Tommy laughed lightly but his raised eyebrow was a warning. “Which part?”
Seacrest spread his hands apologetically. “Are you really dating two sisters at the same time? That’s awfully dramatic.”
Tommy looked confused. “I’m not dating anyone right now.”
Ouch. True, but still, ouch.
“So, it’s all made up?” Seacrest asked. “I’m not saying I’m surprised, but reality TV tends to blur the lines.”
Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not honestly sure what you mean. I haven’t been watching any TV lately, and reality TV isn’t really my favorite.”
“Of course not,” Seacrest replied smoothly. His smile was big and white. “You’ve been a bit busy lately, haven’t you? Are you nervous about tonight?”
Tommy nodded. “More nervous than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Well, you hide it well, my friend. You look great. Good luck.”
“Thanks Ryan. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
No one asked him about the “baby.” I was grateful for that. I could still barely believe that my sister had the gall to throw something like that at the wall and expect it to stick. But it did. The tabloids had been going crazy about it. It was everywhere. Tommy’s people had even put out a statement that the reality show was purely fictional, and he barely knew Quincy Wilson. His statement even accounted for every second of his time during the period the “baby” might have been “conceived.” It was pretty obvious that he couldn’t be the father. But I didn’t even think there was a baby. I knew for a fact that Quincy had an IUD, and those things were pretty damn reliable.
Either way, the plotline for the next show was almost certainly going to revolve around Quincy’s paternity question. She’d opened a brilliant pandora’s box, unleashing more of her chaos upon the world, and no doubt gleefully unrepentant about it.
It all made me feel positively ill. But that was in the future. Tonight, all attention was on Tommy.
46
Cindy
The Oscars ceremony had done away with hosts a couple of years back. Tonight, the show started with a performance by Derek Prince and Selena Gomez, singing a duet. Derek wasn’t nominated in this category—Selena was—but they sounded great together. He could really sing. Afterwards, many jokes were made about him being one Oscar away from EGOTs. He laughed nervously at them.
Then the awards started, one after another. People’s dreams were coming true, or being dashed, right before my eyes. I’d watched the Oscars before, plenty of times, but not like this. This year, the results mattered more than anything else in my life.
But there’s something really bizarre about the Oscars. It’s like something from another era, with the long presentations and the speeches and everything. They could just announce the winners on the internet, but I guess that would be too easy. Besides, watching the actors react was fascinating.
My favorite part was the orchestra slowly nudging people off the stage when they rambled on too long during the acceptance speeches. No one, not even the most famous of actors or directors, was immune to the orchestra. The orchestra had no mercy. They would keep the show on schedule no matter the cost.
As I stuffed my face with cereal and then with the six-pack of incredibly cheap beer I’d purchased for the occasion, the show moved through the categories. Best Supporting Actress was first. Then the Best Documentary, Best Costume, Best Makeup (Isabelle won!). Sound Editing. Sound Mixing. Film Editing. Soon it was time for Best Supporting Actor.
Derek Prince was up for his award. The presenter and winner of best supporting actress from last year, Renee Zellweger, came out on stage. She was wearing a fiery orange gown and a giant smile. She said some things, told a boring joke, and then read out the nominees. Derek Prince squirmed in his seat.
And then he lost.
The winner, Ian McKellen, accepted his award with dignity and gravitas. This was his second win in the category, but he didn’t seem at all bored by it. He was typically gracious. “And congratulations to my fellow nominees,” he said solemnly as he stood at the podium, smiling broadly. “Particularly to the young Mr. Prince who I’m sure will have a cabinet full of Oscars by the time he is old, grizzled, and gray like me. I look forward to watching your career.”
The camera cut to Tommy and Derek when Derek lost. The two brothers were sitting next to each other. They exchanged a wordless look and then Derek shrugged. It was Tommy’s chance now. Would he be the first Prince to ever win an Oscar? The answer would be coming soon.
