As the show began, the lights dimmed, a huge screen was lowered over the stage, and the picture popped on. It was a shot of the Oscar host, incredibly popular TV personality Jeremy Jenkins. With a background in Broadway theater, feature films, and standup comedy, Jeremy had already hosted the Tonys and the Emmys, and this was his first go at the Academy Awards.
On the screen, Jeremy is lying in bed. His eyes pop open. His face registers terror. He is late for the awards.
He rushes out the door, ripping off his pajamas, and bursts into the street, wearing a strange-looking tuxedo with no opening in the front. He stops, looks over his shoulder. He has put it on backward. He grabs his head, gives it a 180-degree twist. He looks down to see his bow tie is now under his chin. He nods in satisfaction and sprints for his car.
He speeds down the freeway, hits a traffic jam, hops out of his car, and runs along the roofs of the other cars toward the theater.
He arrives at the theater where a group of anxious singers and dancers are waiting to usher him in. They all surge through the theater doors as—
The lights came up on stage, the screen was hauled up, and the scene the audience had been watching seamlessly blended into a live-action opening number performed by Jeremy and the chorus.
The song and dance was pleasant, if unsensational. At best, it let Jeremy get off a few one-liners. At worst, it resembled a slightly under-rehearsed Broadway routine.
In the ensuing applause, Jeremy launched into his opening monologue. As was his custom, he singled out some of the nominees to pick on. Teddy prayed he wouldn’t be one of them, but of course he was.
Jeremy’s face lit up in recognition. “I see Mark Weldon is here tonight,” he said happily. His face froze and he put up his hand and edged away. “And I’m not going to say a thing about him,” he said, and the audience laughed appreciatively.
Jeremy finished his opening monologue and segued straight into the awards. As usual, Best Supporting Actor was first, a high-profile award to grab the audience’s attention before the lull to follow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jeremy announced. “To present the Best Supporting Actor award, here is last year’s Best Supporting Actress, Susan Rifkin.”
The attractive young actress came out displaying a daringly stylish V-necked ball gown, cut to the navel. She stepped up to the stage-right microphone stand and read from the teleprompter.
“And the nominees are: Mark Weldon, for Desperation at Dawn.”
On the TV screen, the shot of Susan Rifkin at the microphone cut to a shot of Teddy Fay sitting in the audience. It immediately shrunk to a headshot that appeared in a little square box in one corner of the picture of Susan. As she read off the names of the other nominees, four more square headshots framed her on the screen.
Susan smiled and ripped the envelope open.
“And the winner is . . . Mark Weldon, Deperation at Dawn!”
Teddy was stunned. The next thing he knew his friends were pounding him on the back, and Tessa was laughing and pushing him out of his seat.
“Get up! Get up! You won!”
Teddy walked toward the stage as if in a daze. He went up the steps on automatic pilot, accepted the award, and suddenly found himself at the microphone. He hadn’t prepared any remarks, not expecting to win.
So he started with that.
“This is a surprise. There were four other deserving nominees, and I was happy just to be named with them.” He looked around, realized something more was expected. “All I can say is this must be very encouraging to all the stuntmen working out there. And I’m happy to pass along the secret to my success. Get yourself cast in a Peter Barrington film, and play all your scenes with Tessa Tweed. Thank you.”
Teddy started back toward his seat, but was immediately intercepted by an attractive but efficient young woman in an evening gown who linked her arm in his and guided him offstage into the wings.
Backstage photographers and TV crews were waiting to pounce. Teddy was whisked through a door into a room soundproofed from the stage where they could have a go at him.
It was never-ending. No sooner did one group finish with him than another group would pounce. He couldn’t be rude to them and excuse himself. If he didn’t cooperate, suddenly the big story would be what an ungracious winner he was.
The only saving grace was that there were monitors everywhere, so he could tell just where they were in the show. For all the time the interviews were taking, it didn’t seem like they had gotten very far. After the Best Supporting Actor and Supporting Actress awards, there was a long gap in the ceremony before they got back to anything major.
The show was just coming up on the first-hour break when Teddy was finally ushered back to his seat.
Peter leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Did you make another movie out there?”
“No, I just explained why people liked this one.”
“What did you tell them?”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
Peter nodded. “Glowing. We should use that in the ads.”
Ben lowered his voice and asked, “When do you want to go?”
Teddy looked at his watch. “In about half an hour I’ll go out. Wait a few minutes, so it doesn’t look like we’re going together, then you go.”
“Oh,” Ben said. “So, now that you’re an Oscar winner, you can boss the head of the studio around?”
“Relax,” Teddy said. “We can talk about my new trailer later.”