by Stuart Woods
Dylan sighed. “Oh, boy. I’m so embarrassed.”
“I’m kidding you, Dylan.” She chucked him under the chin. “Hey, cheer up. It’s not the end of the world. I have a feeling you have a long career ahead of you, and there will be a lot of other Oscars.”
“I wanted to see you win.”
“That’s very sweet. The only way I could take you would be as my date, and I have a date. And, cute as you are, I’m not dumping my boyfriend for you.”
“Of course.” Dylan stood up. But still he didn’t leave. “Look. You know the ropes. Is there any other way I could get in? Anyone else I could ask? Anything else I could do?”
Viveca looked at him and sighed.
“Aw, gee.”
* * *
Peter Barrington was surprised. Viveca had never acted like a diva before. Throughout the entire production, she had been nothing but professional, cooperative, a joy to work with. For an actress with her credits, her behavior was exemplary and unprecedented. Which was why the request caught him completely off guard.
“You want Dylan at the awards?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“And I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Well, your movie is up for a zillion awards. Granted, I’m not in it, but I’m in your current movie, and he’s been acting as my assistant.”
“Won’t you be sitting with the cast from Paris Fling?”
“I’m the only actor nominated from the movie. I’ll be sitting with the director, who’s up against you. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Peter grinned and waved it away. “Trust me on that. So, if you want to take Dylan as your date, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“I have a date. My boyfriend is taking me. I have no romantic designs on Dylan. He’s just so eager to be there, and has been such a tremendous help to me on the set. It occurred to me, if I happened to win, I could use an assistant backstage to take care of the trophy, shield me from publicity, and get me back in the audience in time for best picture to be announced. I wondered if you could make that happen. He doesn’t have to be seated with me. In fact, it would be better if he wasn’t. But if he could be anywhere in the theater. Standing room, even, in the back of the audience or in the wings.”
She smiled. “I know this puts you in an awkward position. Tessa is nominated for the same award. I’d like to win, but if I can’t, I certainly hope it’s her. We’re all kind of a big family, and Dylan’s part of it.”
She smiled, self-deprecatingly. “I would hate to be the big-time movie star that he appealed to, who was powerless to do anything. Can you help me out?”
74
On the morning of the Oscars, Bruce grabbed his car keys and headed out.
Viveca frowned. “Where are you going?”
Bruce shrugged offhandedly. “To the store.”
“What for?”
“Beer.”
“Beer?”
“To celebrate your Oscar victory.”
“You’re going to celebrate my Oscar with beer?”
“I like beer.”
“I might not win.”
“You’ll win.”
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“I am dressed.”
“For the ceremony!”
“I’m a guy. It doesn’t take me long to get dressed.”
“I know, but—”
He was already out the door.
Bruce had commandeered one end of the garage for a workshop, complete with table saw, drill press, and power tools. He unlocked the cabinet and took out the small tool kit, electrical tester, and work permit he’d used before. He locked the cabinet, hopped in the car, and took off.
As he drove, he pulled out his cell phone and called Rachael, the production assistant from the theater who had helped him before. “Hi there, this is the electrical inspector again. I’m on my way to the Palladium for my final check. Do you have the final presentation schedule ready?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
Rachael was waiting when he drove up to the theater. He took the time to park legally. The last thing he needed was to get a parking ticket with Viveca’s car.
Bruce grabbed his tool kit and hopped out.
Rachael was holding a file folder.
“Is that the schedule?”
She nodded.
Bruce flipped through the file, apparently randomly, being careful to note that the location for the Best Actress award was included. “Perfect. I know my way around now, so I don’t need to take up more of your time. I’ll check out the connections and be on my way.”
Inside, Bruce blended with the people scurrying in all directions making last-minute preparations. He made his way to the front of the auditorium and slipped out the side door near the stage. From there he made his way to the fire door to the stairs below.
Underneath the stage, the catwalks and scaffolding were still in place. Bruce scurried up the ladder to the top. He took the schedule Rachael had given him, and checked it one last time. There was no mistake. The award for Best Actress would be presented from the stage-right microphone.
Bruce worked his way across the catwalk. Sure enough, there on the crossbeam underneath the stage, was the X he’d marked before.
Bruce set his tool kit down on the catwalk, popped it open, and got to work.
* * *
When he was finished, Bruce climbed down from the catwalk, went up the stairs, through the fire door, and out a back door.
He was halfway home before he remembered he’d told Viveca he’d gone out to get beer. He stopped at a convenience store and bought a six-pack.
He drove home, locked his tool kit in the cabinet, grabbed the beer, and went back in the house, hoping that Viveca wouldn’t notice how long he’d taken.
He shouldn’t have worried. Viveca was busy with hair and makeup preparations, and had barely noticed he was gone.
75
Teddy showed up at Peter Barrington’s wearing a tux and carrying a briefcase. Peter met him at the door. “Hey, Mark, come in. You’re just in time for a drink.”
