Dirty Movies (53 page)

Back in Los Angeles, Harper Films had just ratcheted up another glorious upset. Against all expectation, estimation and extrapolation Christine had been crowned Best Actress. Indeed
, so certain that the title was hers, Maisie had already risen to her feet with a beatific smile on her face as her rival’s name was announced. In the end, a grim-faced Zach Roberts was forced to yank her back down again, but not before the cameras caught the entire humiliating spectacle.

Scooped
clean off her feet by Benito, an openly weeping Christine finally managed to burst free of his gorilla’s embrace to deliver the most gracious speech of the evening, timed to perfection so that the swell of orchestral music used to curtail unbearably teary, tedious, overlong monologues accompanied her exit from the stage flawlessly.

‘Poor Christine
,’ teased Michael, as they watched her depart the stage, wiping her eyes and giggling conspiratorially with the impish Kevin Spacey. ‘Benito’s just informed me that they’re moving in together next month. With three Oscars in the family now, that shelf of hers is gonna look even more lopsided.’

‘Oh well, I’m sure she’ll get over it
,’ giggled Polly, waving discreetly at Joe as he crept back up the aisle towards them. ‘Either that or she can start using them as doorstops. If you guys don’t win Best Picture, she can always even things up again next year.’

Michael grunted and glanced over at his father for the billionth time. To his great consternation he too had vanished
now as well. Meanwhile, Joe and Polly were greeting each other like love-sick teenagers. This continued all the way through the nominations for Best Actor and the Winner’s exceptionally dreary, long-winded speech.

‘For god’s sake, tone it down would ya?’ scowled
Michael. ‘The big one’s up next.’

As he said it, Christine wafted back up aisle to take her seat next to Benito. Instinctively, they all grabbed each other’s hands as the nominations were announced.
This was the one they wanted. Individual awards were magnificent achievements, yet a Best Picture was an accolade that reflected what a remarkable group effort a movie was, from the runners battling with the Soho traffic every night to deliver the rushes, to the actors who breathed their special brand of magic into a script. And, what a glorious group effort their little movie had been.

Suddenly the fateful moment was upon them.

‘And the Oscar goes to…’

A split-second later
, Michael felt the breath knocked clean out of him as Benito pounced on him like an ambushing tiger. Fighting for oxygen, he quickly realised that Polly and Christine were screaming with joy whilst Joe was sat glued to his seat with a stunned expression on his face. By far the most popular win of the evening, the audience were on their feet and congratulations were raining down on them from all sides like April showers. 

This isn’t happening, thought Michael, rising unsteadily from his chair, we can’t have just scooped the Best Picture Oscar.
Still, nothing could have matched his incredulity when he turned to give a jubilant thumbs-up to his father and saw Lily standing next to him, tear-stained and trembling, but beautiful and present nonetheless.

Stagg
ering into the aisle like a newborn foal taking its first steps, the world then watched in rapt disbelief as the chief recipient of the newly announced Best Picture Oscar lurched the wrong way up the aisle and away from his lustrous prize.

It took Michael all of five strides to reach Lily, though he would swear later on that he could have run a marathon in that time. They gazed and gazed at each other, their sizzling intensity evaporating everything around them.

‘Congratulations
,’ whispered Lily shakily. Michael was so handsome even George Clooney’s perpetual golden suntan paled in comparison. ‘I’m so happy for you.’

‘Is it true?’ he demanded, his piercing blue eyes probing her lovely face for traces of certainty. ‘Do you really love me?’

Lily bit her lower lip and nodded. ‘For years and years, if I’m honest. I didn’t mean to run away earlier. It’s just that when I overheard Maisie saying how much you’d wanted her…’ Her soft grey eyes clouded over with anxiety. Walt had sworn it wasn’t so, but she still needed confirmation from him 

‘Listen to me, Lily
,’ said Michael urgently, clutching her smooth bare shoulders and feeling how much she quivered beneath his touch. ‘People always say that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. And it’s true! I couldn’t give a damn about Maisie. You on the other hand…oh Lily,’ he gasped, taking her face in his hands, ‘don’t you get it? I love you too!’

Just then
, he felt a tug on his jacket sleeve.

‘Michael
,’ he heard his father say, ‘everyone’s waiting, son. You need to go make your acceptance speech.’

But Michael shook his head. ‘No thanks
,’ he muttered, smiling down at Lily’s shocked face. ‘I think I’m all out of words for tonight.’ And in front of a rapt audience of no less than several hundred million, he gathered Lily up in his arms and kissed her.

As the joyful scene unfolded on her bedroom telly, Rachel squealed in delight.

‘Steady on, Rach
,’ grumbled Danny, yanking the phone away from his ear but he was smiling as he said it. That was without doubt the most romantic thing he had ever seen. It was even making him slightly wistful on his own single status.

In the meantime
, the cameras in the auditorium had switched back to the podium where Joe and Christine were attempting to whizz off an extensive rhetoric of breathless Thank You’s. However, distracted by their producer, who was STILL kissing Lily in the aisle, the resulting victory speech was nowhere near as eloquent as it should have been. 

‘Four primo gongs for Harper
,’ crowed Rachel, shaking her head in wonder. ‘I can’t believe it!’

Danny' snorted. ‘With all the anguished heart strings twanging in that production office
, I’m surprised they found the time to make a movie.’  He had spotted Polly and Joe’s effusive embrace right before the Best Picture Winner was announced, but it hadn’t hurt him nearly as much as he thought it would.

T
he ceremony’s credits began to roll. 

‘Hey Rach,’ he said, switching off his TV. ‘W
hat are you up to next Saturday?’

‘D
usting off my CV now GBA’s gone caput. I’ve decided lunch breaks are overrated. Why do you ask?’

