The 60th Academy Awards Ceremony will begin at six p.m. Pacific time tonight.
Janette left Malibu well before five and rushed over to help Simon get ready in the Daenerys Pictures headquarters office. Together they stepped into the stretched limousine that had been booked in advance and headed for the Shrine Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles.
Because of the writers' strike, many parts of this milestone 60th Oscar ceremony had been scaled back. Around five-thirty Simon and Janette arrived outside the Shrine Auditorium; the red carpet stretched barely twenty meters, a short strip from the curb straight to the entrance.
The limo stopped at the head of the carpet. No sooner had Simon and Janette stepped out than the press and onlookers lining the carpet spotted them. A storm of flashbulbs and cheers from the bleachers pulled every guest still lingering on the carpet.
Pat Kingsley, who had arrived early, walked up and stayed beside Simon, reminding him and Janette to pause for photos.
Moments later Simon heard more shouts from the bleachers and turned to see Sandra Bullock, in a white off-shoulder gown, lifting her hem and gliding toward them.
The photographers, already satisfied with their shots, erupted again at Sandra's appearance.
Noticing that Simon had only given Sandra a quick hug and was about to move on with Janette, a reporter called out, "Simon, Sandy, how about a picture together?"
Before Simon could answer, Sandra nodded and looked at Janette, who still had her arm linked through his. Janette smiled, let go, and stepped aside; Sandra slipped her arm through his instead.
Wearing a stiff smile as the cameras clicked, Simon changed poses and, barely moving his lips, muttered, "You really want to watch Janette boil me alive?"
Sandra leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder as the photographers cheered even louder. "Yep", she chirped cheerfully.
Simon could only lament that he'd chosen the wrong friends.
When the torture finally ended he hurried both women past the carpet and into the auditorium, thankful tonight's runway was short, who knew what might happen on a longer one.
Despite being last year's box-office champion, 'Run Lola Run' had earned only a token Best Film Editing nomination. Just Simon and Sandra received invitations, and they would also present the Best Cinematography award.
Major Oscar guests may bring partners; Simon brought Janette, while Sandra arrived alone.
Inside the auditorium Simon discovered that, true to their mischievous spirit, the organizers had seated the three of them in a row, himself in the middle, Janette on his left, Sandra on his right.
With the ceremony still some time away, Simon mingled with familiar faces for ten minutes before having to return. He tried to let Janette take the inside seat, but she smiled and nudged him in.
As soon as he sat down Sandra leaned over, casual as could be. "Simon, have you written your acceptance speech?"
Simon looked puzzled. "Hmm?"
"Best Editing nomination", Sandra reminded, giving his shoulder a playful tap. "Stop pretending you forgot".
He honestly had; he shook his head. "A nomination with zero chance doesn't need a speech".
"You might win", Sandra said, then added indignantly, "'Run Lola Run' deserved more nods, blame those old fogeys"
Simon raised a finger to his lips and glanced around. "Keep it down, if anyone hears, I'll get even fewer next year".
"Ha!" Sandra laughed, then said, "If you do win, remember to thank me".
"Deal".
Sandra nodded, satisfied. "So, what are your plans after the show?"
"Go home. Sleep".
"Seriously? So boring, like an Old Man", she said, glancing toward Janette. "How about we hit the Warner party?"
"Hmm?"
"You know, I'm doing Dangerous Liaisons for Warner".
"Oh".
Simon nodded, recalling the adaptation of the French epistolary novel, already tipped as next year's Oscar bait.
Sandra had shown him the script weeks earlier; the role she landed had originally been Michelle Pfeiffer's, the part that would earn Michelle an Oscar nod for Best Supporting Actress.
A few casual questions told him Warner had indeed wanted Michelle, until WMA vice-president Ed Limato led Mel Gibson and a raft of stars to ICM in January. WMA then flexed its muscle and snatched the role; Warner, weighing Sandra's popularity against Michelle's, made the switch.
Of course, as a supporting role in a period art film, Sandra couldn't ask for much, such projects are résumé-padding for awards season.
When Simon merely said "Oh" and lapsed into silence, Sandra nudged him with her shoulder. "So, coming?"
With only one nomination, Daenerys Pictures hadn't thrown a party; Simon had invites from Warner, Orion and others but hadn't planned to attend. Caught by Sandra's persistence, he looked past her to Janette and repeated, "Coming?"
"Sure", Janette said, rolling her eyes at Simon, then turning to Sandra, who'd been ignoring her. "Sandy, ever thought about getting a boyfriend?"
"Working on it", Sandra replied without hesitation.
Janette pressed against Simon and whispered through a sweet smile, "Keep this up and you'll get your face scratched".
Sandra shrugged, leaned nearer to Simon and murmured, "Then I'll just have to rely on him for the rest of my life".
Janette glanced at the man trying to vanish into his seat. "If I scratch his face too, will you still want him?"