“Good, I could use one.”
Teddy followed Peter into the living room where Ben, Tessa, and Hattie were having drinks. The girls looked stunning in their evening gowns—Tessa in red, and Hattie in gold.
Ben, like Teddy, was wearing a tux. “Hey, what’s with the briefcase?” he said. “Isn’t that a little out of place?”
“It’s not mine,” Teddy said. “At least, it’s not Mark Weldon’s. It’s Billy Barnett’s. It has a few items from my makeup kit Billy might need. You know Billy, always wants to look his very best.”
“You’re going to look funny with that on the red carpet,” Tessa said.
“Yeah,” Hattie said. “They might mistake you for one of the guys from Pricewaterhouse.”
“I was hoping one of you could bring it in for me. I don’t want to call attention to it. Surely a director or a studio head could have something with him without causing comment?”
“Maybe Dylan could bring it in,” Tessa said.
“Dylan?” Teddy said. “Why would Dylan be there?”
“Viveca asked Peter to get Dylan in as her assistant,” Tessa said. “I think she has a crush on the boy.”
“Don’t be catty,” Ben said. “You’re too nice a person and you’re no good at it.”
“Dylan won’t be with her,” Peter said. “She’ll be accompanied by her boyfriend.”
“Then why is he going?” Teddy said.
“Why, indeed?” Peter said. “Viveca asked for him. I was surprised because she’s never made any outrageous demands before.”
“I don’t think she was trying to be a diva,” Tessa said. “She didn’t wa
nt to be the bad guy who told him he couldn’t go.”
“Oh?”
“Dylan made a big pitch about really wanting to be there. Which was a ridiculous request, but she didn’t like being put in that position.”
“So she put me in that position,” Peter said. “In any case, he’ll be there and could bring your briefcase, if you wanted.”
Teddy frowned. “Actually, I don’t. The fewer people who know about the briefcase, the better. I particularly don’t want anyone to connect it to Mark Weldon or Billy Barnett.”
“I can bring it,” Ben said. “I’m not nominated for anything. I’m just the lowly studio head.”
“Thanks, Ben. Just check it in the coatroom.”
“And slip you the claim check?”
“I think you’d better redeem it, too. Otherwise, I’ll be redeeming it as one person, and checking it again as another. I think you better redeem it, wait for me to give it back to you, and check it again. If you can bear to miss part of the ceremony. Sorry about this. I never dreamed I’d have to be Billy Barnett and Mark Weldon at the same award ceremony.”
“Hell, missing part of the ceremony is a perk.” Ben grinned. “Okay, I’ll be your bagman.”
76
Limo’s here,” Bruce called.
Viveca took a breath and checked her makeup mirror one last time. She was nervous, which made her irritated with herself. She was never nervous acting, or even on TV talk shows. She was always calm and relaxed, pleasant and charming. It was just the damn awards. Every time she was nominated she was filled with anxiety. What if she didn’t win?
And she hadn’t won. She had lost, one Oscar after another, until the prize had seemed further and further from her grasp.
This time was worse. She had won at the Golden Globes, which made the whole thing seem possible.
And then this competition with Tessa was tying her up in knots.
Viveca shook her head to clear it. She pushed back from the makeup table, got up, and went out to the limo.
Bruce was already there, standing by the open back door, waiting to offer assistance with her dress and pack her in. After Viveca was settled, he trotted around the back of the car to hop in the other side. He closed the door and the limo took off.
“You look beautiful,” Bruce said.
“Huh?” It took Viveca a moment to register the compliment. She smiled. “Thanks.”
Bruce looked good, too, in his tux. She needn’t have worried about him. This damn award ceremony had her on edge.
A block from the theater the limo pulled over to let Bruce out, since he wouldn’t be accompanying her on the red carpet. At any media event where she might be caught on film, Viveca always presented herself as a femme fatale, available but elusive, the impossible dream.
This was fine with Bruce, who had no desire to deal with the media. He had been avoiding the press even before his PTSD. He opened the door and hopped out.
Viveca leaned across the seat before he could close the door. “You know it’s a different theater?”
“I can get in.”
“You have your ticket?”
Bruce patted the breast pocket of his tux and smiled. “I have my ticket.” He closed the door, and the limo drove off.
Bruce watched it go, then set off down the street.
He had his ticket all right, but that wasn’t why he smiled when he patted his pocket.
He also had his cell phone.
77
Teddy and Tessa’s limo pulled up to the red carpet on the sidewalk in front of the Grande Palladium Theater, where velvet ropes held back the crowd. Just outside the ropes TV cameras were set up, and spotlights on stanchions made sure the celebrities walking the carpet were well lit.
Teddy—in Mark Weldon guise—hopped out, came around the back of the limo, extended his arm, and ushered Tessa Tweed onto the carpet.
