The backstage area at the Dolby Theater was pandemonium. Or so I thought. As I looked around, it was actually organized chaos... it was like a living thing.. each frenzied cell a part of the greater whole.

I checked in at the stage door and was quickly picked up by my 'handlers' who were well briefed on Katherine's role in this massively choreographed event. Dennis had been absolutely right – of course... so I just tucked away my anxieties, did what I was told , and found my mind free to marvel at everything going on around me.

I was whisked to 'prep' which was a hair/makeup station, and in about 12 minutes looked more stunning than other crews had managed given multiple hours. Next my 'fembot' as I began to think of the near identical pleasant blonde handlers shuttling the VIPs from station to station, escorted me to wardrobe where I was squeezed into a skintight azure single shoulder gown that once again made me look like I had a lot more going on up top than I did. I found myself wishing that I really did, and wondered when I'd finally find the time to talk with Doctor Dale.

The fact that my actual involvement in this whole prep process pretty much consisted of 'step into this please... tummy IN...hold it... turn please... raise your arm... sit...' and other commands a first week kennel pup could master, gave me far too much time to ...reflect on my situation.... I almost used the term 'Navel Gaze' ...but given the revealing cut of this gown, that phrase cuts too close to true.

Once dressed and ...bejewelled, my fembot led me to the 'holding pen'. Actually it was a backstage reception room into which all the celebrities were herded. All the livestock metaphors are because that was how I chose to view this whole process. If I thought of myself alone in a room hobnobbing with Kate Moss, Heidi Klum, Elle MacPherson, Dianne Von Furstenberg, Cheryl Tiegs, Giselle Bunchen, Christie Brinkley, Gabrielle Reece, and a sea of familiar faces I couldn't connect with names.... well, if not for my little 'livestock ranch mind game' I would simply be too intimidated to breathe.

The room quickly sorted itself into two groups in my mind. Those who apparently knew Katherine, judging by their looks and conspicuous avoidance... and those who knew of her, judging by their wary approach and the unmistakable sense that they were ready to flee if the urban legends proved to be true. I thought of people gingerly reaching down to pet a strange pitbull, their curiosity trumping any sense of caution.

I think I succeeded in ….tempering... Katherine's rep without completely dispelling it. I was cordial but distant, seemingly distracted – which wasn't hard since the small talk was so shallow and mundane. I never flipped out on anyone, and I think a few were disappointed. A couple of girls seemed to actually be trying to goad me. During these encounters, I kept scanning the room for the friends who had dared them to 'tickle the dragon', and when I inevitably found them, I shot them an intense 'Katherine glare'. I don't know if Katherine actually has a glare, but if she doesn't, this should be IT, because the giggling friends wilted instantly and fled in different directions. Cyclops in X-Men had nothing on me.

I was so distracted by my little mind games that I was drifting through the crowd on autopilot and nearly audibly gasped when I realized I was passing a fresh flute of champagne from a nearby server to a chatty Jane Fonda who was sharing war stories of her Ciregna photo shoot during the filming of Barbarella.

Fortunately, Katherine had a reputation for many things, but being chatty or forthcoming was not one of them, so I seemed to get a reciprocity waiver when girls were sharing war stories. I could only nod my head and smile, thinking that everyone who thinks this is such an exotic, glamorous life, globe hopping and being publicly fabulous, should be a fly on these walls. This is probably slightly more glamorous than being a professional assassin. Then I chuckled to myself wondering which career choice involved more routine use of bleach and lye.

Once everyone was suitably 'lubricated', the champagne bar was closed and we were rounded up and herded out the back to a seemingly endless queue of black town cars and SUVs. Some girls chose to travel in packs, others went solo. There was never any doubt about Katherine's choice.

Why the limo queue seemed virtually endless became readily apparent. We were whisked around a few back streets only to make an orderly and near syncopated entrance in front of the Dolby theater to walk the red carpet media gauntlet. While it seemed like supermodels from across the globe converged on the red carpet in front of this auditorium, we really all just trooped out the back like widgets on a factory belt to make a splashy entrance while our limo sped off to take its place at the end of the queue, waiting to deliver the next Very Important Package.

