Episode 23: Leading Role
leading role: the most important, main character in a film.
Nick coiled his arm around her waist, tighter, protective.
“Good evening, you two,” Spencer said, his smile nervous because the last time the two saw each other, Nick could have won an Oscar for an ass-whooping.
“Hello, Spencer,” Tallulah greeted, eager to keep the peace.
Nick didn’t respond. He simply glared at the talk show host, cold and venomous.
“Don’t you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, Tally,” Spencer complimented.
Tallulah bit back a laugh.
“Thank you, Spencer,” she said.
“No, you’re absolutely right,” Nick said. “She does.”
His words carried the weight of a threat, a dare, a challenge for Spencer to slip up.
Tallulah knew Nick.
Last time, he embarrassed Spencer publicly on his talk show and then embarrassed him privately, which meant he had no qualms about doing it again. Knowing Nick, she could tell he was eager to, even though Spencer’s father had forced the talk show host to issue both a public and a private apology.
But once you got on Nicholas Lachlan Bryant’s bad side, it was a hard list to get off of. After what Spencer had done, it was a list on which he earned a top-three spot.
And Tallulah suspected he wasn’t number three.
Spencer chuckled sheepishly. “Yes, she does. You look quite handsome yourself. What are you looking most forward to tonight?”
Nick narrowed his eyes.
Tallulah leaned in to comment to break the thickening tension. “We always look forward to the opening speech. It’s one of our favorites.”
Spencer gave her a subtle look of gratitude for breaking the ice. He asked a few more routine questions, to which Nick begrudgingly gave curt replies.
Afterward, Tallulah ushered Nick away.
Once they had made it into the theater, they followed the stream of bodies into the theater. Their assigned seats were in the center orchestra’s second row. Nick occupied an aisle seat, and she sat to his right. She glanced around in awe as the theater’s rows and orchestra boxes filled up.
She wasn’t sure how to process it all. It was all so overwhelming as she sat beside and amongst people she had admired for years and aspired to be.
Neither she nor Nick talked.
Their unified silence comforted her.
Soon, the ceremony began.
Intro music played, applause erupted, and the presenter for the night, a veteran comedian, did his opening ceremony speech riddled with poor-taste jokes that everyone forced out fake laughs to for the cameras.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as the ceremony went through the presenters and their dryly delivered speeches before announcements of the nominees and then the winners. Then came the heartfelt and teary-eyed speeches, the commercial breaks, and the army of camera crew that tried to capture the audience’s reactions.
As the night wore on, she snuck glances at Nick, who seemed as cool as a cucumber, but his hand was in her lap, and she held it, cradling it with both of hers. She could tell how nervous he was just by pressing her fingers against the pulse in his wrist.
She felt the rapid thump, thump, thump.
Whenever a cameraman got in his face, he would grin, wink, and put on a show, just like the rest.
When it came time for the Best Actor category after another commercial break, the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage Academy Award-winning actress Naomi Bartlett.”
Her fans screamed from the back of the theater and the upper levels, practically screeching at the top of their lungs like a chorus of banshees. Naomi stepped onto the stage with an envelope. An attendant followed her, holding the Oscar.
“Good evening, everyone. It’s an absolute honor to be here tonight, celebrating the phenomenal achievements of our industry’s finest,” Naomi read from the teleprompter, her eyes and pink diamonds twinkling in the stage lights. “The Best Actor category has always represented the zenith of dedication, passion, and sheer talent. This year’s nominees have captivated us with their astounding performances and inspired us with their unwavering dedication to their craft.”
“Each leading actor brought to life characters that will stay with us long after the credits roll,” she continued, fixing her gaze on each nominee out into the crowd. “Through their characters, they challenged our perceptions, stirred our emotions, and reminded us of the influential power of storytelling. These performances are a testament to cinema’s endless possibilities and its profound impact on all of us.”
“And now, without further ado, here are the nominees for Best Actor,” she stated, a brief montage of each nominee’s performance played on the colossal screen behind her. “Philip Folly in Castlewood; John Godbersen in Icarus; Nick Bryant in Wicked People; Isaac Lore in Raw Thirst; Holland Frost in There Be Dragons.”
Tallulah squeezed Nick’s hand, and he squeezed it back. She kept her eyes on him, ignoring the camera lens creeping toward his face.
“And the Oscar goes to...” Naomi trailed off as she opened the envelope and slipped out the results card.
After a dramatic pause, a smile bloomed across her lips:
“Nicholas Bryant for Wicked People!”
Nick’s eyelids fluttered shut for just a moment as relief washed over him, and the air in Tallulah’s lungs felt heavy like lead. Stinging tears sprung up, blurring her sight.
He leaned over and kissed her once, twice, three times on the lips.
His peers and the audience stood all around, clapping their thunderous applause.
She whispered, “I told you, baby, I told you.”
Nick said nothing in return, instead only giving her one last kiss.
It took everything in Tallulah to let go of his hand as he stood from his seat. He straightened his lapels with a slight tug. Then he shook hands and hugged familiar faces as he walked down the aisle.
Nick climbed the steps and made his way across the stage to Naomi.
Her fans screamed louder as they shared a polite cheek kiss.
Naomi uttered the word congratulations in his ear before she handed him his Oscar and stepped back. With his award in hand, he approached the podium. The audience continued with their ovations, cheers, and screams, but Tallulah couldn’t find it in her to stand up.
To join in.
She sat there, breathless, quaking. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought it would jump out of her chest. Her mind raced alongside her pulse.
He did it.
He fucking did it.
Just like she knew he would.
Pride, excitement and love poured through her in an intoxicating medley that made her dizzy.
Nick leaned into the microphone. “Thank you.”
As if on command, everyone sat in their spots, listening intently, hanging on to whatever words Nick would utter next. He looked at the Oscar he gripped, half pleased, half in disbelief.
Showing his first real emotions to the world beyond the stage.
“Well, whoa,” he began, inciting laughter and further applause.
“Uh, foremost, thank God for putting the right people in my life. I’d like to thank,” he said, rattling off names, “my publicist Juan, my assistant Aishwarya, and the producers Kwame Brightwell, Ayesha Patel, and Gabriela Joel. As well as our fierce director and leader Douglas Mitchell, our cinematographer Fiona Reed, the incredible editor Marissa Winters, our costume designer Lucas Vance, and the amazing people on the production team who worked tirelessly to bring Wicked People to life.”
“And next, I would like to thank my parents,” he continued, raw emotion seeping into his words. “Their life lessons helped shape me and taught me that the son of a homemaker and a coal miner can do anything under any kind of pressure if I just persist. I want to thank my son Milo for helping me become the best father I can be.”
“And lastly...” Nick aimed his gaze at Tallulah, “I need to thank the one person who made the Nick Bryant you see before you now: my wife Tally.”
Her breath caught in her painfully tight throat, tears staining her cheeks.
“I didn’t grow up wanting to be an actor. That all changed when I met Tally,” he said, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. “She loved the art of performance so much that I had to learn to love it too, just to get her to notice me. I’d switch shifts and take days off to sit in the crowd at her plays, hoping she’d see me. When she finally did, she taught me everything she knew, just like her mother taught her.”
He paused, his Kentucky twang slipping in: “She showed me a boy from Kentucky how to act the part. Right down to his voice. She practiced with me and dissected movies with me until I could see the beauty in them. She sacrificed for me. Without her, I wouldn’t be here holdin’ this.”
Nick lifted the glinting golden statue. “This Oscar is more hers than mine. I need you to know that, Tally. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she mouthed with quivering lips, nodding.
“Thank you,” he said as the music played and the applause reignited.
Then Naomi escorted him off the stage.
