The First Assistant (40 page)

“A little,” I replied, looking around to see where Carmen was. Perhaps giving Russell and the boys a warm-up lap dance on the stage be-fore proceedings began, I guessed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, honey.” Jason hugged me warmly, “Oh, and by the way, this is Paige,” he said as the cute blond from the other night appeared and smiled at us.

“Nice to meet you, Paige.” I shook her hand and could tell by Jason’s smile that she was good news. But before we could get to chat with her, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that we were to begin to take our seats in the auditorium.

As we all got caught up in the melee, I managed to ask Jason a few discreet questions.

“What happened to Carmen?” I whispered as we entered the auditorium and saw the distinctly unspectacular stage, certainly the Oscars was a well-lit event because in real life it all looked depressingly shabby. “She met Bob Evans at Daniel’s party last night and she’s coming as

his date.”

“Of course she is.” I laughed. Carmen was perfect for Bob Evans, she’d have the time of her life, and he’d get his ticket’s worth out of her in every sense of the word. Plus, I guessed that when she wasn’t stealing your boyfriend or your party invitations, she might even be construed as a hot up-and-comer with a certain joie de vivre.

“And so you and Paige . . . ?” I tried to be discreet.

“I haven’t seen her for five years,” he said. “We used to date in high school and then she went to study zoology. I run into her every so often cause she works as a consultant on these great wildlife documentaries. But we haven’t both been single at the same time, ever.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, though of course Jason wasn’t strictly single, ever. There were always at least three dates with other girls pending, even when I’d been his girlfriend. But that was a technicality.

“So, do you have your speeches prepared?” I asked as we headed for a woman with a guest list whose job it was to point us to our seats.

“Oh sure, I’ve had them prepared since I was seven,” Jason said confidently. And I cut the bottom of my new shoes with a key so that when I go up onstage to collect them, I don’t slip.”

“Good to be prepared.” I laughed as he gave the woman our names and Luke and Paige looked on and chatted with each other.

Our seats were surprisingly far back, leading me to conclude that we definitely hadn’t won anything because how on earth were we to get to the stage from there? For sure our rival nominees were closer to the lectern, and certain success. At which point I decided to relax a little and take a sip from the hip flask that my father had sent to me as a congratulations present and instructed me to fill with “nothing younger than a thirty-year-old scotch.”

“Oh my God, that’s us,” I said as I noticed that my seat and Jason’s had large pieces of paper on the backs of them, not only with our names but also with our photographs.

“Cool,” said Jason, who for once was being so much more relaxed than me. Obviously Paige had a good effect on him.

“Oh,” I said as we got closer and rejoined ranks with Luke and Paige, “It’s not me.”

“Oh,” said Paige. “Oh,” said Jason.

“Ooops,” said Luke. It was in fact a picture of a woman of about sixty with blond hair and a lipless smile but with my name printed out underneath.

“I always knew it was too good to be true.” I laughed. “I wasn’t nominated after all, was I? She’s some veteran producer and I got the care package from Universal by mistake ’cause there are two of us listed on IMDb.”

“Oh well,” said Luke as we moved our bits of cardboard and took our seats, “anything for a free drink.”

“Exactly. Not to mention some very expensive minishampoos, the loan of a pretty dress, and a free haircut,” I said as we sat down. Wanting to add “a chance to win over my ex-boyfriend again” but deciding instead that discretion was definitely the better part of not making a total ass of myself.

The purpose of the big pieces of card apparently was so that the cameras knew where Jason and I were sitting so that when our nominations were announced they could flash us onto all those TV screens from Connecticut to China, so seat-switching with someone prettier than oneself, in order that everyone you were in high school with thinks you morphed from an ugly duckling to a swan wasn’t advisable, either, in case they saw your card and busted you.

Luke, sensing that the reality of the billion viewers was beginning to dawn on me, took my hand—sadly more like a father than a lover, but right now the needle on my adrenaline-o-meter was right in the red so this was probably all I could handle. The auditorium was filling up at a rapid rate now and there was a mounting excitement in the room. The front rows were laden with the AAA list and last-minute sound checks were being carried out onstage. The cast and crew of
Sex Addicts in Love,
who now felt like family because we’d all hung out together so much in the last month, were starting to take their seats around us, and a party atmosphere began to take hold.

