The car rolled to a stop and an usher opened the back door of our limo with one hand while keeping a large golf umbrella ready to cover us as we stepped out. I climbed out and watched as hundreds of cameras were lifted and pointed in my direction. Then, like a retreating wave, they all dropped again when they realized I wasn’t anybody. The eyes were already straining eagerly toward the next car in the queue. My ego having been effectively deflated, I took David’s proffered arm and we walked into the Kodak Theatre.
Inside I felt goose bumps rising on my bare arm because the air conditioning was going full blast. I supposed it made sense. There were going to be a lot of bodies in this space for a number of hours and it would probably be warm, but right now it was freezing. I also wondered how much of my shivering was due to nerves and the air conditioning was just my excuse. Since we’d explored the theater two massive replicas of the Oscar statuettes had been erected on either side of the stage. The giant figures stood on a film reel; with their smooth heads and joined legs they reminded me of Egyptian statues. When you added in the long crusader’s sword it gave me a sense of eerie otherworldliness hovering just beneath the shallow glitz that exemplified Hollywood.
As we walked down the aisle toward our seats it seemed like the Kodak was a box filled with gems. Not just because of the amount of jewelry sparkling at throats and on wrists and fingers, but the dresses themselves. The gowns were shimmers of rich color. Black for women was definitely not in this year. Then I realized why men wore tuxedos. It made them the perfect foil for the women’s finery.
We took our seats. Parlan and Ladlaw were across the aisle from us. Parlan was dressed in Álfar style. It didn’t look as good on his powerful, barrel-chested form as it did on his companion’s willowy frame. We settled in for an hour and a half of incredible tedium. The only thing that made it bearable was watching fervent air kisses and man hugs being exchanged, and evaluating each new dress as more and more people arrived. To David’s disgust Hank was right in the middle of the air kissing and man hugging. When the orchestra began to tune we knew we were getting close, and then the cameramen began making final adjustments to their cameras. It was time.
The orchestra played a long drumroll and fanfare. Across America and around the world people gazed at their televisions as the announcer boomed out. “Live from Los Angeles, it’s the Academy Awards!”
The ceremony began. Sometime, probably an hour in, I realized my muscles were cramping from holding myself at rigid attention. Ready to leap out of my chair, ready to move, to react. The theater darkened even more and a large screen rolled down. It was time for In Memorium. A good time, I decided, to make a run for the ladies room. I turned around in my seat to whisper in to David, “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t rush,” he growled back. “I’m dead and I feel like this has gone on for an eternity.”
I wasn’t the only person who had the same idea. As usual the women’s restroom had too few stalls for too many full bladders. I joined the line snaking through the door and into the bathroom. I found myself between a famous TV actress and a star of screen and stage. “I should not have drunk that bottle of water in the limo,” the movie star moaned. “I’m about to pee my panties.”
“If you had any on, dear,” said the older TV actress sweetly.
“I guess when you get to your age you don’t care about panty lines,” responded the younger woman.
“Yeah, don’t you wish you were on my side of the divide?”
“Oh, God, yes,” the younger woman sighed. “This double-sided tape is chaffing my boobs something awful.”
I had wondered how she was keeping her famous breasts inside the confines of the plunging décolletage of the gown. Now I had my answer. I also realized that what had seemed like nasty sniping had actually been shared amusement. Hollywood really was like a funhouse mirror. I finally made it into a stall and tried to pee, but nerves had me so tense I could barely go. At the sinks I washed my hands and watched as the women to either side of me refreshed lipstick, added more eyeliner, rearranged their breasts, pulled up pantyhose, and fussed with their hair. I just left. I had been away for too long already.
Nothing had happened in my absence. I sank back in my chair and sighed. Thirty minutes later David leaned forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “What?” I whispered. “Do you see something?”
“We’re getting into the Best Supporting Actor and Actress. This is when a lot of people will tune in. To see who wins the big awards.”
“You big fraud. You watch this. I bet you watch it every year,” I said.
“That’s enough of your sass,” he growled.
The Best Supporting Actress cried and thanked a lot of people no one had ever heard of, but included her lawyers in the list. Merlin leaned across the aisle and said, “That’s sort of nice. We don’t usually get singled out for thanks. Usually we get roundly cursed by everyone.”
“Shhhh,” I hissed because the presenters for Best Supporting Actor were tearing open the envelope, and since an Álfar was nominated for the first time I wanted to hear. The breathless young actress leaned in close to the mike and squealed—
“And the winner is Jay Williams!”
The hall erupted in cheers. A tall, older man stood, shook hands with the people all around him, kissed several of the women, and started for the stage. I was watching Jujuran who was three rows behind me and across the aisle. He had been on his feet, clapping like everyone else, but as I watched, the actor’s face went slack, then blank, and he suddenly pushed his way out of the row of seats.
We weren’t as fast or as agile as an Álfar, but we were all in motion by the time he reached the foot of the stairs. From the corner of my eye I saw Ladlaw shimmer and vanish. Parlan was on his feet. Maslin and Merlin left their seats. Hank shoved his way out of his row. I kicked off my shoes and jumped up to stand on mine, scanning the room, looking for Qwendar. David, in an amazing display of grace and balance, used the backs of the chairs to run toward the stage.
Williams was on the steps leading up to the stage. Jujuran caught up with him, seized the human actor by the arm, and threw him into the orchestra pit. The cheers turned to screams, there was a harsh jangling as the actor fell among the instruments, and then Jujuran was on stage. He wrenched the statuette out of the hands of the pretty young presenter. She made the mistake of resisting, and when she lost the tug of war Jujuran, armed with the heavy Oscar, swung it like a club at the head of the actress. Her companion, acting more on instinct then planning, threw up an arm to block the murderous hit. The eight-and-a-half-pound, gold-plated statue connected with his forearm, and he screamed in pain as the bones broke. The actress tried to run backward, got tangled up in her train, and fell down.
There were other Álfar scattered throughout the audience, and they were turning on the people next to them. As I watched, Palendar grabbed the actor next to him by the throat and began choking him. A panicky crowd started pouring into the aisles. Merlin and Maslin were trying to reach an Álfar actress who was clawing at another woman’s face, but the crush of people was making it hard.
Jeff shoved people aside. I saw one famous actor’s toupee go flying at the rough handling, and amazingly he stopped to try and recover his rug. Jeff looked like all the action heroes he had ever played as he reached Palendar, grabbed the slender Álfar by the back of his coat and the seat of his pants, and hauled him off his victim. Jeff threw Palendar bodily over three rows of seats. The Álfar hit the chairs with a sickening crash. He regained his feet, but from the way he gripped his side it looked like a few ribs were broken. He was undeterred. He climbed over the seats and attacked Jeff.