The red carpet before the stars come out is like high noon before the big showdown. If you squint you can almost see tumbleweeds blowing down the path. Print journalists, corralled like horses in their stalls, whinny in the heat, unused to so much sunlight on their skin. On-air hosts greet one another like wary townspeople with melting makeup trying not to sweat on themselves.
At around 2:30 p.m., the carpet opens to the talent, and the first hardy pioneers venture forth. Publicists ask if anyone wants to talk to producers, the talent behind the talent, but everyone passes. Then the beautiful people start to appear, shimmering in the heat. Lindsay Pulsipher from “Hatfields & McCoys” appears, a vision in orange Bibhu Mohapatra. Anna Chlumsky from “Veep” looks glorious in a lacy Christian Siriano. She grows passionate when discussing fantasy football.
Apparently nobody warned these actresses that in Los Angeles, you never go to a party on time.
Within minutes, the carpet becomes as crowded as the streets of Pamplona during the running of the bulls, although not quite as treacherous. Publicists go from begging for interviews to choosing who gets to ask what of whom. The run has begun.