Adulation (27 page)

“Not when I met him.”

“Wait, was that the night some fan called him a jackass and a failure? Someone posted the video

on Facebook.”

My face began to burn and I pressed my lips together tightly as Josh picked up his Droid from thenight table beside him, opened up YouTube, and searched for the twenty seconds I so wanted to banishfrom existence.

“Have you seen this? The look on his face is priceless...”

Before I could object or make a getaway, he had me by the arm and played the clip. I tried to talkthrough it, but he shushed me, and I watched the expression on his face change from amusement torecognition in the same time it took Danny Masters’s face to morph from pleasant to bewildered upon thatfateful utterance.

Josh turned to me, agog. “Holy shit, Sunny—that’s
 
you
!”

My mind raced; should I play dumb? Flat out deny it? Come clean?

Shrug.

“Why didn’t you tell me that was you? Shit, that’s hilarious! Here I’ve been dating a viral star allthis time and never knew it.”

“It wasn’t exactly my finest hour. I wish the whole thing had never happened, and I sure as hell

wish it hadn’t been recorded for the world to see.”

“So what did he say? I mean, I know he called someone a wannabe or something like that, but what were his exact words? I wanna hear it straight from the horse’s mouth—what got you so riled up?”

I glowered at him, disgusted yet again. “You calling me a horse?”

“Aw, come on—lighten up, Sun! If you met him again tomorrow, what would you say to him?” he asked.

“Something stupid, probably,” I replied.

“No, I’m serious. What would you say to him?”

“I really have no idea, Josh. I’ve never been good with hypothetical situations.”

What a lie—writers relished hypothetical situations. Josh either bought it or let it slide without calling me on it.

“What would you
 
want
 
to say to him?” he asked.

Wait till you see me in a hoodie? Sing “I’ve Got a Crush on You” to me? Have amazing, fantasmic, run-the-train-off-the-rails sex with me?

I wanted to say I was sorry, of course.

“There’s nothing I have to say that he would care to hear,” I said, and then finally turned off the light and readjusted my pillows for sleep.

“Wow,” said Josh quietly. I had no idea if he was angry, confused, or just plain hurt. I closed my eyes and silently willed myself to drift off to the world beyond my window, a world in which Danny Masters wasn’t akin to a slice of  cheesecake and I wasn’t lactose intolerant. A world that, up until now, only existed in words. And I sighed in sadness, because the words, regardless of their loquaciousness, weren’t enough. Not by a long shot.

PART TWO

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Danny Masters January 25, 2011

D
ANNY MASTERS DIDN’T
 
have to set his alarm for the crack of dawn that morning. He knew that if he wasnominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay, Paul, Ken, Jackson, Dez, and a host ofothers would call to congratulate him.

Besides, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He knew that as well.

And sure enough, around 5:42 his iPhone rang beside his bed.

It was official.

Charlene opened her eyes and said in a groggy voice, “Congratulations, Danny. Welcome to the Emerald City,” before rolling over and falling back to sleep. Danny got out of bed so as not to wake herand took call after call, thanking them for their well-wishes. He said little but talked rapidly, feeling a mixof elation and awe.

He brushed back his hair with his fingers and stared out the window.

The Emerald City.
 
It was an appropriate metaphor, he realized, in more ways than Charlenecould’ve known in  her half consciousness. He flashed back to the scene when Dorothy and hercompanions (and which one was he this time—the Scarecrow? Cowardly Lion? Tin Man? Toto?) set theirsights upon its magnificent skyline. “It’s bigger and more beautiful than ever.” It was. To reach this pointof his career was like having the Holy Grail within one’s reach. It was the ultimate achievement:acceptance not only by the public, but also by the industry, by his peers, by the
 
craft
.

But he wasn’t there just yet. He had to run through that goddamned poppy field first. And that wasthe scary part. He would have to hold his breath for four more weeks; after all, what could be a morepotent opiate, a better high than being nominated for an Academy Award? There was the potential ofgetting
 
too
 
high. And what happened when he finally reached the gate? Would he be turned away? Worsestill, what if he were let in? What if he
 
won
?

He remembered Ella telling him,
 
You’re acting like it’s the end of the world
 
. She wasn’t wrong. What was beyond the Emerald City?

“Enjoy this,” Paul said to him. “Enjoy every minute of it. It’s a thrill of a lifetime. A Disney ride.”

“I’ll try,” said Danny.

That goddamned poppy field. He’d have to make a run for it. But shit, that sure was a prettyskyline.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sunny Smith

Oscar Night, 2011

T
YPICALLY GEORGIE, THEO
, and I hosted an Oscar party, and last year Marcus made the most fabulous horsd’oeuvres. But I didn’t feel much like sitting through the tension between Georgie and me, pretending itwasn’t there, with poor Theo stuck in the middle. Nor did I want to feel all eyes on me as I watched Danny Masters stroll down the red carpet with Charlene Dumont, his eyes flickering as he smiled thatcharismatic smile of his, saying over and over again that it was an honor just to be nominated. I didn’twant my friends telling me one more time how crazy I was for blowing him off and not coming forwardabout the whole jackass thing.

