by Lisa Ferrari
I text her back: Maybe.
She writes: I saw at the end it said Claire KEARNS. WTF?
I send her a winky emoticon.
Mom is going to SHIT motherfuckin EGGrolls.
I know my sister is right.
So I call my mom.
Four days later.
I procrastinate for four whole days. It drives Kellan insane. Finally he can’t take my short-temper any longer and hands me the phone. He says I’m an adult and it’s my life and I’m the captain of my ship. Not him, not my father, and not my mother.
I realize he is of course correct.
I call my mom.
She doesn’t answer. Naturally.
I text her.
She doesn’t text me back.
Of course.
I want this over with so I call my dad.
He actually answers, bless his heart.
To my surprise, he’s totally, totally, one hundred percent cool about it. He says that, yes, of course, they saw the movie. They went on the Monday after it opened; they went to a one o’clock in the morning showtime in another town because my mom wanted to be certain no one in the theater would recognize them. Of course no one did. My dad goes on and on about how good the movie was and how believable it was. He asks loads of questions about how we did this and how we did that and how long did it take and was I scared and how proud of me he is.
Wait, what? He’s proud of me? Holy smokes.
I keep waiting for him to mention the sex scenes. But he doesn’t.
So finally I do.
He says they were fine. It was a husband and wife having sex on their honeymoon. That’s what newlyweds are supposed to do. He says he thought it was all very tasteful. Sexy. But tasteful.
Finally I get the balls to ask what mom thought. He says she didn’t say much, that she was rather tight-lipped in the car on the way home. It was four o’clock in the morning by the time the movie got out, though. He says she squeezed his hand all through the movie and that she jumped and laughed and gasped in all the right places. And when she did speak it was to ask if I really cut off my hair or if it was a wig. Surely it was a wig. I confess that it was my real hair. He says he knows, that everyone has been talking about it. All their friends, his patients, everyone at church, people on talk radio, people on television. My dad says their pastor even used the whole thing for a sermon about good versus evil and overcoming fear and trusting in the Lord to guide us through new episodes in our life, scary as they may be, and that this applied to both my character and the actual me, whom many of them have known since I was a little girl, and that shaving my head was a metaphor for baptism in my fight against the forces of evil.
All in all, it’s a very nice conversation. My dad assures me that he’s not mad, but my mom is a still a tiny bit angry about the wedding. I assure him Kellan and I will come visit and we’ll have some sort of celebration so that he and my mom and Beth and everyone can share in our matrimony. He says they’d like that. So would I.
THE NIGHT OF the awards show arrives.
I thought I was nervous for the premiere. I’m so nervous I can barely eat. I barely sleep the night before. I spend the morning running around the house like a crazy person. Kellan suggests we work out and take a soak in the hot tub. We even smoke a little weed. It helps but when the stylists arrive, I get nervous again. Sheila has sent a hair girl, a make-up girl, and Tracy, our beloved and genius dress girl.
And a guy from a famous Beverly Hills jeweler who has a $150,000 diamond necklace for me to wear. Holy crapburgers.
I send Sheila a pic of it around my neck.
She texts back:
Beautiful!!! Don’t lose it.
Truer words were never spoken.
Tracy has personally spent the last two months creating three dresses, one emerald green, one black, one white. I wore black at the premiere. The green one looks somehow like a prom dress. So that leaves the white one. Thankfully, it’s gorgeous. Everyone says I look like a princess.
Two hours before the show, a limousine arrives and takes us the short drive to the Kodak Theater, which is next door to the Chinese Theater. Except that this time, it’s not just the Chinese Theater; it’s the entire street. The entire street is blocked off and covered with red carpet and barricades and lights and tents and cops and people.
It’s similar to the premier, but BIGGER.
It’s crazy.