‘I was thinking of taking my unemployed self over to Covent Garden to buy some new trainers.
Fancy tagging along? We could catch a movie after if you like.’

‘Gosh, you old romantic
,’ mocked Rachel. ‘Fine, but I get to choose the movie. If you’re going to force me into hours and hours of tedious trainer-shopping, there has to be some sort of compensation.’

‘
An afternoon in my company not enough for you?’ he said, sounding hurt.

‘Not if I’m going to get bum
ache from sitting on those silly little shoe-shop stools all day.’

There was a pause.

‘What if I was to throw in dinner?’

Rachel smiled into her receiver.
‘Ok, Danny boy. Now you’re talking!’

As the glittering waterfall of celebrities and film industry elite poured out of the auditorium and made their way to the official after-show party in the neighbouring hotel, Walt Wilson and the victorious Harper team managed to round up a feverishly happy Michael and Lily on the way to the pressroom.

A great cheer greeted their arrival. Clutching a pair of gleaming
gold Oscar statuettes to her bosom, the only men she would be letting near them again, bar Benito, Christine had elected to go first. Before long, she had every reporter in the room laughing with her acerbic account of tonight’s events, from her ex-husband’s disastrous gymnastics display with the red carpet ropes to her producer’s enthralling love-life.

Enjoying the spectacle from the sidelines
, Michael turned to his father.

‘I have no idea how or where you found Lily tonight but thank you
.’

Walt
shrugged, as if he had known all along it would turn out like this.

‘Glad it all worked out. Listen, I
gotta go meet Lucy but before I do, I just wanna say you two look real cute together. And congrats on your first Oscar, son. I’m real proud of you.’

Michael was so stunned he couldn’t speak. I
t was only when Lily reached over to show him a text from Lucas that she realised he had tears in his eyes.

‘Are you ok?’ she whispered in alarm.

Michael hastily brushed his sleeve across his face and nodded.

‘Before you go, you owe me another congratulations’ he called out
loudly after his departing father.

Walt stopped and turned
immediately, his dark eyes wide with surprise. Michael glanced back at Lily and experienced a wonderful sense of calm.

‘Well I figure it’s only fair
,’ he drawled, reaching out to massage Lily’s left ring finger gently with his fingers and finding the answer to his unspoken question shining in her eyes. ‘After all, it’s not everyday you learn you’re gonna be this beautiful woman’s father-in-law.’

With the news of Michael’s proposal sweeping through the hallowed tables inside
The Governors Ball,
Joe ushered Polly to one side as soon as he could.

‘Are you jealous?’ he asked her
, anxiously. ‘I can’t help feeling like he beat me to it. I love you just as much you know.’

‘And who’s to say I would have accepted?’ grinned Polly. ‘I might have designs on my own Oscar first. I’m all up for a bit of marriage equality, me
.’

Joe grinned in relief. ‘Thank fuck for that. Does that mean you’ll be sharing the DIY?’

‘Only if you promise to do Delia in the kitchen ha ha. Just because you’re an Oscar winner now, you don’t get to laud it over me.’

‘I w
ouldn’t dare! Speaking of potential Oscar-winners, how’s the script going?’

Polly beamed up at him. ‘I finished it last week, whilst you and Michael were off getting your fancy four hour facials. I gave him a copy to read last night
.’

‘And?’

Just then, Walt strolled up to them arm in arm with Lucy.

‘Keanu
’s just asked me out on a date,’ she whispered to Polly, ‘I told him to take a hike.’

Polly g
rinned. ‘Good for you, he’s far too young. How’s Walt taking prospective father-in-law-hood?’

‘H
e’s overjoyed! Michael might not be quite so thrilled with me as his wicked step-mother though. Walt wants to whisk me away to Vegas this weekend,’ confided Lucy, with a gleam in her eye. ‘I don’t mind eloping but I can’t imagine Walt rocking up to the alter dressed as Elvis.’

‘Oh I don’t know. He’s
certainly got the swagger.’

‘But not the hairy side-burns
, thank god.’

Polly smiled. Lucy was right. The thought of Walt wearing anything other than flawlessly fitted black Tom Fords was utterly implausible.

‘Are you seriously going to marry him?’ she asked, seeing Walt and Joe balls-deep in mutual congratulations.

‘Only if I
can keep my job. I don’t want any of that Beverley Hills socialite shite. I much prefer digging for stories over digging for gold.’

Polly
suddenly noticed that the studio boss was looking over at her with interest.

‘Mind if I have a word?’ he asked politely, cutting in.

Polly glanced at Lucy who shrugged her shoulders.

‘I wanted to thank you for your help today
,’ said Walt, leading her to one side. ‘You’ve been a real good friend to my son these past few years and I value that.’

‘Oh right.
Thanks very much.’

There was a pause.

‘Michael tells me you’ve written a script?’

P
olly looked at him in horror. ‘Oh god, it’s just a jumble of words really,’ she babbled, ‘not worth the cheap, smudged paper I printed them on.’

Walt looked bemused. ‘You sure a
bout that? Michael seems to think it’s got real potential.’

‘Does he??’ Polly was gobsmacked.

‘Listen honey, I’m not in the habit of making my business decisions lightly,’ he said, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigar. ‘What’s more, I consider chucking ma money away on godawful scripts almost as offensive as a bad carbonara. That’s why I’m gonna give you one month, Miss Winters. One month to finesse, polish and ripen the shit outta it under Michael’s guidance. And after that, if me and ma Global development team like it, I mean if we really,
REALLY
like it…’ He paused then to raise the cigar to his mouth like a conductor raising his baton, just before the last, concluding notes of a truly spectacular symphony. ‘Then you never know, Miss Winters, I must just give you a pile of dough to make it.’