Dylan had a sick feeling in his stomach as he knocked on the door to Viveca’s trailer. He’d done everything he could think of to find out where Billy Barnett would be sitting the night of the Oscars—scanned incoming mail, tried to break into Barnett’s trailer, prodded Barnett’s secretary until she became noticeably suspicious and clammed up. This was his last chance, his Hail Mary.
Viveca called, “Come in.”
He went in and found her lying on the bed. She had taken her costume off, and was wearing a bra and panties and a skimpy makeup robe. She hadn’t bothered to pull it around her. She was, as usual, completely unselfconscious.
“Hi, Dylan. Don’t tell me they want me.”
“No.” He grimaced. “I have something to ask you.”
Viveca smiled and sat up. “Well, it can’t be as bad as all that. What is it?”
“About Sunday night.”
“The Oscar awards?”
“Yeah.”
“What about it?”
Dylan shook his head and kicked shit. “I feel really funny asking you this.”
Viveca patted the bed beside her. “Sit down, Dylan. You’re way too nice a guy to be so troubled. What is it?”
He sat down and took a breath. “I know there’s not a chance in hell, and I feel bad about asking, but is there any way you could get me there?”
Viveca’s mouth fell open. She blinked. “You want to go to the Oscars?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my goodness. No wonder you’re so nervous about asking. Do you know how hard it is to get a ticket to the Oscars? I’m a nominee, and I wasn’t sure they were going to give me a ticket.”
Dylan sighed. “Oh, boy. I’m so embarrassed.”
“I’m kidding you, Dylan.” She chucked him under the chin. “Hey, cheer up. It’s not the end of the world. I have a feeling you have a long career ahead of you, and there will be a lot of other Oscars.”
“I wanted to see you win.”
“That’s very sweet. The only way I could take you would be as my date, and I have a date. And, cute as you are, I’m not dumping my boyfriend for you.”
“Of course.” Dylan stood up. But still he didn’t leave. “Look. You know the ropes. Is there any other way I could get in? Anyone else I could ask? Anything else I could do?”
Viveca looked at him and sighed.
“Aw, gee.”
Peter Barrington was surprised. Viveca had never acted like a diva before. Throughout the entire production, she had been nothing but professional, cooperative, a joy to work with. For an actress with her credits, her behavior was exemplary and unprecedented. Which was why the request caught him completely off guard.
“You want Dylan at the awards?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“And I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Well, your movie is up for a zillion awards. Granted, I’m not in it, but I’m in your current movie, and he’s been acting as my assistant.”
“Won’t you be sitting with the cast from Paris Fling?”
“I’m the only actor nominated from the movie. I’ll be sitting with the director, who’s up against you. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Peter grinned and waved it away. “Trust me on that. So, if you want to take Dylan as your date, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“I have a date. My boyfriend is taking me. I have no romantic designs on Dylan. He’s just so eager to be there, and has been such a tremendous help to me on the set. It occurred to me, if I happened to win, I could use an assistant backstage to take care of the trophy, shield me from publicity, and get me back in the audience in time for best picture to be announced. I wondered if you could make that happen. He doesn’t have to be seated with me. In fact, it would be better if he wasn’t. But if he could be anywhere in the theater. Standing room, even, in the back of the audience or in the wings.”
She smiled. “I know this puts you in an awkward position. Tessa is nominated for the same award. I’d like to win, but if I can’t, I certainly hope it’s her. We’re all kind of a big family, and Dylan’s part of it.”
She smiled, self-deprecatingly. “I would hate to be the big-time movie star that he appealed to, who was powerless to do anything. Can you help me out?”