The crowd, who had been moderately excited to see him, went crazy over Tessa. There were cheers and applause, and shouted greetings and well wishes.
Immediately descending on her with a microphone was a woman Teddy recognized as a minor TV celebrity. Her job was to throw a few introductory questions, separate the wheat from the chaff, and guide the A-list movie stars into the presence of the TV personalities actually hosting the pre-award show.
As Oscar nominees, Tessa and Mark Weldon were way at the top of the A-list, and were immediately thrust into the queue waiting to be interviewed. There were half a dozen actors and actresses in the line, some of them quite famous, but apparently none of them nominees, and an executive producer type appeared out of nowhere and escorted Teddy and Tessa to the front of the line.
The interviewers were a man and a woman who cohosted some national talk show or another. Teddy vaguely recalled them being known as Judy and Jake, the type of cute billing associated with the early-morning shows.
Judy recognized them first. “Look who’s here! Tessa Tweed and Mark Weldon, the stars of Desperation at Dawn!”
Teddy and Tessa smiled and nodded. Teddy hoped that was all that would be required of him. It appeared that it might be. Judy immediately pounced on Tessa as the prime interview.
“Tessa Tweed, as a relative newcomer, what does it feel like to be nominated for Best Actress in a Motion Picture?”
Tessa smiled. “Totally unreal. I feel like I’m going to wake up at any moment and find myself in a high school production of Our Town, dreaming of what it would be like to be a Hollywood actress.”
“Well, you’re way beyond that,” Judy said. “You’ve reached the big time. How do you plan to celebrate if you win?”
“Oh, goodness,” Tessa demurred. “I don’t expect to, so haven’t made any plans. It’s an honor just to be nominated.”
“Here’s Mark Weldon,” Jake said. “Nominated for Best Supporting Actor for playing one of the scariest bad guys in motion-picture history. I’m nervous just talking to him. Tell me, Mark, does a part like that come easy to you?”
Teddy smiled. “Not at all. I’m just a big pussycat.”
“So what do you do to get in character?”
Teddy shrugged. “I’m a method actor. Before we start filming, I like to go out and kill as many people as possible.”
Jake looked stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. “And there you have it. Mark Weldon’s secret for success. Very funny, Mark. Do I see a comedy or two in your future?”
“I wouldn’t count me out,” Teddy said. He smiled and ushered Tessa on into the theater.
The auditorium was nearly three-quarters full. Teddy and Tessa walked down the aisle to the front, where the stars and nominees sat.
Their seats were in the fourth row, just off the aisle. As they sat down, Teddy could see Peter and Hattie and Ben seated in the row behind them.
There was an empty seat next to Peter Barrington. That was Billy Barnett’s seat.
The producer was going to be late.
78
In the greenroom underneath the stage, Rachael Quigly watched the Oscar preshow on a monitor, along with other low-ranking members of the crew. She could have watched at home, but it was a thrill just being in the theater, even if she couldn’t see the live show, even if she was just watching it on TV.
And she was nervous, had been ever since she had handled the electrical inspector. In the back of her mind was the nagging doubt: What if something goes wrong and it was her fault? Not that she had done anything, but was there anything she didn’t do? Should she have double-checked the inspection, got someone else’s stamp of approval on the job? Of course not. Her boss was already harried and would have been irritated with her, an assistant who couldn’t even hold a clipboard without instructions.
On the TV screen, Viveca Rothschild was being interviewed.
For some reason she didn’t seem happy.
* * *
The interviewer had just said, “Third time’s the charm.”
“That’s an old saying, Judy,” Viveca said, “but it’s different every time. There are five nominees, and there’s no one who doesn’t deserve it. In the end it’s up to the people who voted.”
Judy beamed. “And there you have it. Viveca Rothschild, gracious as ever.”
Jake jumped in. “Viveca, I understand you’re currently filming with two other Oscar nominees. What’s that like, a little friendly rivalry?”
“Accent on friendly, Jake. I have never been in a production where the actors were so willing to throw their egos overboard and work for the good of the film. Don’t be surprised if you see some of us back here next year.”
“Nice,” Jake said. “A prediction for next year’s Academy Awards. Remember, you heard it here first. Thank you, Viveca.”
Viveca escaped from the clutches of the interviewers, and pressed on into the theater. Being a nominee, her seat was near the front of the house. Her producer, director, and some of the other actors from Paris Fling were already seated in the row. She slipped into her seat, accepting hugs, kisses, and congratulations.
Bruce wasn’t there yet.
Viveca wondered if he’d gotten lost.
79
Gino Patelli couldn’t believe how far he was from the stage. “I’m a producer and you couldn’t get better seats than this?”
“This is Hollywood,” Sylvester told him. “Everyone and his brother is a producer. Most of them couldn’t get seats at all.”
“Where’s our boy?”
“He’s not here yet.”
“You sure?”
“He hasn’t made contact.”
“I don’t like it. He should be here.”
“He’ll be here.”