The press gauntlet was less intimidating. I don't know whether I was getting more comfortable with them, or that their relationship with Katherine was less adversarial after the last few months. Still I did find myself dodging some questions about the 'pirate stunt' and more about the 'mystery date'. I quickly formulated a way to swat that question, asking everyone who inquired if they were from 'Wired'. When they shook their heads, I'd shrug and say 'Sorry. Can't discuss it.'

That worked until I actually encountered the reporter from Wired. What the hell was Wired doing at a fashion industry fete? I don't know about anyone else, but since I was bully bait as a little kid, panic always made me resourceful. I hesitated only a moment after the reporter confirmed that he was from Wired. I used my perplexed look to advantage, quickly leaning in to him and whispering “...and you don't already know? Are you sure you're really in the loop at work?”

His brow furrowed and suddenly any burning desire to grill Katherine about her date with the Billionaire was replaced by his own career paranoia. It was a bit mean of me, but it got him off my case.

I continued gliding down the crimson trail of traps and finally made my way to the lobby, where again we were queued for another line of photo ops with dignitaries in front of backdrops thick with the logos of corporate sponsors and media partners. We were then herded into groups to fill each row in the theater.

I was placed a few seats down from Rebecca Romijn and a few up from Cindy Crawford. I tried to divine the order to this, because I was sure there was nothing random about anything at this event. I looked down at our row - 'HH' - as we filed to our seats and smiled at the thought that maybe were in the Alliterative Row, but chatting briefly with the women on either side of me quickly dispelled that.

To my left was a stunning girl I hadn't seen at the champagne pre-reception. Turns out she was just 17 and discovered by Armando at 15. She was Georgian – the country. She told me her name, but there were so many syllables and it just tripped off her tongue so quickly, I didn't really get it. Thank goodness Katherine was notoriously bad with names. I did suggest that she consider shortening her professional name to a single word like Twiggy or Madonna or Kodak... since the theater had been renamed and the trademark was obviously available.

She laughed politely at my little joke and said that she and her people were seriously looking into doing just that, since she was only getting started and her face was becoming known, but she hadn't reached the point where she was named in any work she did. She figured she had a year or so before she had to worry about 'branding'. I suggested that when she did decide on a name, that she make sure that it was available on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook before she went public with it. She nodded and smiled, thanking me for the sage advice. She said she was excited to be here for so many reasons, and thankful for the chance to network and learn from so many models who had gone before her.

I reminded her that while at one time, all these women had been models, that many had gone on to excel in other fields, pointing out politicians, network executives, the occasional editor and industry entrepreneur. She nodded. “So much to learn about so much from so many”. I wasn't sure whether she was talking to me or herself, but since she said it in English, I presume it was at least partly meant for me. I just smiled and patted her arm.

“You'll go far.” I smiled.

The woman on the other side of me looked to be about 20, although there was something timeless about her. I couldn't place exactly where she was from by her accent, and her appearance seemed dark and exotic but with delicate features. Her jet black hair and hazel eyes made me think Mediterranean or Middle Eastern, but her high cheekbones and button nose struck me as more Scandinavian. When she introduced herself, I began to get it.

Marielle Hesse was from Argentina. She was kind of the Paris Hilton of the Pampas, and was now going from being a local celebrity to being an up and comer on the world scene. She was raised rich, but never spoiled. In fact she was kind of constantly reminded growing up how hard it had been for her ancestors to get to where they were and how easily it could all disappear. She was near-brainwashed with a strong work ethic and a near pathological need to be her best at everything she applied herself to.

I got the feeling that this girl would either have a life changing epiphany or a tragic breakdown before she hit 30. I tried some platitudes about balance and always listening to the inner voice.... never living her life to meet the expectations of others etcetera. She listened politely, but I could tell she wasn't ready.

Then it hit me how much of my own 'advice' I had never taken myself. I sighed and settled quietly into my seat to watch the festivities.