The categories soldiered on one after another. I nibbled on Cheerios nervously between gulps of light beer. Best Animated Film. Best Animated Short Film. Screenplay. Score. Song. I watched, rapt. And later, rapt and tipsy.
I wanted Tommy to win. No, I needed him to win. The idea that I might have ruined his chances ate at me. I hated the idea that my toxicity could have rubbed off on him. If he didn’t win tonight, I’d always wonder if it was my fault.
As I watched the ceremony stretch into its third hour of nonstop drama, Paulina’s words came back to haunt me. I was transported back to the beautiful, expensive French restaurant in Napa. I could almost taste the bubbly, pink wine on my tongue.
Elaine says that being near you will mean Tommy won’t win the Oscar for best actor.
So, I’d given him up. Even though it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, I’d walked away from the only man I’d ever loved.
The academy members want to see someone win best actor that reflects well on them, the voters. They want somebody classy. Somebody that epitomizes what they think an actor should be. It’s not all categories that are scrutinized this hard, either. Nobody cares who wins Best Song. But the big ones? Best Actor, Best Director, Best Picture, those are Political.
Your family is toxic. And you’re toxic by association.
I could never belong next to Tommy. I wasn’t classy. I wasn’t even average. My family was trashy in the extreme, and that taint alone was enough to jeopardize Tommy’s chances. I prayed the Academy members didn’t hold me too harshly against him.
We were getting close now to Tommy’s category. The cameras swept over the audience now and then, sometimes lingering on a member of the Prince family. Peter looked happy enough. Holden looked bored. Derek looked disappointed. Connor looked grossed out. And Tommy? Tommy’s expression was totally unreadable. I had no idea how to interpret his face, except that I wanted to kiss him and make him smile again. But I couldn’t. I’d never kiss him again.
Before the Best Actress category, Hugh Jackman and Kristen Chenoweth came on and performed one of the other songs nominated. Their performance left hardly a dry eye in the house. But I just wanted it to be over. I wanted them to get on with it already.
Best Actress was a foregone conclusion. Last year’s best actor winner, Eddie Redmayne, presented Lupita Nyong'o with yet another Oscar for her collection. She deserved it and all, but they could have just mailed it to her because there was no competition in her category this year and everyone had known for months that she’d win it. She was still gracious and humble about it. But come on. She was always going to win.
Finally, when my patience for all the glitter and camp was just about to snap, we were finally at Best Actor. The winner from last year’s best actress category, Margot Robbie, came out on stage. She was wearing a long, blue, rhinestone covered evening gown.
Eat your heart out Quincy, I thought to myself. I knew that she’d sell her soul to be Margot Robbie right now. But she’d never get her wish. Margot Robbie could act. All Quincy could do is lie, and it wasn’t even all that entertaining. The ratings for her stupid reality show had been tanking lately. I hoped it would get cancelled soon.
“It’s an honor to be back out on this stage,” Robbie was saying, smiling at the eager faces of Hollywood in front of her. “Here are the nominees for the performance of an actor in a leading role…”
The clips played. They were all lovely.
; Idris Elba was nominated this year. So was Stanley Tucci, Sam Rockwell, Willem Dafoe, and, of course, Tommy. They were all great, I’m sure. But they weren’t Tommy Prince.
I watched his movie. He played a plague doctor at the height of the black death in Paris, trying desperately to understand why ‘miasma’ didn’t seem to make one bit of difference in who lived and who died. His character arc had revolved around his relationship with a young, enigmatic midwife who some said was a witch. She’d tried desperately to impart on him that washing hands before delivering babies seemed to result in lower infant mortality and to convince him that there might be something invisible—not bad air (consequently also the name of the movie)—but something else that resulted in illness, something that could be spread and lived on people’s hands. He’d thought she was crazy. Everybody died at the end, except her.