We make our way down the line, chatting with dozens of press people and saying hello to fellow actors and actresses and myriad industry people. Every conversation involves two things: my dress and my nomination. For my dress, I’m certain to mention Tracy’s name so she’ll get all the credit. For my nomination, I try to be polite through my embarrassment. But everyone tells me I should get it. I’m so embarrassed I shake my head and extoll how honored I am just to be nominated. It’s the cliché of clichés. But now I understand the depth of the truth behind it.
All the while, Kellan is cool as a cucumber. He looks so, so handsome in his tuxedo. He looks like he should be the next James Bond. More than a few people we talk to say the same thing. After awhile, Kellan warms to the notion and begins practicing his British accent. He says if Henry Cavil, an Englishman, can play Superman, why can’t he, an American, play James Bond? Oddly, however, Kellan is wearing black cowboy boots with his tuxedo, so he’s a bit more John Wayne than James Bond. I’ve never seen him wear cowboy boots. But they work. They look good. And they make him two inches taller than he already is. Other than Garth, he towers over everyone.
I ask Kellan about a million times if he’s not nervous. He says he’s not because he’s not going to win. And then I realize I’m not going to win, either. It’s absurd, the very notion of it. Me, a complete noob whose never acted a day in her life. Our movie could well earn Best Picture, and Rami could get Best Director. And I hope both of those possibilities are born out. But I’m not going to win. No way. With that understanding comes peace. I feel lighter almost immediately, and I resolve to stop worrying and to simply enjoy myself, to have fun with the interviews and with meeting all the industry people.
Ironically, Garth is hosting the awards show. He does a great job. He sings and dances, something a big, muscular, tough guy like him hasn’t had a chance to do before. But his gorgeous smile and natural humility, self-deprecation, and copious jovialness shine through and carry the show.
When we come to the award for Best Actress in a Leading Role, Kellan leans close to me and says to have my speech ready.
I tell him I didn’t write one.
He becomes alarmed. “Why not?”
“I don’t need a speech. I’m not going to win.”
“I’ll bet you fifty grand you do.”
“You’re on.”
We shake hands. He’s going to have to take fifty thousand dollars out of his salary and give it to me. I’m going to make him pay me in cash. In $20s. Or maybe even in singles, so it’s a huge stack of money. Maybe I’ll give it to Chris and Beth to help them pay off their house.
Carol Suzanne, an icon of Hollywood royalty (looking hot in a tight gold dress, even in her 60s), comes onstage holding Garth’s arm. Together they introduce each of the women in our category. A short clip from each of our movies is shown. For mine, they play the scene in which I cut off all my hair with my knife. I don’t say a word. But I guess I don’t have to because it’s pretty frightening. I’m the final nominee, and everyone claps and cheers for me.
Garth produces the gold envelope. “And the Oscar goes to…” he tears open the envelope and reads it.
There is a lengthy silence.
Garth stares at the card.
His chin is quivering. His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Claire Kearns.”
Everyone goes crazy.
Applause and music swell all around me. Everyone in the theater leaps from their seats.
There’s a camera in my face. There’s a guy in a tux
edo down on one knee next to my seat. He has a camera on his shoulder. His camera is pointed at me. I see my face appear on the massive screens on either side of the stage.
Kellan is gently hoisting me to my feet. He kisses me. “You owe me fifty grand,” he says in my ear.
I can barely hear him for all the people clapping and the music.
Then it hits me: I need to get my butt up there. Sheila, Aaron, Heather, Rami, and Calista are all hugging me with tears in their eyes. Sheila shoves a tissue into my fist.
I gather my senses and make my way to the stage. I take the steps slowly so as not to trip.
Garth hugs me, hard. He has tears in his eyes. “Congratulations, girl.” He hands me the gold statuette.
Holy crud, it’s heavy. Is it real gold? Gold plated? I have no idea. I should’ve researched it. I should know everything there is to know about how these statues are made, where they’re made, and by whom. I should know the entire history of cinema for the past hundred years since the Lumiere brothers pointed a motion picture camera at a passing train and showed the film to an audience in 1896. Some of the people were scared and some actually got up and ran away.
