The old man leaned heavily on his cane gazing at the sheer pristine garishness of it all. Constantly dusted and de-finger printed there it all was, enshrined behind glass, available for the passersby to ogle and wonder at, but safe at an untouchable distance; like the memories that each held for him.
He looked around to see that he was, as usual, alone. Lights dimmed and quiet, he fished a key from his pocket and opened the glass. He scanned each of the accolades, most of which had his name on them.
“Is this all that’s left?” He thought to himself. Opening the glass, he reached for that first Oscar, a little tarnished by time, but still shocked by the weight of it when first picked up. He grasped his tired fingers around it and relived the excitement, the anticipation and the heavy climax that evening held.
“Now remember,” the severe woman in the seat across from them said, “You’re movie stars. Try to act like it.”
“Lucille…” the other man in the limo said, “this isn’t the first time.”
“It’s the first time you’ve all been nominated.” She said as she fussed with his bow tie for the fourth or fifth time since the driver picked them up.
He smacked at her hands, fed up with it. “We’ve done this before.”
She pointed to the woman across from her. “She hasn’t.”
The woman she pointed at was white, her fingers grasping the jewelry around her neck, seeming to take what little comfort she could in the texture, running over and over it with her fingertips. The man beside her took one of the jittery hands, grasped it and held it between his.
“She’ll be fine.” He turned to capture her attention. “These are our friends, people we work with.”
“Except their wearing designer clothes and don’t smell like armpits for a change.” The severe woman snapped.
Her companion snapped back. “Are you sure you’ve been to one of these before?”
She turned her daggers at him. “Yeah, and don’t forget if it wasn’t for me, you would just be one of them again and not a nominee.”
“If I win.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure and mention that. How does thank you to everyone who helped me get here including that bitch publicist I married sound to you?”
“Better than nothing…” She mumbled and turned her attention back to the couple across from them. “You look like death warmed over.”
“She looks beautiful.” Her companion said. He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re with me.”
“What if…” She whimpered softly.
He lowered his voice into a soft firm promise. “I won’t leave your side. You can do this.”
She tried to smile, and managed to momentarily but then shivered when the thought entered her head. “What if I win?”
“Then I’ll give you a kiss, help you stand up and go get your Oscar.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“But I’ll have to say something.” She said so softly. “We agreed…” she said even softer and looked out the window.
Her companion tugged on her hand. “Look at me.” She didn’t respond so he tugged lightly again. “Look at me.”
Her fear filled eyes did their best to connect with his. “If you win, just read what I wrote down. Remember?” She nodded her head as he reminded her. “If you win just pull out the paper, look at it not anything else and read it. That’s all, when they start applauding just nod your head in appreciation and go wherever they lead you.”
“Where will you be?” She asked.
“I’ll come right to you.”
The severe woman had had enough. “Look missy, do not screw this up. We have worked too damn hard to pull this off and you will not screw it up. Any moron can stand up, walk twenty feet and read what’s scribbled on the back of a napkin and by God, you will to!”
Her husband turned to her. “Lucille, I have never struck a lady before in my life, and if I beat the ever living crap out of you right now, I’m sure my record would still be clean. Now sit back, and shut up!”
The past back behind him, he bit his lip and put the award, and the memory, back from where it came. The metal base scratched the glass shelf as he put it back in place echoing through the dark halls. He slowly closed the door and locked it back with another echoed click.
He was old again, standing in front of the glass. This time he was looking at himself and he pointed at his reflection. “You will not screw this up.”
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