The clip they picked was from the end of the movie. In it, Tommy’s character, Vincent, dispersed a crowd of starving, desperate peasants that thought burning the midwife, Minette, played expertly by Saoirse Ronan, would halt the plague. He killed it.
His performance was impassioned, beautiful, and desperate. He stood in front of the people with their torches and pitch forks and argued them down from the brink of murder. He appealed to their humanity and collective sanity and he won them over, pulling off his creepy-ass bird mask and letting them see his face for almost the first time. At this point in the film he himself was beginning to succumb to plague. He had the early symptoms and knew, based on what he had seen, that he probably would not survive. Because he respected her beliefs without sharing them, he locked her inside, alone, not knowing he was saving her.
“And the Academy Award goes to…”
I leaned forward. My pulse pounded. My breath caught.
Commercial break.
Dammit.
47
Tommy
“And the Academy Award for an actor in a leading role goes to Thomas Prince.”
The crowd erupted in joyful applause. At my side, my brothers cheered for me. They even gave me a standing ovation. I’d done it. I’d actually fucking done it. For a moment I was frozen with the weight of it. Then I knew what I needed to do.
“This is Thomas Prince’s first nomination and first win,” the disembodied announcer was saying in a booming voice. The music swelled to give me time to move. People gestured to me and I followed the directions like I’d just forgotten how to walk. I found my feet with difficulty. How did women do this in long gowns and heels? I could barely do it at all.
I stumbled blindly up on stage, somehow managing not to faceplant on the slippery stairs. A pretty, grinning model in an evening gown handed me a statue, and I have to say, it was a lot heavier than I expected. It was a really nice statue. Solid. Very shiny. Expensive looking. I groped my way to the podium and blinked up into the cameras, and then out to the crowd. All of Hollywood was happy for me. It should have been the moment of greatest pride and joy in my entire life. It wasn’t. But it was definitely something.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, staring at the Oscar in my hand like it might evaporate into smoke. Was I seriously doing this right now? “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
I fumbled in my jacket pocket for the short speech I’d prepared. I swallowed. I was glad I’d written it down beforehand. Because this was not a low stress environment. The lights nearly blinded me.
“This is intimidating,” I joked, looking out at the assembled Hollywood royalty before me. “Terrifying actually. I, um, I have to thank my family. Especially my mother, who I know is watching from heaven. Without them, none of this would have been remotely possible.”
People clapped. Cheered. Smiled. They were so happy.
I wondered what my mom would have made of all this. She’d died just as I was getting started in Hollywood. I liked to think she’d be proud of me. And I knew she would be proud of what I was about to do next.
“I especially need to thank my uncle, Connor, for getting me into this industry and helping me at the beginning of my career. He deserves this award far more than I do.”
I saw my uncle out in the crowd. He clapped for me, smiling. Everyone did.
Hooray me. Congratulations to me for selling my soul for fifteen years. Was it worth it? I didn’t think so.
“I also need to thank my brother, Derek. It’s because of him, and a dumb bet that we made fifteen years ago in our Stanford dorm room, that I’m here tonight.”
Derek was smiling at me. He was happy for me, not resentful, not jealous. Just happy.
I took a deep breath.
Do or die.
It was time to win Cindy back or lose her forever.
“You see,” I told the assembled Academy members, “I really do owe Derek. I never really wanted to be an actor. But Derek and I made a bet. He said he thought he could win an Oscar before me. Well, guess what Derek? I win. You lose.”
The audience laughed and clapped for me. I wanted to scream. I felt like I was floating above my body in a strange trance that I couldn’t awaken from. I needed to wake up. This was the most pivotal moment of my life.
