mother who isn’t even mine. The elevator suddenly starts to rise. I almost lose my balance. I grab onto Dani’s arm. It takes me by surprise.
Octavia Grace fills the quiet. “Ms. Jasmine, I understand your press interviews begin in the Queen’s Suite at one o’clock?”
I look at Dani, unsure what I should say.
“Yes, that’s right,” says Dani, jumping in.
Interviews. My stomach drops. I’m not sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good!
We ride up in silence for the rest of the thirty-three floors.
I throw my head back and stare into the mirrored elevator ceiling at Jasmine’s reflection. She’s so pretty, and I crack a tiny smile at her—or, I guess, me—as the elevator rockets up, up, up.
When the elevator stops on the very top floor, Octavia Grace flashes a key card up to a scanner and says, “Welcome to our penthouse suite.”
The golden elevator doors open up right into the all-white carpeted room. A few steps later, we are all standing in the sleek, impeccably clean, luxurious suite.
“Whoa!” drops out of my mouth.
“I know, right?” Dani says, as we exchange holy cow smiles.
Octavia walks across the suite and draws open the curtains to reveal a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass. “As you can see,” she begins, “you have absolutely stunning panoramic views of most of central London and, of course, Hyde Park directly across.”
Dani and I both stand in front of the wall of glass and look out at the skyline.
“Wow!” I peer down at the park and the London streets below us. The tiny little cars look like miniature toys. “We’re so high above the ground!”
Dani admires the view. “We have stayed at a lot of places in the last six months, but I have to say, this tops them all.”
The three of us turn back and face the room.
Octavia nods toward the gigantic bed twice the size of Carmen’s and piled high with lavish pillows. “I have it on good authority that these beds are blissfully comfy.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed and run my hand over the cool, crisp white sheets and puffy comforter.
Octavia smiles at me. “The sheets and duvet are silk and cotton, custom-made for us in Italy and fabulously lush!”
I look up at the framed modern painting hanging above the bed. I glance across the room at Movie Star/Supermodel; she has taken her fur coat off and is sitting on a yellow sofa, tapping away on her phone. My eyes move to the glass-top table and the vase filled with long-stemmed hot-pink roses and a white bowl filled with apples, oranges, and bananas. It suddenly occurs to me that I am starving. My stomach rumbles. I stand up and follow Octavia and Dani past a writing desk and a light-filled sitting area with a baby grand piano, into the spa-like, gigantic bathroom.
Octavia points out all the features. “State-of-the-art technology,” she says, pausing to push a button, and a television screen appears above the bathtub. “This Japanese-style heated soaking tub is your own little oasis of tranquillity.”
“Not too shabby,” jokes Dani.
“Yeah,” I giggle, and step into the all-glass walk-in shower.
Octavia looks at me standing fully clothed in my black leggings and purple camouflage hoodie inside the glass-enclosed shower. “The entire design was really aimed at making you feel like you are in your home away from home.” She says, “home away from home” with big eyes and a smile, and I almost laugh. This place doesn’t quite look like any home I have ever been in.
Octavia opens a cabinet above the tub to reveal a personalized silky white bathrobe with Jasmine stitched on the chest pocket in purple script embroidered letters.
“Okay, wow!” Dani smiles. “I am officially impressed.”
Dani and I follow Octavia out of the bathroom to the white-carpeted entryway of the suite.
“I’m so glad you’re pleased,” Octavia says. “Also, Ms. Jasmine, our world-renowned executive chef Élodie Boulleauand and her team are on call at any hour and delighted to respond to any requests and—oh, I almost forgot, one more thing,” she says. “If you have time, please enjoy your private rooftop heated relaxation pool accessed just to the right of your balcony terrace.”
“A pool!” I say. “Can we go swimming?” I blurt out.
Movie Star/Supermodel, who I didn’t think was listening, suddenly pipes in from across the room. “Swimming?” she says, glancing up. “Since when do you like swimming? Please!” She laughs. Then her voice gets sterner and she looks at me hard. “Focus, Jasmine. Do I need to remind you? This is not a vacation. We are here on business!”