I hadn’t intended to watch the Oscars this year, all indications showing that it was going to be
 
Exposed
’s night, including Danny’s. He had already won the Golden Globe, the Critics’ Choice, and the Writers Guild awards for Best Screenplay, while the film snagged various trophies in acting, directing,score, cinematography, everything but product placement, it seemed. Although not much of an Oscars fan, Josh wanted to watch because
 
Exposed
 
had  been his favorite movie of the year. Plus, he admitted, hewanted to see Charlene Dumont with Danny on the red carpet because he had a little crush on her, havingseen her in just about everything she’d done, including a couple of commercials before she hit the bigtime. Figured.

We sat cuddled on my couch together, watching the preshow prance along the red carpet as we ate Chinese food out of cartons and opened a bottle of wine. I was dressed up as if we were going out ratherthan staying in (Josh had said the best part of our first night sleeping together was that he finally got to seewhat was under that hoodie). I was visibly nervous and fidgety.

“What’s up, Sun?” he asked. “You’d think
you
 
were nominated for an award.”

“I’m just not used to watching this without my friends,” I said. “It’s a big change for me. I kindamiss them.”

“Change is hard, but inevitable. Not worth it to waste so much energy on the little things, though.”

“To me, the little things are worth everything.”

“That’s one way to look at it... Hey, there’s Danny Masters and Charlene Dumont—holy shit, she’sa goddess. Sorry, Sun. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, my eyes practically boring a hole into the television screen, trying totelepathically communicate with Danny:
 
I’m here...
 
He looked alluring: clad in a classic Armani tuxedowith a white silk tie, his hair slightly longer and wispier than when I had seen him back in September,sprayed back in total Hollywood slickness. He was stopped on the red carpet by someone in theentertainment media (who it was I had no idea, but wow, was she
 
young
) asking him  whether he wasnervous, whether he was expecting to win (“You know, it’s an honor just to be nominated...”), who Charlene was wearing (a phrase I always found to be rather weird), whether she was proud of him, andon and on. Georgie would’ve known before she even told the little girl (seriously, she looked fresh out of

high school) who she was wearing, but I didn’t pay attention, too fixated on Danny and feeling the pounding in my chest—as if I were watching the two of them walk down the aisle rather than the red carpet.

I felt Josh’s eyes on me. “Hey, you OK?” He tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

I sat up straight. “I’m fine,” I said, knowing he knew I was lying. “Got your bingo cards allready?” Theo had introduced us to Oscar Bingo a few years ago and the games got rousing, the stakesbeing a trove of baked goodies or, on one occasion, a bowl full of cash. Josh was amused as he scannedthe two cards I’d printed out for him (we decided to do two apiece, and I’d report to Theo the followingday), Sharpies in hand.

Sure enough, within seconds of the show’s start, we each called out a Clooney sighting in the frontrow, and I watched Josh mark an obtrusive X on the card. I was happy to share this little ritual with him,but I was also missing Georgie and Theo fiercely. Besides, with every camera pan across the audience,my heart thumped upon sight of Danny, and like radar, Josh eyed me each time.

Time passed in excruciating slow motion. Josh started scrolling through his e-mail in-box on hisphone and sending replies. The more bored he became, the more restless I became.

Ninety minutes into the show, January Miller, last year’s Best Screenplay Oscar winner, stoodstatuesque and graceful in an amber-colored, glittery gown whose designer Georgie would be namingwith his eyes closed. She read from the teleprompter with a voice as elegant as she looked. Danny’s wasthe third name called. I sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, as if watching game seven of the World Series, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, three and two count, two outs, Yankees down by one, Jeter at the plate. I brought my hands to my face, ready to shield my eyes in case of disappointment,forgetting Josh was next to me.

And the Oscar goes to...

Dear God, kill me now. One blow to the head. Make it quick and painless.

Danny Masters.

The audience cheered unanimously, a few standing up as they applauded while a camera closed inon Charlene smooching him (which seemed to snap him out of his daze). It followed him as he made hisway to the stage, his path blocked by Paul Wolf and the
 
Exposed
 
cast with congratulatory hugs. I tried tostudy his face—was it one of expectation? Surprise? Humility? Arrogance? Did I detect a hint of sadness? Suppressed elation? It was hard to tell, for the picture had suddenly blurred.

I was crying.

I felt Josh’s hand gently rub my back, and I closed my eyes and hung my head, my ears straining tohear Danny recite his acceptance speech—you could tell he’d memorized it—with lightning speed so asnot to be drowned  out by the orchestra. One by one, the names sped past me like moving cars—hismanager, agent, high school teacher, Paul Wolf, the cast, the crew, his daughter Ella, and then I thought Iheard...