“But you should have won, Derek,” I continued, shaking my head and grasping at clarity. “Because my heart really isn’t in this and yours still is. I’ve been circling this decision for a while and this is a good opportunity to come out with it. It took this Oscars season to admit it to myself, but I’ve been knowing for a while that this wasn’t my path.” The audience looked unsure now. I continued. “I’ve loved my career in Hollywood. But I don’t love it anymore.” The smiles in the audience turned to frowns. “Because winning an Academy Award has cost me something that I don’t think I can ever get back, although I’m going to try. This town is so political, so fake, and we’re all so tied up in our own fantasies that we’re better than other people, classier, fancier. That we’re above other people. We’ve pretended it’s a meritocracy, but it isn’t. The Academy Awards are the world’s biggest popularity contest, and secretly we all know it’s rigged. I’m not sure the people watching at home know how twisted it all is. How political. How elitist. How cutthroat. But I’m over it.” I shrugged my shoulders, feeling weirdly lighter. “Thank you to the Academy for this honor, but what a person has to go through to win it is obscene. If there’s one thing I can say to you and the folks watching at home, it’s this: anyone who tells you that Hollywood is glamorous just hasn’t seen the dark side yet.”
The room was pin drop quiet. But I wasn’t quite done yet. I had a few more things I needed to say before I fucked off forever from Hollywood.
“Winning this award has required fifteen years of hard work and perseverance. I’m humbled and grateful to see it be rewarded. But in order to make sure that I got the votes I needed, I had to appease the powers of Hollywood in a thousand different ways. Some were subtle. Some were not. But one was too far. I was asked to give up the woman I’m in love with because she didn’t fit the Hollywood narrative for a leading man’s girlfriend. All because of her family’s trashy reality show. We, Hollywood, have created a world where backbiting and destroying people’s lives for entertainment is fun. We packaged it up and sold it and then pretended like we’re above it. I can’t do it anymore. This statue is great, but it’s not worth giving up love for. I love you, Cindy Brown. I hope it’s not too late. I hope you’ll take me back.”
The orchestra had been too stunned to play, but as I walked off, they got going in a hurry. The audience clapped distantly, probably not knowing what else to do. I caught the stunned faces of my brothers and uncle out of the corner of my eye. Everyone would have a lot of questions for me when the time came. But now, finally, I knew exactly what to do. I took my little statue and went looking for Cindy.
Outside the theater, in the cooler air outside, I could almost think clearly. My pulse was still going crazy, but I felt better. I took a few deep breaths and loosened my bow tie. Part one of my plan was complete. Now it was time for part two.
My phone was going absolutely nuts, but I ignored it. I hailed a car from the back of the theater and took off, heading over to the theater to find Cindy. I’d laid it all out now, in front of everybody. I prayed it would be enough.
48
Cindy
A knock on the door of my van knocked me out of my trance. I looked out the window warily. It was Meg Butler. Again.
The woman didn’t know how to take a hint. I moved away from the window. If I stayed in here, she couldn’t get me.
“Hey!” she yelled at me through the metal door. She banged on it again. “Cindy! Please open the door. I don’t have any cameras with me, I promise. Open up, will you?”
I blinked in shock. What the fuck? How stupid did she think I was?
My patience finally snapped. It was time to tell her off. I threw the door open and walked outside. She took a look at my expression and backed up two steps. I’d never wanted to slap anyone as much as her, in that moment.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I screamed at her. “Do you just go around ruining people’s lives for fun?”
I had no idea how to interpret what I’d just seen on the Oscars. Tommy had just confessed his love to me, live, on national television. He’d had a mic drop moment. I wasn’t processing the information yet. I couldn’t imagine insulting the Academy that way would be good for his career. I tried to focus on Meg Butler instead. It was easier to be angry at her than scared for Tommy. Or worse, hopeful. I was terrified to be hopeful.
So I focused on furious. It was easy to be furious when confronted with Meg Butler. After all, she was my enemy.
For an enemy, though, her expression was surprisingly neutral. Sheepish, almost. “I understand why you’re mad at me. I came over here to apologize to you.” I looked around for the cameras. They must be hidden. “There really aren’t any cameras,” she said, obviously interpreting my wariness. “I swear.”
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