“Lizzie,” I heard a familiar voice squeak behind me, “Howyadoing?” I didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Emerald. I got up from my seat and crushed Jason to greet her.

“Emerald!” I cried. I was delighted to see another friendly face. In fact, two friendly faces—Jizzy was standing beside her and looking very happy. Or was that just the glow of spiritual satisfaction, I wondered, as I noticed his glazed expression beneath his cowboy hat. “You’re looking amazing,” I told her truthfully. And she was. Admittedly there was something of the fifties housewife about her, with an Alice band in her hair, a shiny-apple glow in her cheeks, and a dress that my mother might wear to visit her bank manager, but the overall result was so stunning that if one didn’t know she was in the advanced stages of religious

conversion she would definitely be purveying the hottest and latest look of the night.

“You too.” She hugged me warmly as Jizzy stared dreamily in the direction of Tom Cruise a few rows in front of us.

“Well, marriage is definitely agreeing with you,” I remarked,

“I know, it’s great.” She turned around to check that Jizzy couldn’t overhear. “I’m meeting Colin Farrell in the bathroom during Best Foreign Film,” she confided. “I can’t wait.”

“Oh!” I said in surprise as I noticed her high, almost-Victorian neckline. “You’re wondering about the Amish virgin look, right?” She laughed

when I nodded. “Actually, I was.”

“The boys think it’s so hot. I get laid way more in these clothes than I ever used to. And being married is such a turn-on for other guys. I tell you, I get more action than . . . well, than my action-hero husband.”

“Great!” I laughed as a be-clipboarded man approached with a stern expression. “You guys better run to your seats. But I’ll see you soon.”

“We’ll have tea after church one day.” She winked wickedly, then took her husband’s arm as they made their way to their seats in the front row before the lights in the auditorium dimmed.

Yet despite the amusement of running into Emerald and seeing the cast and crew and having Jason with a date I might actually like to be friends with, in the main, Luke had been right. The ceremony was at least six years long and less stimulating, I imagined, than one of Emerald’s new church services. In fact, the most exciting moment was watching Emerald get up halfway through, wink to Colin Farrell, then emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later with two mother-of- pearl buttons missing and beard burn. But then I guess beard burn is what you get if you marry a gay man.

The rest of the ceremony was punctuated by the short nap I got dur-ing the costume and makeup awards and then the sadness of watching the roll call of greats who’d died in the last year. I always find this bit pretty sobering, even at home when I’m painting my toenails and only half paying attention—seeing these extraordinary people, some of whom you assumed had died years ago and many you hadn’t even noticed had died—flash up on the screen in their carefree heyday. But that sentiment

is made all the more meaningful when it’s shown before a group of people who often believe that they function in an industry that can somehow cheat the inevitable things in life—poverty, reality, old age—who then start to realize that death just might be waiting in the wings.

After what felt like the four millionth time I’d put my hands together to clap that evening, it almost came as a shock when the ceremony be-gan to wrap up. Suddenly it felt as if there was a race to get all the good bits into the remaining half hour of the evening. Jason, sadly but not surprisingly, had missed out on the Best Original Screenplay award earlier on, but we’d still all whooped with delight when his face was shown on the television broadcast. But now they had to fit the big nuggets into the end of the show. Best Director and then Best Motion Picture. Of course, I suddenly decided that I was bursting to go to the bathroom only seconds before Best Director was due to be announced, but when I told Jason that I might run off quickly he gave me such a look of ter-ror that I knew I was just going to have to cross my legs.

“I need you Lizzie,” he said, crushing my fingers until the tips were white. “You’re the only one who understands. Fuck, why did I ever make a movie? This is too much stress; it feels like my hair is going white at the roots.”

“You made it so that you can be the youngest director ever nominated,” I said in such a tone as to remind him that he was the biggest idiot ever nominated, too, if he had to ask that question. “Oh, and because the studio might give you a million-dollar bonus if you break a hundred million dollars.”

“It’s true,” he said, as a huge smile washed over his face. “But you’re still not allowed to pee until it’s over.”