Now, here I am. Me! On stage!
That thought is cut short because I’m at the microphone and everyone has taken their seats and silence has returned and everyone is watching me, waiting for me to speak.
Oh boy.
I look up into the balcony, and all around…. And it hits me. Where I am. What has just happened.
Oh boy.
Tears prick my eyes and my chin quivers and whatever memorable quip or profound bit of wisdom was about to be spoken is choked back. I forget entirely about the tissue Sheila stuffed into my hand. Two tears drip from my eyes and fall straight down my face.
And I laugh.
Loud and robust from my heart.
From my soul.
I still haven’t said a word.
How long have I been standing up here?
Someone shouts from the back of the theater, “We love you, Claire!”
Everyone laughs and claps.
“I love you, too!” I say. And I mean it. I really mean it. I decide to simply speak from my heart.
“Kellan just bet me fifty thousand dollars that I would win. It seems I owe him some money. Wow. Thanks, you guys.” More tears come. I look up into the bright lights and let them.
Everyone laughs and applauds. They stand from their seats once more and I receive a standing ovation.
“You guys are sweet. Gosh, I don’t even have a speech. Kellan told me to write one but I didn’t think I was going to win. Wow. Okay, let’s see. First things first. I want to acknowledge each of the other women who were nominated this evening. Ladies, each of you is my hero and I love you. Second, I must give a heartfelt thank-you to Rami and Aaron. Two-and-a-half years ago, I met you in a Hollywood night club and the next thing I knew, Kellan and I were literally standing on a table, reading lines from your script, auditioning for you.”
Everyone laughs.
“It’s true,” I say. “We really did that. And now, here we all are!” I laugh again, and the whole theater laughs with me. “So, thank you to both of you. Thank you also to Sheila, our producer, for your confidence in me, for believing that a first-time actor from nowhere could act in a movie like this. And the lead, no less!”
I can see each of them sitting there looking up at me with huge smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes.
“Thank you to Heather, and to Calista, our evil queen. A round of applause, please, for our Best Supporting Actress this evening.” I try to clap while holding the statue. Everyone applauds Calista. She blows me kisses from her seat. Her hair is slicked back and she looks sensationally beautiful. Her own gold statuette is clutched tightly in her hand after her win earlier.
I continue, “The two of you have been like sisters to me the past two years. The whole team, everyone at Moshe Films and Skysun Pictures and Heavenly Pictures and Rock Hard Entertainment, you’ve all been so kind to me, so sweet, so loving, so welcoming, and I have no words for the gratitude and love I feel for each and every one of you. Sammy at craft service! Jose on the lights! Roy, Tracy, and Joleen for our four a.m. hair-and-make-up parties, Mary, Sid, Sebastian, Wes, the Army Rangers who taught me how to survive in the wilderness, you guys are the true bad asses. Also, Toby, Colleen, Juanita, Robert, the list goes on and on. More than two thousand people contributed directly to this film. I love each one of you and this beautiful statue is part yours, okay? Each and every one of you. So we’re going to have a big party at our place next weekend and each and every one of you has to come so you can hold it and check it out, okay? I mean it. And finally, to my dear, dear, sweet husband. The love of my life….”
And then I lose it. The tears come and I’m sobbing through my words, pouring my heart out through my tears. “Kellan… I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words. Me! A wordsmith! I’m the author of thirteen novels and I’m at a complete loss. I still remember that night at your gym when we first met. You came and did cardio with me, the lonely girl in the gym all by herself. You encouraged me and showed me how to train and how to lift for the first time. You were so kind, so warm, and so real. I fell in love with you immediately. All of this is because of you. I would not be here if it weren’t for you and your big heart and your endless patience with me when I’m crabby in the morning and we have to get up and do cardio.”
