Killer Cocktail (3 page)

four

Almost an hour later,
the theater lights dimmed, and the orchestra began to play. Attendee
s settled into their seats. Ushers signaled for quiet. Cameramen readied themselves. From above, a disembodied voice called out, “Live from the Dolby Theater, it's the Oscars! Ladies and
Gentlemen, please welcome your host, Ellen DeGeneres!”

Wearing a fitted velvet tuxedo, Ellen strode across the stage. With a merry smile she greeted the cheering crowd in the auditorium. “Thank you!” she said. “Thank you very much. Before we get started, I want to say that you should think of yourselves as winners.” She paused. “Not everyone, but all of you that have won before should.”

The crowd laughed and settled in for the show. An hour later, the lull of the shorts, documentaries, and technical categories had taken its toll. Nigel was slumped low in his seat, his eyes at half-mast. My attempts to rouse him were ignored. When the Oscar for Best Actress was about to be announced, I gave him one last nudge. “Nigel! Wake up!” I hissed.

Nigel peeled one eye open and asked, “Is it over yet?”

“No, but they are about to announce Best Actress. Don't you want to watch?”

“You watch for me and tell me what happens,” he said, closing his eye again.

I poked him again. “Why did you bother to come if you don't even watch?”

Nigel crossed his arms across his chest, his eyes still closed. “Because,
someone
told me there was an open bar this year.”

“You really need to let that go. I said I was sorry.”

“And I told you that I'm sleeping. Now, stop talking. You're interrupting me.”

I gave up and focused again on the show. Anne Hathaway and Steve Carell were bantering as they read the nominees.

Among this year's candidates was Christina Franklin, the actress who ultimately portrayed the lead in
A Winter's Night
. Christina won her first Oscar for that role. In her acceptance speech, she called the win a bittersweet one and tearfully dedicated it to Melanie's memory. In the years after, she won three more Oscars and always spoke fondly of Melanie. Tonight she was up for her role in the movie
The Morning Came Early.
Her portrayal of a French seamstress trying to help Jews escape a Germany-occupied France during World War II had been universally praised by the critics and was a crowd favorite to win.

“And the winner is …” Anne Hathaway paused to open the envelope. After a quick glance, she happily called out, “Christina Franklin!”

The crowd burst into enthusiastic applause. Even the other nominees appeared genuinely happy for her. I pointed this out to Nigel, but he only kept his eyes closed and said, “They weren't nominated for Best Actress for nothing.”

Christina gracefully made her way to the podium, stopping to hug a few friends on the way. The lights reflected off the silver beading of her gown, shimmering across every dip and curve. Making her way onto the stage, she humbly accepted the statue, and then turned to face the audience. In many ways there was little difference between the nineteen-year-old-girl who first rose to this podium twenty years earlier and the thirty-nine-year-old woman who stood here now. She was tall and lithe. Although it was pulled back tonight, her hair was as it had always been; a tawny mane of riotous curls. Her waiflike face was still youthful. Her enormous green eyes, famous for their ability to subtly convey a gamut of emotions, now sparkled joyfully.

“Thank you so much for this,” she said in a soft voice, tilting her head to indicate the golden statue. Appearing for a moment at a loss for words, she reached up to smooth her hair before continuing. “There are so many people who made this possible,” she said. “First, I want to thank my agent, Barbara Pooler, who convinced me to take this role. She is simply a force of nature. I suspect I will be hearing ‘I told you so,' for a very long time.” The audience laughed. “And, of course,” Christina continued, “many thanks to the entire cast and crew of
The Morning Came Early.
You made the entire experience a wonderful one. To our director, Barry Meagher. Barry, where are you?” She sought him out in the crowd, her face softening when she found him. Barry Meagher was a tall, thin man with thick silver hair. His intense black eyes peered out at the world from under absurdly bushy eyebrows. A smile now split his craggy face, and he blew her an extravagant kiss. Christina grinned, pretended to catch it and blow it back. “Barry, it was truly a joy to work with you again,” she said. “You must be my good luck charm. I won my first Oscar working with you on
A Winter's Night
. You always bring out the best in us. Without you, this never would have happened,” she added gesturing to the Oscar. “And I hope you are called up here in a little bit to get yours for Best Director.” She glanced around the room and, with a sly wink, quickly added, “No offense meant to the other nominees, of course.” The crowed laughed good-naturedly. Christina paused and took a deep breath. “Finally, I'd like to thank my co-star and old friend, John Cummings.”