“Okay,” I grudgingly agreed, with fear in my heart as to how long the line for the Ladies was going to be when the ceremony was over. One thing I had learned in my time in Hollywood—celebrities use the bathroom way more than lesser mortals—though their motivations are often different—snorting, vomiting, and vanity being more popular than pee-ing among their ranks, I imagined, which really only made the line even longer in my experience.

When the nominations were announced for Best Director, Jason turned an unearthly shade of green. This, I discovered, was why Kevin the

makeup fascist had insisted on the scaffolding of foundation that helped me look normal no matter what I was feeling. I wondered if they had put a

please do not adjust your sets

notice on television screens worldwide when Jason’s peculiarly colored face flashed up. He grinned the grin of Skeletor as the names were read out and kept his teeth firmly clenched when it was announced that he wasn’t the most talented director on the planet, after all.

“Oh well, it’s been a fun ride,” he finally said through a frozen jaw as the winning director made his epic-length speech.

“It’s not over,” I reminded him. “You’ve got to grin and bear it one more time.”

“I think my teeth might break.” He sighed. I don’t even think he was disappointed, he was just on some insane adrenaline roller coaster that he still wasn’t allowed to get off, and he was simply very spun out.

“Okay, here we go.” Luke leaned over and took my hand as Jon Stew-art announced the last award of the evening, and the biggest of them all, Best Motion Picture. And it all happened so quickly and was so surreal that I didn’t even hear
Sex Addicts in Love
called out. I just stared blindly ahead at the stage. I also didn’t hear when Dustin Hoffman pulled the piece of paper out of the envelope and read out our names, “Jason Blum and Elizabeth Miller.”

I did, though, feel a tug on my hand as Jason tried to pull me to my feet. In fact, it was only when Luke leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and quite firmly said, “Darling, you gotta get up and collect your award.” He stood up and helped me to my feet as the audience drowned out any thoughts I might be having, so I just focused on what Luke was saying to me and tried to follow instructions. “Now walk up there as slowly as you like and don’t forget to enjoy yourself.”

When I watched the footage later I looked like the most miserable person ever to receive an Oscar in the history of the Academy Awards. Now I knew why Halle and Gwyneth shed tears—it was a truly har-rowing experience. In those torturous moments absolutely nothing went through my mind apart from putting one foot in front of the other, not getting my dress caught under my shoes, and not falling on my ass

as I made my way across the highly polished stage floor. I forgot to kiss Dustin Hoffman or even to thank him as Jason and I found ourselves staring at tier upon tier of people who’d never heard of us but who were clapping madly nonetheless, and waiting for words of brilliance, or even simply English, from us. We stood and stared ahead, Jason clutched his Oscar as if it was a stick of dynamite and an army of thousands was advancing with spears in our direction. He had no clue what to do with it and no clue what to say. I simply hid behind Jason.

Thankfully, Jason found his voice before he threw the Oscar into the audience and ducked.

“I-I-I-I can’t believe this.” Jason held his award aloft. “I gotta say, well, thank you, and well, I’ve known what I was going to say when I got up here since I was seven years old, but now I have no idea what it was. Apart from thank you. To the Academy, to my parents, to Elizabeth Miller, the most loyal producing partner I could wish for.” Jason put his arm around me and I could feel his entire body shaking. “To the cast and crew of my movie, to Universal Studios, to my agents Katherine Watson and Scott Wagner, the tutors at UCLA, in fact to everyone who was ever nice to me. Thank you. I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” Jason somehow managed to say all this on one lungful of air and then collapsed as sweat poured down his face. Which left me with possibly the most split-second decision of my entire life—the Hamlet of decisions again. I chose To Speak.

“To win this precious award was beyond our wildest dreams when we began working on
Sex Addicts in Love,
but we always hoped it would find the appreciation it deserved, and for you all to have enjoyed this movie is the highest accolade we ever wished for.” I heard my voice but it came from some distant galaxy. Then I clutched my Oscar to my chest and waited a full three seconds to hear the applause before Jason and I looked at Dustin Hoffman as if he were wielding Laurence Olivier’s drill from
Marathon Man
and fled the stage.