Everyone laughs.
“You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I cherish you with all my heart and with all my soul. I love you. And thank you, of course, of course of course of course, to the Academy. Thank you also to each and every one of you here in this historic theater tonight, and to every single person around the world who went to see our little movie. Without your support, we’re nothing. With your support, we can do anything. We can fly. I love you all. Thank you.”
A huge smile takes over my face and I bow.
The music swells, and I’m being guided offstage by Carol Suzanne. I catch Kellan’s eye as Carol and I head for the wings. He’s standing there, with both hands over his mouth. Tears stream down his face. Aaron and Rami are both hugging him and shaking him violently in ecstasy and pride.
Carol Suzanne takes me by the arm as we walk. “That was some speech, little lady,” she says in her trademark Texas accent, low and close so only I can hear her.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling like an idiot.
She continues, “You’re going to visit the press corps for a few minutes and then you can get back to your seat and into the twenty-one-inch arms of that hunky husband of yours. All right?”
She gives me a reassuring smile and a nod.
I nod back.
“One other thing,” she says. “I thought Sheila and Stavros were nuts giving you that role but you completely proved me wrong. I told them so, too. I’ve got so much egg on my face I’ll be washing it off til the cows come home. Listen, I’m producing and acting in a project and I want you in it. Call me.” She kisses my cheek.
Carol Suzanne actually kisses me on the cheek.
She then swats me on the butt and sends me into the waiting shouts and stroboscopic flashbulb anarchy of the ravenous press.
THE PRESS PEOPLE ask me tons of questions. I do my best to answer. But I have no memory of anything that was said as I depart the press area and make my way once more into the famous theater, up the aisle, and into Kellan’s arms. He wraps me in a big hug and we hold each other. The ceremony is in a commercial break so people are milling about, chatting, stretching, checking their phones.
“You did it,” Kellan murmurs into my ear. He pulls back and gazes into my eyes, holding my face with his hands. “You did it.”
“We did it. We did it.”
He kisses me.
I’m vaguely aware of flashes going off around us and I suspect this moment will be in the news and onl
ine and all over social media in sixty seconds. And it’s wonderful. It’s all perfect and wonderful. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and Kellan is with me, by my side, to share it.
Chapter 31
WE ATTEND A bunch of after parties. An hour here, an hour there, until we wind up at the Heavenly Pictures party at the Mondrian. This is Sheila’s company’s party, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Sheila sweeps me into her arms as soon as we arrive, and everyone claps and cheers and whistles. Sheila puts her forehead on mine and closes her eyes. “Thank you, Claire. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“For what?” I should be thanking her.
“For everything. You made the movie great.”
“No, we all did—” I try to argue, but she cuts me off.
“No, you did. It would’ve been a good movie. It was always going to be a good movie. Rami and Aaron and Heather and I know what we’re doing. We’ve been doing it for years. But you . . . you made it a great movie. A movie people will see more than once. A movie they will actually buy because they want to own it so they can watch it whenever they like because they love it and cherish it. Because you’re in it. And they feel connected to you.”
The present state of affairs I am only beginning to comprehend, so stark are Sheila’s words.
WE MINGLE AROUND the party, nibbling on food and drinking champagne. Which is difficult because I have a heavy gold statue in my hand. I finally set it on the table so I can feed myself properly. Everyone has fun coming over and asking if it’s okay for them to hold it, which it is of course. Like me, they’re impressed by how heavy and substantial it is.
We bump into Stavros, who is there with his lovely wife Electra. They’re both so sweet and friendly and they invite Kellan and me to their house in Malibu on Sunday for brunch. We happily accept.
WE PARTY INTO the night. I never want it to end.
WE GET HOME at four in the morning.
The house is filled with candles and rose petals and music, and dinner is on the table and there are two people in the kitchen bustling about, both dressed in tuxedos. Kellan has arranged it all, a celebratory surprise dinner.