Octavia shoots me a sympathetic look and walks toward the elevator doors and flashes her key card. “Excellent, ladies. Then I will leave you to enjoy and get some rest.”
The elevator doors open and she steps in.
Movie Star/Supermodel stands and strides by me in her towering heels and steps onto the elevator with Octavia. She is facing us as the doors begin to close. “Dani, please, for goodness’ sake, make sure she is not dressed like that for the press! First impressions are millions of dollars! Look the part. And Jasmine, please go over your talking points.”
For a second there is a long, uncomfortable, heavy silence.
Right before the doors shut, Hank sticks his arm in and stops them from closing, holding the elevator from leaving without him on it.
I stay where I am, facing all three of them: Movie Star/Supermodel with her fur coat on her shoulders is already looking down at her phone. Octavia Grace, with her charming smile, has her hands clasped politely in front of her. Hank has one arm on the door and turns and looks back toward me with a warm nod. His voice is soft and kind, not what I expect.
“I will be back to escort you to the press junket in”—he looks down at his watch—“two hours.” Then he steps in through the two golden elevator doors, and the three of them are gone.
“Ughh—” Dani looks at me and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Jazz. Honestly, sometimes your mom just makes me so angry.”
She is silent for a minute. “You know, I just want to say—” Dani stops and smiles at me. “You are just right. There is nothing wrong with you at all.”
My heart jumps. It’s such a relief to hear those words.
I look back at her but I don’t know what to say, so I drop down onto the humongous bed and prop one of the fancy white pillows under my head.
Dani collapses onto the bed too. It’s massive. She’s way over on one side and I’m a mile away on the other. We both are lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling. For a minute it’s quiet. Then she flips over onto her side, props her head up with her elbow, and looks at me. “You know what?” Dani’s eyes light up. “We need to fuel up!” She rolls over and reaches for the sleek black hotel phone and looks back at me. “What do you say? Some yummy comfort food, does that sound like a good plan?”
I nod and turn over onto my side, copying Dani, propping up my head with my arm. “But—um . . . Dani, uhhh—there’s just one more thing. . . .”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate. But if I don’t ask for help, this is going to get much harder. I look back at Dani holding the phone, her long, dark hair spilling around her shoulders. Her eyes are glowing. She radiates warmth. I take a breath, then blurt it out: “Will you help me go over my talking points?”
Dani looks back at me with her crazy big smile. “Oh my gosh, silly, of course I will!”
29.
ONE HOUR LATER DANI IS still prepping me for the interviews as the two of us, and a very serious-looking Hank, ride down the golden elevator to the Queen’s Suite for my press interviews. Dani has changed into a simple black dress, leggings, and matching black leather boots. Her long, dark, wavy hair is tied up into a loose thick knot, like she tossed it up in two seconds. Easy. Her lips have a hint of glossy shimmer, and her cheeks are flush and rosy pink.
“So, today we have all European journalists, and first up is that chick from Norway. We had her in Paris, remember? She can be a little intimidating. She asks a lot of questions. Don’t let her crush your self-confidence—just be you, okay? Be yourself.”
Be myself. I think about that, and let out a soft laugh until I remember this is not exactly a laughing matter. How am I going to pull this off? I have trouble saying what I think even when I’m me! How am I going to do it being someone else?
Dani looks at me. “Hey, I believe in you,” she says. “Trust yourself—” She stops and her eyes flash. “This is your life. You get to respond however you want. Or not.” Dani reaches into her big black leather bag and pulls something out. “Lucky lip balm?” she offers.
I take the cap off the tube and apply it using the elevator’s mirrored walls to guide me. I smile as I do it because, well, I can’t believe I’m in a gold elevator wearing a candy-pink frilly dress, a leopard-print faux fur jacket, striped tights, and platform leather boots that come up to my knees! I cannot believe I’m Jasmine! I have the best hair ever. It’s super-duper curly and totally awesome! I move closer to the elevator wall and stare into the mirror at my reflection. I carefully apply the beeswax along my lips and seriously almost start laughing.