It was lavish. And long. Armando had had an amazing career, growing up in war ravaged Italy and quickly demonstrating his two talents; a keen eye for composition with an ability to capture the essence of his subject, and a knack for being in the right place at just the right time. His stark photos of waiflike French girls, actually the results of years of wartime hardship... the burgeoning self confidence and swagger of Europe in the 1950s as the scars began to heal and the joie de vivre began to return... the heady anything is possible 1960s punctuated by his bold use of color and outrageous image composition capturing the peacocks of Carnaby Street. This guy really was a one-man time capsule, and I felt that each one of us here – myself as Katherine's surrogate – were all a part of something much bigger than ourselves. It was living history splashed on the giant screen before us, and everyone here had been a part of it.

While the montage was still going on, I noticed the rows in front of us quietly emptying, and in time we too were ushered out of our row into the line leading backstage. And back to pandemonium.

Since we were already seated in order, it was very efficient as we came backstage and were handed our garment bags after just one question “Classic or Contemporary?”. I noticed some of the older women chose Contemporary, but the group around me all chose Classic. I figured 'how can you lose with Classic?' so I chose it too. The wardrobe aide regarded me up and down for just the briefest moment, then apparently agreed with my choice and nodding slightly, handed me the white garment bag with my name on it. I followed the other girls back into a scene that all my old bullies would kill to see: a room filled with, like the sign said, 'The World's Most Iconic Women', in various stages of undress, getting into the outfits in their garment bags and fixing their makeup for the next stage of the event.

It took me a moment to realize that I wasn't the least bit aroused. I did feel a twinge of envy here or there as I witnessed the staggering beauty of some of these world-class models. But I was mostly trying to find a free spot to change and touch up my own makeup.

My jaw dropped when I unzipped the garment bag.

“Classic huh? Ballsy.” the voice to my left laughed. I turned to see a grinning Rebecca Romijn zipping herself into a stunning Versace gown.

“Of course I had it easy, since my 'Classic Ciregna image' is this iconic dress... I imagined most of the girls who had more ….creative... shoots would opt for a Contemporary look. ...All but the younger ones.... or the brave ones.” she grinned at me.

I remembered Dennis showing me that backstage shot of Katherine 'getting her wings' and wondered if these were replicas or the originals from that legendary Victoria's Secret ad.

I didn't think it would be possible to fight my way back up the assembly line and declare 'I've changed my mind'. No matter what I wanted, this was going to happen. I now understood why the wardrobe woman looked me up and down before handing me the garment bag. Her nod was an assessment that I could pull this costume off. Again, I was too numb to feel personally self-conscious. I just didn't want to embarrass Katherine.

Since there wasn't much to the 'costume' it didn't take too long to get changed, hanging my own gown back in the bag and swapping out the jewelry. Rebecca helped me with the wings, giving a broad smile as she stood back to regard me.

“Ballsy!” she grinned. “You still got it. And you're still not afraid to flaunt it. Not many could pull this off after so many years.... but you.....” she just shook her head grinning as she turned and walked toward the stage, motioning for me to follow.

We got back into our seat order as we queued up backstage, and Marielle the spoiled girl gasped as she lined up beside me.

“NOW I know you!” she whispered as she took her place beside me. “My older brother had your poster in his room!” suddenly she seemed impressed by something.

“I'm so flattered to know that.” I replied deadpan.

She threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh and turned bright crimson. Then she smiled up sheepishly at me.

I smiled as much as I thought would be appropriate for Katherine. Basically a pencil thin smile and a wink. She relaxed and smiled back warmly. There may be hope for this girl yet.

Apparently this was the part of the tribute where they introduced the 'iconic women' and we all marched under a giant screen projecting the original iconic Ciregna image beside a live video of our walk across the stage. The women from the 60s and 70s, and most of the 80s icons chose 'contemporary' and it was an interesting contrast to see the hippiechicks, Carnaby street mods, disco divas, punks and new age sexbombs contrasted with the flawlessly respectable middle aged women walking out on the other half of the screen.

By the time they got to the 2000s, most of the women still either opted for contemporary, or like Rebecca Romijn, matched an elegant iconic image of youth with the successful confident woman who could still pull off the look. Then they called Katherine and I headed out into the blinding light, thinking to myself, what's the point of the flamboyant outfit without the attitude to match it? I knew the Victoria's Secret strut. I had seen it enough in ads and TV specials, and I knew Katherine was no stranger to it. That confident stride of the woman who exuded self confidence and comfort in her own skin ...and little else.