Sandra beamed. "Even if you boil him, I'll take him".
Janette narrowed her pretty eyes. "Planning to keep him for winter?"
Sandra nodded. "Mhm, add plenty of salt when you cook him".
Trapped between the two women trading smiles and blood-curdling remarks, Simon raised his hands in surrender. "How about we change the subject, something positive?"
Janette and Sandra both rolled their eyes at him, but before they could continue an usher reminded everyone to take their seats, and the two finally fell silent.
At six o'clock, the ceremony officially began.
After the opening number and the Academy's sixtieth-anniversary address by president Robert Wise, the evening's host, Chevy Chase, took the stage.
Chevy Chase was one of Hollywood's best-known comic stars of the seventies and eighties, a Saturday Night Live alumnus who shot to fame with 1978's third-highest-grossing film, 'Animal House'.
Yet, perhaps still feeling the writers' strike, Chase's performance felt flat; his five-minute stand-up monologue mostly recited a dry list of nominees, leavened only by a few lukewarm one-liners.
Simon preferred Billy Crystal's warmer style to Chase's deadpan humour, but Crystal wouldn't begin hosting the Oscars for another few years.
Though the evening had almost nothing to do with him, Simon found himself enjoying the electric atmosphere, trading jokes with the two women beside him.
After forty minutes or so, with Best Cinematography approaching, Simon and Sandra slipped out of their seats and headed backstage.
Simon hadn't rehearsed; he'd simply been handed a short warm-up script. Guided by staff, he and Sandra collected the sealed envelope and waited just offstage.
Watching the Best Animated Short winner give thanks, Sandra looped her arm through Simon's and waved the envelope. "You should've had a nomination in here, it's not fair."
Simon smiled. "I rather like an unfair world, Sandy. Only people stuck at the bottom of the pyramid chase, or fantasize about, fairness".
"You're really not angry at all?"
"I rarely feel anger, or much of anything", Simon said. "Probably some sort of emotional deficit".
Sandra blinked. "Then… do you love Janette?"
"Yes", Simon answered without hesitation.
"Do you love me?"
"No".
"But I love you".
"Thank you".
"Jerk", Sandra muttered, pinching his arm. "I won't let you off the hook".
As they whispered, the winner finished, music swelled, and Chevy Chase's voice returned: "Hollywood is a town of miracles, and this past year they came thicker than ever. One man directed, wrote, shot, lit, did nearly everything, to make a brilliant film. Another's very first movie became the year's box-office champ. And someone wrapped a picture and promptly became the world's youngest billionaire. The wildest part? All those miracles point to the same person. Please welcome Simon Westeros and Sandra Bullock".
Amid thunderous applause Simon and Sandra walked to centre stage and stepped to the microphone.
As the clapping faded, Simon scanned the packed tiers of the Shrine Auditorium; when Sandra stayed silent, he gave her a discreet pat between the shoulder blades.
Feeling the prompt, Sandra steadied herself. "Cinematographers are usually the first crew members we meet. Actors may beg them to make us look gorgeous, but they can do far more, turn an hour of dreary running into something magical on the big screen".
Light laughter rippled through the house as Simon continued, "A great film always has a great cinematographer, someone who shapes its very visual soul".
"Here are this year's nominees for Best Cinematography".
"Allen Daviau, Empire of the Sun".
"Vittorio Storaro, The Last Emperor".
"Michael Ballhaus, Broadcast News".
"Philippe Rousselot, Hope and Glory".
"Haskell Wexler, Matewan".
After alternating through the five names, Sandra handed the envelope to Simon. He slit it open, glanced at the card, and announced, "The Oscar goes to—Vittorio Storaro, The Last Emperor".
A foregone conclusion.
Storaro climbed the steps, accepted the statuette from Simon, and offered brief thanks before Simon and Sandra escorted him backstage.
While handlers fitted Storaro's Oscar with its nameplate, Simon and Sandra found themselves momentarily free.
Still rattled by her early stumble, Sandra sat with Simon on a sofa. He fetched her a bottle of water. "How do you feel?"
She took a long sip. "Simon… did I blow it?"
"Not at all, you just froze for a second. Even if you had blown it, so what? As long as you're a star, the Academy will keep asking you back".
"I thought it'd be easy, I've done stage work in New York," she said, recalling the moment. "But I've never seen that many faces at once".
Simon guessed the Shrine held more than two thousand guests; no wonder a first-timer would choke under the glare of the lights.
After another sip she relaxed. "You really weren't nervous?"
Simon frowned. "Why would I be?"
She thumped his shoulder. "Emotionally defective, all right".
He chuckled. "If you're okay, we should head back, Janette will think we're sneaking off for a tryst".
Sandra almost nodded, then caught the joke, glanced around, and leaned in.
Feeling her cool lips brush his corner, Simon blurted, "Don't bite".