At the end of the run, he reclaimed my hand again and we chatted with some of his industry friends who were gathered near the entrance. Introduction after introduction, I watched people’s faces go from Who’s this chick crashing our party? to Awww, really? Your high school sweetheart?
I got completely tongue-tied while being introduced to a particular silver-screen hottie who shall forever go nameless, in order to protect my cool. But I had the hugest crush on this actor growing up, and I kinda lost my shit to find myself standing there actually talking to him. Well, I guess talking is a relative term. I don’t even know if I was speaking English to the poor guy as I babbled my hellos.
Finally, finally, we made our way inside the building, and I went to give Trip a look of relief. But his mouth was set in a firm line, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his eyes narrowed at me in a scathing glare.
“What?” I asked.
“Clooney? Really, Layla?”
His jealousy made me giggle as I answered, “Sorry. I used to crush on him pretty hard when he was on Facts of Life. Did you ever notice that he had the same mullet as Jo Polnachek?” Trip didn’t find that amusing, so I leaned up to whisper, “But I’m kinda partial to blonds these days, anyway.”
That thawed him out. “Good thing. Because he seems to be partial to anything with a pulse these days.”
*
I sat there with sweaty palms all night. It’s not like I was the one waiting there, listening for my name to be called. But that sadistic camera shot when they showed every nominee as the envelope was being opened… Christ. I didn’t know how they could stand it. And then to have to sit there with a smile still plastered to their faces when their name wasn’t called? Ouch.
Presenter after presenter, envelope after envelope. All night, I was a nervous wreck.
I was even worse when it was Trip’s turn to get up there. Someone had come down to our seats to escort Trip backstage, and I found myself sitting next to some hot young tuxedoed stud. I wondered how someone went about obtaining a job as seat-filler and debated asking him about it. But before I knew it, Trip was being announced.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Three-time Academy Award nominee and Oscar winner for Best Actor in a Leading Role… Please welcome… Trip Wiley…”
And there he was, amidst the applause, strutting out onto the stage and taking his place at the microphone, preparing to address his peers. The thing of it was, though, is that no one was among his peers. Trip Wiley had no peers.
He was confident, polished, incredibly talented, undeniably hot. I was sure that the men in that room would give their left nut to live his life for even one day; the women would sacrifice anything to be in his bed for one night. He may have lived this part of his life with them, but he was most decidedly not among them.
He smiled as the cheering died down and his smooth voice proceeded to give a brief explanation of the category he was presenting before announcing the nominees… for cinematography.
There could be no more perfect category for that man to announce. He made sure to become familiar with the work of each and every nominee, subjecting me to an endless viewing of The Proof Beyond, where he paused practically every frame, pointing out “the brilliance” in every shot. It took about four hours to watch that movie, and I’d still really like to see it someday. My vote laid squarely with Anya’s Garden, however, and it was a much-discussed debate between the two of us all week.
But sure as shit, he opened that envelope—and I swear his eyes flicked toward me for a split second—as he smirked and announced, “And the Oscar goes to… The Proof Beyond.”
Oh, he was going to be impossible to live with after this.
A few minutes later, he was back in his seat, grinning smugly, but staring straight ahead at the stage. I flipped him the ten bucks I owed him, and he didn’t even so much as glance my way as he wordlessly stuck the bill in his front breast pocket.
Jerk.
Just for that, I leaned my face in close to his ear and whispered, “Congratulations. But there’s something you need to know. I took my panties off before putting on this dress tonight.”
That was a lie. I was totally still wearing my undies.
I sat back in my seat and waited for his reaction. I wasn’t sure if he had heard me, because he was still staring straight ahead. But I noticed that his bottom lip had dropped just a fraction of an inch.
A whole five minutes went by before his mouth was at my ear, whispering, “Did you leave the garters on?”
I pursed my lips to keep from cracking up, then mouthed the word, “Yep.”
He was staring straight ahead again, but I watched a muscle working in his jaw and felt his hand tighten on mine as he shifted in his seat.
Ha! Sit on that, Fonzarelli!
Chapter 19
SEX, POLITICS & COCKTAILS