The lights were so bright I couldn't see much but the marks on the floor that I was to follow across the stage to the rows of icons as we each took our moment in the spotlight to pay tribute to the genius of Armando. I may not have been able to see a thing, but my ears worked fine. Not being able to see the auditorium full of people helped my nerves, but hearing the thunderous uproar of surprise and ...applause... as the image of 17 year old Katherine and the live image of me hit the big screen, gave me a big boost of confidence and maybe put a little extra strut in my step. I did not embarrass Katherine. I fell a great sense of relief and a slight swell of pride at that.

Once the adrenaline rush of the terrifying stage walk subsided, one thing became undeniably clear. It was COLD in the Dolby Theater. At least for someone wearing only a push up bra, g-string, stiletto sandals and glitter. I wished I could huddle into my wings like a pigeon on a winter day, but even they were functionally useless. The Georgian girl beside me scowled a little and brushed her finger along the gooseflesh on my arms. I just smiled bravely and gritted my teeth so they wouldn't chatter. It caused a small commotion as everyone around me glanced in my direction. I saw Rebecca Romijn discreetly mouth 'are you turning BLUE?'

I smiled bravely and mouthed back 'I wouldn't DARE, that's YOUR thing'. She threw her head back with a grin and warmed me as much as she could with the smile in her eyes.

It was only about 15 minutes, but it felt much much longer. Eventually Armando Ciregna came out, made his gracious speech and turned to thank us all. We all applauded, I don't know whether it was for him or ourselves, but it didn't seem to matter. I was just fantasizing about getting back to my hotel and wrapping myself in Katherine's largest, coziest sweater. The band played, the curtain fell, the house lights rose and we filed out to get back into our 'civvies'. As we were walking back I muttered to one of the girls “I can't feel my toes.” She looked at me blankly. “...Or my boobs.” I added. That brought a smile.

“From what I hear, neither can anyone else!” Rebecca shot back with a wicked grin. “Except for billionaire nerds.”

“You're a Mean Girl!” I grinned. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

“You're funny.” she retorted. “I wouldn't have guessed!”

“Frostbite does funny things to a person. What the hell was I thinking?”

“How can you go wrong with 'Classic'?” she grinned.

“Yeah. Next time I'm reading the entire prep package. Meanwhile I have a minion to crucify.”

She laughed again. “Let it go. Soon the feeling will come back to your fingers and toes, and by the time this airs, you'll probably remember this fondly. And have another great war story.”

“By the time this ...airs?”

“God. You really didn't read the packet, did you?”

I shook my head. “...my people....”

“Well, your people should talk to YOU from time to time! This was taped for a special on Bravo in about a month.”

“Oh.” I was really glad I didn't know that beforehand. “I think I want to throw up”.

“Well you picked the wrong place, I'm sure the line for the vomitorium's around the block. Just sit down, I'll be right back.”

True to her word, she returned moments later with a steaming cardboard cup of terrible coffee.

“I'm not sure whether to drink it or soak my fingers in it.” I kidded. Rebecca smiled and handed me my garment bag.

“Just wrap your fingers around the hot cup and inhale the steam.” she smiled.

“Thanks”

She shrugged it off.

“No, I mean it. Thanks. …..For everything.”

She smiled “My pleasure. This was fun. You're not at all what I expected.”

“Who is?” I shrugged. She thought about that a moment, and nodded a smile.

We quietly got dressed, returned our garment bags to wardrobe, where they were inspected, inventoried and we were handed receipts. We then walked towards the exit.

“Are you.... going to any of the after parties?....” she asked

I shook my head. “No. I'm just looking forward to getting back to my hotel and falling asleep in a steaming tub.” I smiled wearily.

“A girl after my own heart.”

“You?”

She shook her head. “Gotta get home and tuck in my girls” she smiled.

“This...” I motioned around the two of us walking to our cars “....it seems so removed from.... “ and I turned my head back towards the auditorium.

“Yeah...” she smiled, lost in thought. “But it was a helluva ride.”

I nodded. Then she broke out in a wicked grin

“But this is SO much better!”

I waved as she broke left to head home to her family and walked in a bit of an introspective daze to my own driver and car.

