Fame (53 page)

I wish Dorian were here
, thought Sabrina.
He’d know which dress I should wear. He’d know everything.

It was strange how much closer she’d grown to Dorian since the awful awkwardness of his bedside proposal. She’d expected to feel uncomfortable around him afterwards, or for him to feel embarrassed, too crippled by wounded pride to be around her. But in fact during the interminable round of promotions and pre-Oscar press junkets that had become Sabrina’s life since she got out of hospital, their relationship had blossomed quite unexpectedly. With Viorel voluntarily removing himself from all
Wuthering Heights
promotion, Dorian had taken on a more prominent role. As a result, he and Sabrina were thrown together constantly, giving interviews to every network talk show in America. There was a new dynamic to their relationship now, a jokey banter that had been entirely absent during the long months of filming. It was Dorian’s friendship that had kept her sane through this whole crazy roller-coaster ride, and stopped her from dwelling too much on Viorel.

‘You’ve got
so
much ahead of you,’ he would tell her, day after day. ‘So much good work, so much love. This is the beginning, Sabrina, not the end.’ Eventually, Sabrina began to believe him.

‘I’ll go for the VB dress,’ she said, suddenly decisive.

‘Great,’ said Katrina. ‘I agree. Now, accessories.’

‘No accessories,’ said Sabrina.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said the stylist brusquely. ‘This is the Oscars, not prom night in Bethlehem Pennsylvania. You need diamonds. Now, the question is, do we go Fred Leighton?’ She flipped open a dark red box to reveal an elaborate diamond and ruby choker and matching drop earrings, ‘or keep it classic with Cartier?’

‘No,’ said Sabrina firmly. ‘No jewellery. No clutch.’

‘But Sabrina—’

‘And I want my hair up.’

‘With no earrings?’ The stylist gasped incredulously.

Dorian always says I do my best work when I stop trying so hard. If he were here he’d tell me to keep it simple.

‘No earrings.’

Sabrina smiled. She could feel her confidence surging back. Just thinking about Dorian made her feel calmer. She could picture him now, fixing his cufflinks with no more drama than if he were going out for a casual dinner with friends.
If only I could be a bit more like that.

‘I can’t do it. I can’t go.’

Dorian lay back on his therapist’s couch, eyes closed, wondering if he were going to throw up.

‘Why do you say that?’

Damn fucking therapists. Always asking questions, never giving you a straight answer.

‘Because, I can’t do it! What if Viorel shows up?’

‘What if he does? I thought the two of you got along?’

‘We do,’ said Dorian miserably. ‘But Sabrina will look at him, and then she’ll look at me, and I’ll have to watch the –’ he winced – ‘the love in her eyes and I’ll have to comfort her. And I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t go. Oh, Jesus.’ He put a hand on his chest, willing his heart rate to slow down.

It was so ironic. Everybody had him down as the steady one, the mother ship, cool, calm and collected through all the dramas. For the last month, he’d devoted every ounce of his energy to hiding his true feelings from Sabrina. But tonight, with the whole world watching, he didn’t know if he could keep it up. What if Sabrina and Vio got back together? What on earth was he going to do then?

‘You can go,’ said the therapist gently. ‘The question is, do you want to?’

And the answer is no
, thought Dorian. Win or lose, tonight would mark the end of something he had come to treasure. The end of him and Sabrina spending time together, day in and day out. What excuse would he have to be around her after this?

But the truth was, he had to go.
Who am I kidding? Of course I have to be there. I’m up for Best Director and Best Picture. Me against Harry Greene. This is it. The Showdown.

It was already almost two o’clock. If he was to make it to the Kodak on time, he needed to get back to his hotel right now, change, and jump in the limo with his game face on.

‘Sorry Doc.’ He sat up, rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep. Which in a way, he had. ‘I gotta run.’

‘Good luck,’ said the therapist, shaking him by the hand. ‘And remember, you’re not a fortune-teller. The truth is you don’t know what Sabrina’s thinking, or feeling, or what her reactions might be. But whatever they are, you can’t control her. You can only control yourself.’

Hopefully
, thought Dorian. He felt as sick as a dog. But it was time to go.

Harry Greene looked around the packed auditorium and smiled.