Dani lets out a playful giggle as she stands back and watches. “Five interviews in a row, lip hydration is totally key!”
Five interviews! My stomach twists up in a knot. I hand back the lip gloss and look up at Dani. She is calm and cool like she has all the faith in the world in me.
“What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?”
Dani smiles big. “What’s the worst thing that can happen? You have one of those really awkward moments? I kind of love those!” Her voice is bright. “Perfect is boring. I actually prefer people to be real, don’t you?”
“Um, I guess?” I say. I guess I do.
I glance at Hank, then back at Dani.
“Dani, please,” I plead. “Can’t you just go instead of me?” I am embarrassed when I hear how desperate I sound. My heart begins to pound so loudly I can feel it in my chest, and my legs are shaking in my platform boots.
Dani plants both her hands on my shoulders and holds them there. She takes a big deep breath and smiles at me for a really long time without speaking.
I copy her again.
I smile.
I breathe.
Dani keeps her eyes right on mine. “Just look at all that sparkly goodness! You are totally amazing,” she tells me as the elevator doors begin to slide open. “Just be you, okay? You’re gonna rock it!”
Octavia Grace greets us when we step off the elevator, and we follow her down a quiet red-carpeted hallway through a door marked The Queen’s Suite. The room is smaller than our penthouse but super-deluxe, and there is no bed. It’s more like a very proper living room furnished with two red velvet armchairs that sit facing each other. In between the chairs is a polished brass table with two china teacups and a vase filled with a dozen tall long-stemmed pink and yellow roses. Behind the table is a giant blown-up poster of Jasmine’s new Christmas album, Holiday Songs, propped up and leaning against an artist easel. The walls are painted yellow and the curtains are drawn open, exposing a backdrop of the same floor-to-ceiling sweeping views of London.
“Ms. Jasmine?” Octavia Grace is speaking to me. “Would you care for some tea before your first interview?”
I glance at Dani as if she knows what I want more than I do. But Dani is gazing out the window at the view.
“Um, sure,” I answer, turning back and smiling politely. “Tea sounds good.”
“Splendid!” says Octavia Grace, pouring tea into my gold-leafed porcelain cup.
I lift the steaming-hot cup to my lips and try to turn up Dani’s voice in my head: Just be you, okay? Be yourself.
Ten minutes later more people come into the room. Movie Star/Supermodel is here, sitting in the corner, occasionally looking up with a prickly glare. Hank is parked beside the door to the suite. Octavia Grace and three hotel guys dressed in suits and ties are standing with their hands folded in front, no smiles. The room is quiet except for the faint sound of the sirens outside the window. They are not like the sirens you hear at home. They are jolting and they are making my heart quiver.
When the journalist walks across the room to greet me, I awkwardly jump to my feet. I don’t know what comes over me, but I somehow know to stand up, walk toward her, look her in the eye, and firmly shake her hand. “So nice to meet you,” I offer, and wait for her to sit down, before I drop back into the red velvet armchair and face her.
The journalist is from Norway. It’s the first thing she tells me. “Gledelig Jul,” she says, and explains is “Happy Christmas” in Norwegian.
“Gledelig Jul,” I fumble back, and laugh because I’m in Jasmine’s body, sipping tea and speaking Norwegian at a press interview in the Queen’s Suite!!!
“Gledelig Jul, yes! Excellent!” the journalist says. She is wearing a pleated green dress and it’s supercute. Her English is nearly perfect. She has a charming accent. She reminds me of Tinker Bell from Peter Pan—a little sweet, a little sassy—I think to myself, as I watch her. She is small and slight and has short blond hair and light-green eyes. Honestly, she looks almost as nervous as I feel. I watch her fidget with her tan leather briefcase and electronic-looking recording gadget.