It seemed like ages since I left Monterey. I slept like the dead and called Dennis in the morning.

“Can I PLEASE come home now?” I whined.

“How was your first day away from home?” he teased.

“...fine....” I replied in a small voice.

“Did you make any friends?” he kidded.

“....maybe one....” I responded in my unsure little kid voice.

Dennis gasped. The charade ended abruptly.

“Katherine doesn't DO friends!”

“I know. I never forgot. Don't worry. I didn't ...make a friend...” I said in an exaggerated voice.

“Well, THAT'S a relief!”

“We just kind of bonded at the ...fashion thing... you know... foxhole friendship... nothing more. We just had each others back. Well, mostly she had my back. It's not like we'll be exchanging Christmas or Hannukah cards. She's not going to ask me to babysit or anything.” Suddenly I found myself thinking how cool that would be.

“Exactly who is it that we're talking about?”

“Um.... Becks. Becky.. Becca... uh... Rebecca....”

“Rebecca.....? does this 'Becks' have a last name?”

“.....Romijn.....” I peeped out.

I think I would have heard Dennis' gasp all the way from Monterey even without a phone.

“You made FRIENDS with Rebecca Romijn???”

“NO! I told you. I remembered, Katherine doesn't DO friends.”

“Yeah. And you also remember I told you to 'just be yourself'!'” He sighed. “So you made friends with Rebecca Romijn.....”

“No! Really it wasn't like that. ….She just helped me with my wings.”

“OHMIGOD! You chose 'CLASSIC???' Oh. My. GOD!!!! We talked about this!!!!”

“No. We didn't. I can assure you that if we talked about that, I would definitely remember. All you said was 'just be yourself. They'll tell you what to do.”

“They told you to go 'Classic'???”

“No. They asked me. You never warned me that they'd ask anything. So I said Classic... thinking...”

“How can you go wrong with Classic?” We both uttered it together, which would be funny under any other circumstances.

“So you wore the wings?”

I said nothing. Which said it all.

“So how did it ...go....?”

“I guess you're just going to have to tune into the Bravo special next month like everyone else to find out. ….And thanks for telling me about that by the way....”

“Look, I figured you were freaked enough by the whole 'mingling with Katherine's past' thing... I didn't tell you about the runway bit or the TV taping because you were already stressed enough and I figured you were already ….a flight risk.”

“Not until they got the wings on me”

“Ha. ha... HA.” he sneered sarcastically, but I could already tell he was beginning to calm down because our playful banter was returning.

“Yes. I was seriously freaked. But someone talked me off the ledge and convinced me that I could do this.”

“....'Becks'?....”

“YES. And thanks to her support, I believe I did Katherine proud.”

“Oh you DO, do you?”

I wasn't taking his bait. I remained silent and finally he relented.

“Yeah, you probably did....” he sighed. “She knew you would. Still, I'd like to see the look on her face when she sees you in those wings!”

“It doesn't air for a month or so. Our Asia gig should be done by then. You probably will. And I'll be back home. I do kind of hope someone in Australia picks it up. I'd like to see it.”

“.......”

“....Hello? Are you still there?”

“...Yeah. I'm still here....”

“Oh. I thought the call dropped. So. Can I come home now?”

“Yeah. Yes. ….home...” he seemed distracted. Then I guess he refocussed.
“You want me to send the Jet Ranger?”

“Can I just catch a shuttle and you send someone to pick me up at the nearest airport?”

“Um. Sure. I'll send the ticket details and boarding pass to your phone. See you soon.”

“I'm looking forward to it!” I made no attempt to keep the longing from my voice. It had been a crazy 24 hours, but I was so glad it would soon be over.

“Sure thing. See you soon. …..when you get....home” He still seemed lost in thought and I wondered what set that off.

I forgot that flying commercially meant going through TSA scanners. I had a moment of anxiety as I remembered Dez kidding about it.... then conceding that they probably wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Which – thank God - they didn't. That gave me more satisfaction than I thought it should. I really needed to sit down with Doctor Dale.

As luck would have it, as we were taxiing to the arrival gate and I turned my phone back on. I had a text from Doctor Dale.

Back in L.A. Call me before you head home and we can get together for that talk.

Oh, hell.