Gabriela Martins - Like a Love Song

Nothing can prepare you for the bright lights of fame. Nothing. When Im stepping onto a stage, the spotlight is a warm embrace. But when Im walking a red carpet, the spotlight is cold, the cameras flashes little daggers of ice, making my heart speed up in turn.

Im lucky Im not alone tonight.

Trent is by my side as we pull up to the E! Peoples Choice Awards, but it takes him a moment to look away from the paparazzis cameras and turn to me. He smiles, his Hollywood-white teeth bright. Deliberately, he puts his arm around me, and the butterflies in my stomach calm down. I feel elevated.

Were immediately guided from our limo by security people wearing black suits and earpieces. We barely have time to exchange another look before were stepping onto the international symbol of fame and fortune: the red carpet.

Natalie, when is your new album coming out? asks one of the paparazzi.

Natalie! Over here! another shouts. Are you excited about tonight? Do you think youll win Female Artist of the Year?

Natalie!

Natalie, over here!

Natalie!

The trick to posing on the red carpet is to suck in your breath, plaster on your most photogenic expressionfor me, an open smileand ignore everything the paparazzi say. Nobody looks good mid-speech, and this is all about looking good. Force your eyes to stay open, but somehow make it seem natural. Youll get used to the flashing lights eventually, seeing nothing but white and black dots in your vision. When that happens, only smile brighter.

One foot in front of the other. I can totally do this. Breathe in, breathe out.

Im wearing a dress with an asymmetrical hem, shorter in the front and flowing down to the ground in the back, lilac tones deepening into purple. The torso is strapless and covered in what my stylist, Erin, assured me were tasteful sequins. The dress is sexy and beautiful, but it doesnt make me very comfortablewith a flat chest, Im always worried a strapless dress is going to fall down. My heels are golden stilettos, and Im glad that at least these arent pointy. Theyre open sandals that show off my toes painted in lilac to match my skirt.

Trent Nicholson! Trent! another paparazzo shouts. Are you upset you havent been nominated this year? Do you think your last movie deserved it?

Trents grip on my waist tightens to the point of discomfort, but Im too busy counting breaths in my head to look at him. Four seconds in, hold for seven, let go for eight.

Tonight is my night. I have to lookperfect.

I glance up at him and watch a frown pass over his face as he hurries forward, pulling me along with him. I hesitate, giving him a small confused smile. What are you doing? I try to telepathically communicate with my eyes. This is the time for my solo shots. Go right along.

Trent rolls his eyes and sighs, but eventually nods.

The Great American Sweethearts.

Natalie, over here!

The voices pull me back in, so I let myself drown in them. I turn sideways, showing off my bare back, tilting my head toward the cameras just enough that no belly rolls will show. I have rehearsed this a thousand times. Only turn twenty degrees. Never forty-five.

This is going to be okay. Gripping my Chanel purse close to my body, I repeat the mantra: Its going to be okay. Ive worked all my life for tonight. And tonight is the night that Ill find out if it was all worth it. If Ive succeeded or failed.

If Im the Female Artist of the Year, ora nominee.

Not Latin Artist of the Year. Female Artist of the Year, period.

A woman with her hair in a tight bun beckons me forward, and the next person, a hot star from a new HBO series, steps onto the red carpet. And like that, the paparazzi have a new focus.

I keep walking as they scream, Savannah! Is it true that youre dating your costar? Savannah! Im still on the red carpet before the venue, but here the scene changes from paparazzi to mingling artists and TV cameras with red-carpet correspondents asking who youre wearing. My stomach turns as I scan the space for Trent.

Away from the flashing cameras, I feel a little safer, but Im still clutching my purse for dear life. I need some reassurance, some positivity. I need to be told that I look great and that I will win tonight. I need to find my boyfriend.

Finally, I spot his blond, combed-back hair and his Armani suit. As I start toward him, the Ariana Grande song thats been blaring through the speakers fades out and my latest hit, Together Forever, starts playing. My face lights up immediately. Its a remixed version by my good friend Padmaaka DJ Lotusand hearing my lyrics blasted over the sound system eases my nerves. People like Trent will never understand what its like to walk into a room full of people who are completely confident in their place in the world and feel like you dont belong. Knowing that theyre all listening to my voice telling them that I do belong, as much as they do? Thats power. And its exhilarating in ways I cant even begin to describe.

I hold my head high as my voice on the track punctuates my steps. I want to get to Trent before the chorus, though he must have recognized my song already.

My steps slow when I see that hes talking to someone. Reese Brown, the newest Angel, a philanthropist who loves talking about natural beauty on her Instagram and has a huge following for posting no-makeup photos.

Of course, she has an objectively perfect face and has mastered the art of the selfie.