There was a faint gasp from the audience. Next to me, Nigel opened his eyes and sat up in his seat. “Well, this should be good,” he whispered.

Fastening her eyes on John, Christina continued, her voice soft. “Lord knows we've had our ups and downs, John, but I want you to know that I think you are one of the best actors out there today. You make everyone around you look good. I feel truly blessed to have been able to work with you again.”

Around us, people craned their necks to gage not only John's reaction to this speech, but also that of the young woman's sitting next to him.

Neither disappointed.

John's eyes locked on Christina's with an expression of pride
tinged with sadness. He bowed his dark head in acknowledgement of Christina's words before he, like their director, blew her a kiss. His gesture, however, had a far more intimate feel. As before, Christina pretended to catch the kiss. However, this time she did not return it. Instead, she balled her hand into a fist and held it close to her chest. “I think I'll hang on to this one for old time's sake,” she said with a small smile.

The reaction of the woman next to John, Jules Dixon, was Hollywood drama at its finest. Her full, pink lips stretched into a tight smile across her round, kewpie doll face. Grabbing John's hand, she gave it a tight squeeze before leaning over into his seat and placing a possessive kiss on his cheek. John barely acknowledged the gesture. His gaze remained locked on Christina's.

From the podium, Christina gently kissed her still-balled hand before smiling her thanks again to the crowd and gracefully making her way off stage.

“Now,
that
is what I call great acting,” said Nigel with a grin.

I looked over to where John and Jules sat. His face was unreadable. The same could not be said for Jules. She stared straight ahead, her eyes bright with anger; the brittle smile on her face fooling no one.

five

After that, conversation mainly
focused on rehashing the sordid details of the love triangle that was Christina, John, and Jules. “It's clear that she still loves him,” announced a woman sheathed in a black silk gown seated behind me. “Despite his horrible behavior, she still loves him.”

Her companion disagreed. “Oh, Dotty, how can you say that?” she chastised as she adjusted the strap of her gold dress. “After all their years together, he goes and gets that girl pregnant! Why, she's almost twenty years younger than he is! There is no way Christina still loves him. She's too smart for that.”

Sometime after that, the man in front of us groused, “I don't see what the big deal is. John and Christina had been together for what—twenty years? The relationship had obviously run its course, and he found somebody new. It happens all the time.”

“It hadn't run its course, you idiot,” his wife hissed at him. “After Jules held that ridiculous press conference—from her hospital room, no less—announcing that the baby was John's, Christina made him do the right thing and marry her. He doesn't love Jules anymore than I love the way you suck your teeth, which by-the-way, is absolutely disgusting.”

Later, a woman to my left wearing a pink trumpet gown, said, “I never understood why Barry Meagher ever cast Jules Dixon in
The Morning Came Early
in the first place.
The only thing that girl knows how to do is take off her clothes and pout. The very idea of her playing a studious Jewish girl trying to save her family from the Nazis is ludicrous!”

“I know,” agreed her date. “I can't image what the movie would have been like had she not gotten pregnant and dropped out. I keep picturing her trying to do a striptease with a snood.”

In the ladies' room, a woman reapplying lipstick in the mirror sniffed smugly and said, “Well, that's what happens when you put career first. Christina and John never had any kids because she was more concerned with making movies than making babies.”

“How do you figure that?” her friend demanded as she fluffed her blonde hair. “John met Jules while the three of them were filming
The Morning Came Early.
Why would you think that if Christina was home with a baby the affair wouldn't have happened?”

In the lobby, a balding man with a well-developed paunch said to his equally rotund friend, “I don't care if Jules Dixon can't act her way out of a paper bag. With a body like that, she doesn't need to. I mean, Christina's still good-looking and all, but let's face it, she's pushing forty. Let me tell you, once they hit that age, it's all downhill.”

“John Cummings is one lucky son-of-a-bitch,” his friend agreed as he tossed back the rest of his scotch. “Hell, I wouldn't say no to a fling with Jules Dixon, even if it meant being hit with a palimony suit.”