So far, the evening was going swimmingly. As his limo had pulled up, he’d been practically deafened by the screaming fans.
Celeste
was a phenomenon. It had broken every box-office record for a period drama, was almost as big a hit with audiences as
Fraternity
. Oscar or no Oscar, the movie was a runaway success. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for his obsession with thwarting Dorian Rasmirez, Harry couldn’t have cared less about his Oscar chances. Who gave a fuck what a bunch of self-important old farts at the Academy thought of his directing skills? The public were the only critics who had ever mattered to Harry Greene. But he knew Rasmirez felt differently. That he actually cared about the opinions of his ‘peers’, as he’d pretentiously called them on Katie Couric’s talk show yesterday, the self-important douche bag. Dorian
really
wanted those Oscars, Best Picture and Best Director. Harry Greene couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he lost. But first he would savour the pleasure of walking the red carpet with Dorian’s wife, cuckolding him in front of hundreds of millions of people around the world.

Chrissie looked great tonight in a scoop-necked flesh-colored Carolina Herrera cut on the bias, with a classic, Old Hollywood fishtail train. As befitted any date of Harry’s, she also wore half her bodyweight in diamonds. No point having a trophy if you couldn’t make it sparkle. At home, behind closed doors, Harry had already started to find Chrissie’s neediness tiresome. She kept pressuring him about a date for the wedding, which was difficult as Harry had not yet decided if he intended to go through with it or not. In many ways it would be the icing on the cake of his annihilation of Dorian. But, on the other hand, it meant being married. Matrimony had never been Harry Greene’s strong suit.

Chrissie, meanwhile, was having the time of her life. Photographers were shouting at her from all sides. ‘Congratulations on your engagement!’

‘Thank you,’ she replied graciously, clinging demurely to Harry’s arm.

‘Can you show us the ring?’

‘How do you feel about seeing your ex-husband again tonight? Are you nervous?’

‘Not at all,’ Chrissie preened, turning from side to side so that the cameras could catch the best angle on her dress. ‘Dorian and I are still great friends. I wish him well.’

‘We’ll be sure to stop by and commiserate with him after the show,’ added Harry, to general laughter.

Inside the theatre, things got even better. Harry had been given a seat a full six rows in front of Dorian. But, as the auditorium began to fill up, Dorian’s seat, and those of the rest of the
Wuthering Heights
nominees remained empty. For a moment, Harry’s heart lurched. Surely, it wasn’t possible that he would do a no-show? Not tonight. Harry had dreamed of this night for eight long years. Beating Rasmirez wasn’t enough. He wanted to
watch
him being beaten, to see the pain in his eyes. But, to his relief, a few minutes before the lights went down, Sabrina Leon arrived, swiftly followed by a dishevelled and stressed-looking Dorian.

You’d have thought he’d get his suit pressed for the fucking Academy Awards
, thought Harry disparagingly, taking in Dorian’s crumpled tuxedo jacket and amateurishly tied bow tie. His face looked dreadful too, so pale it was almost green (
nerves?
), the eyes lined and puffy with exhaustion.

‘Is he here?’ Chrissie spun around, following Harry’s gaze. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she gasped. ‘He looks ill.’

He’s lovesick
, she thought smugly.
Pining for me. Maybe, when all of this is over, I’ll take him back after all? I should marry Harry first, of course, get a decent divorce settlement …

After the double rejection from Dorian and Viorel last year, it felt fabulous to have two men fighting over her. And not just two men, but two of the biggest power players in all of Hollywood. For a washed-up soap actress over forty, she wasn’t doing too badly.

Lifting a white-gloved hand, she waved regally at Dorian, but he stared straight through her.

Leaning over, Sabrina whispered in Dorian’s ear. ‘Two o’clock, Wicked Witch of the West, waving.’

‘Hmm?’ said Dorian. ‘Oh.’ He waved absently back at Chrissie. It was like acknowledging a vague acquaintance. All he could think about, all he could see, was Sabrina.

Sitting beside him in her wine-red dress, she radiated beauty and sophistication, as well as that trademark vulnerability that had helped transform her into the perfect Cathy. Her bare neck and wrists shone infinitely more brightly than Chrissie’s diamonds, at least in Dorian’s eyes. How was he ever going to let her go?

But that’s ridiculous
, he told himself firmly.
You never had her in the first place.

At least Viorel’s seat to Sabrina’s right remained resolutely empty. He knew he shouldn’t, but Dorian thanked him for that, for staying away. It wasn’t until the lights dimmed and the opening refrains of ‘Hollywood’ rang out from the orchestra that it struck Dorian.

This was the Oscars. Best Picture. Best Director. Technically speaking, he might actually win, although according to every industry pundit,
Celeste
was the runaway favourite for both gongs.

Sabrina squeezed his hand. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ said Dorian, reluctantly releasing her fingers. ‘You too.’

As ever, the ceremony dragged on for what felt like an eternity. The interminable litany of thank-you speeches were enough to make anybody lose the will to live. Best Dubbing Mixer, Best Animated Short –
Why was it all the animation people were always bald, wore knitted ties and ‘zany’ wire-rimmed glasses and couldn’t seem to speak without mumbling?
thought Sabrina – it was torturous. She tried to shake the feeling of unreality that seemed to have settled over her. She, Sabrina Leon, from Fresno California was nominated for Best Actress. Best Actress. At the Oscars. Surely, any moment now, she was going to wake up. If she did, and this were all a dream, would Viorel wake up beside her? Would she want him to?

Glancing at his empty chair, she wondered why she didn’t feel worse. Had she hoped he’d show up tonight, or feared it? She didn’t even know any more. All she did know, feeling the warmth of Dorian’s body next to hers, was that she was glad her friend was here to support her. Glad too that she was there for him, especially with that cow Chrissie here twisting the knife, and Harry Greene clearly determined to destroy him. If
Wuthering Heights
got Best Picture, Sony would be forced to do a U-turn and release the film in cinemas after all. Either that or allow another distributor to buy out their contract, at an extortionate profit, of course. Not even Harry Greene carried enough clout to keep an Oscar-winning classic out of theatres indefinitely.

At the same time, Sabrina knew it was the Best Director honour that Dorian really, secretly coveted.
I owe him so much
, she thought, noticing for the first time how green and unwell he looked.
Please, God, let him get Best Director. He so deserves it.

Just as she had the thought, Clint Eastwood walked onto the stage looking old and stooped. This was it then. Too nervous to look at Dorian, she grabbed his hand silently.

‘And the nominations for Best Director are …’ Eastwood’s familiar cowboy drawl rang out through the auditorium. ‘Jason Reitman for
All God’s Children.’

On the enormous plasma screen behind him, a montage of Reitman’s war film began playing. To Sabrina it was little more than lights and colours. She was so tense she could barely breathe.

‘Harry Greene for
Celeste.
’

A loud ripple of applause swept around the room as the
Celeste
footage began rolling. Sabrina had deliberately avoided watching it till now. After Harry Greene had effectively cut them off at the knees, the whole
Wuthering Heights
team had boycotted his much-hyped period epic. But, looking at the highlights now, even Sabrina had to admit it was a sumptuous piece of work, the cinematic equivalent of a red-velvet cupcake, rich and textured and so delicious you wanted to slow it down, to savour every second.
He’s an asshole
, she thought, staring at Harry’s ramrod-straight back next to Chrissie Rasmirez,
but he’s a talented asshole.

Clips from the other nominees followed, but Sabrina found it hard to focus. Judging by the ever-tightening grip of Dorian’s hand in hers, he was struggling too.

‘And last but not least,’ Clint intoned, ‘Dorian Rasmirez for
Wuthering Heights.
’

There was no applause for the
Wuthering Heights
montage. Just a rapt, breathless silence. Sabrina, who hadn’t watched the movie herself since before the night Viorel broke up with her, now saw his face again on screen, six foot high and as perfectly formed as any Michelangelo sculpture.

Fuck, he’s beautiful
, she thought, squeezing Dorian’s hand more tightly. But the pain in her heart was less brutal than she’d expected. Even when they showed the bell-tower scene, the moment that had marked the beginning of her and Viorel’s affair, Sabrina found she could detach enough to appreciate the quality of the work, and Dorian’s outstanding achievement as a film-maker. There was Loxley Hall, looking magical and haunting in the dawn light. Lizzie Bayer was practically unrecognizable as the dying Isabella. How tirelessly Dorian must have worked with her to get that raw a performance out of her. He truly was a genius.