Two women who, based on their disgusted expressions, I guessed to be their wives returned from the restroom in time to hear this. The taller of the two jabbed a lethally manicured finger into the soft spot of the first man's stomach. “Oh, is that true, Mr. I-Wheeze-if-I-Have-to-Go-Up-a-Flight-of-Stairs? And you think
you're
some prize? Did someone forget to tell me that perpetual upper lip sweat is all the rage?”

“I'm just curious how you think you could even
get
someone like Jules Dixon, let alone get her
pregnant, when you need Viagra just to go to the bathroom?” the second woman scoffed at the scotch drinker.

“Well, if you ask me, Jules Dixon is a no-class, piece-of-work,” said another woman at the bar, her arms crossed tightly across her ample chest. “Did you read where she said Johnny had never been happy with Christina, and that their relationship was all a ploy by the publicity department? Not once has either Johnny or Christina said one mean word about the other to the press since their split. But apparently Jules didn't get a copy of the ‘We're Going to Act Like Adults' memo. She's unbelievable. I mean, really, can you believe her?”

“For the last time, Martha, I have no idea who you are talking about nor do I care to,” replied her weary husband. “Now do you want a damn drink or not?”

Footage from the set of
A Winter's Night
5/2/96

The scene is a 1940s nightclub. John and Melanie sit at a table near a dance floor. Around them the film crew bustles about preparing the scene. John and Melanie sit in silence ignoring one another. Just off to the right Barry sits in his director's chair reading notes. A trim blonde with a forced smile approaches him. It is Janice Franklin, Christina's mother.

JANICE

Barry! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.

BARRY (not looking up)

How perceptive of you to think to look for me here. Your detractors clearly have underestimated you.

JANICE (smile slips)

You're such a teaser.

BARRY (still not looking up)

I've been called many things, Janice. Thankfully, that has never been one of them. (Finally looks up and pushes his reading glasses on his head) What do you want, Janice?

JANICE

Well, it's about Christina.

BARRY

Imagine my surprise.

JANICE

Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you about the Kitchen Scene. The one where Christina receives the break-up letter from her boyfriend? And then she breaks down and cries at the table?

BARRY (sighing)

I'm familiar with the scene, Janice. What about it?

JANICE

Well, I just heard that it's being cut. Is this true?

BARRY

It is. The movie is going to run long as it is. I've got to trim the excess.

JANCIE

But that's one of Christina's best scenes! And it's her only solo scene!

BARRY

I'm aware of that, Janice. Unfortunately, we can't keep every scene or we are going to end up with a five-hour movie.

JANICE

So, cut something else! What about that scene with Melanie in the tub? I don't see why we need that. She barely says a word in it.

BARRY (incredulous)

I'm sorry. Did you really just suggest that I cut the scene in which the main character contemplates killing herself ? The scene that is basically the turning point of the whole movie?

JANICE (crossing her arms over her chest)

I just think it's a little over done, that's all. I'm sure you could get across the point without taking up so much screen time. It's five minutes long, for Christ's sake! I know it's Melanie we're talking about here, but surely even she's capable of appearing to make a decision in a shorter amount of time.

BARRY (rubbing his eyes wearily)

Please go away, Janice. I'm barely holding on by a thread as it is today. I simply can't deal with your crazy right now.

JANICE (angrily)

My … my …
what?
Did you just call
me
crazy?
Me?
I'm not the one who is turning this movie into a one-woman showcase for Melanie Summers! Last time I checked, this movie was about a family's struggles—not just one girl's perpetual navel gazing!

BARRY

It is a movie about a family, but the main character of that family—and the catalyst for most of the story—is Hanna. And I know you don't like this, but Melanie got the role of Hanna. Not Christina. So, unless you have something meaningful to say—which I grant you would be a first—I'd prefer it if you'd shut the hell up and let me direct my movie!

JANICE (not moving)

What the hell is going on here, Barry? Ever since we've started shooting, you've changed the focus of this film. It's all about Melanie. I get that she's the star, but she's not the only character. And yet every day, you cut another scene so you can make one of hers longer.

BARRY (putting his glasses back on
and reading his notes again)

Once again, I have no idea what you're talking about, Janice.

JANICE

Oh, I think you do. There's something rotten going on around here. And I intend to find out what it is.

Janice turns and storms away. After a moment, Barry pushes his glasses back onto his head and frowns at her retreating form.