Weston by Gregory Attaway

Author:Gregory Attaway [Attaway, Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: hollywood romance alcoholism drug abuse drug recovery hollywood affairs hollywood fiction hollywood scandal
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

1976

JANUARY

Weston sat poised over a typewriter, the constant clicking his only music. So focused was he that Hillary’s knocking blended perfectly with the ticking keys.

“Wes?” He looked up to find her lingering in the half-open doorway. “Got a minute?”

Seeing her there, in his office and talking to him again, with only a hint remaining of the awkward silence that hung over them for a month, brushed away every other thought. “I believe I do.”

She clutched papers as she tucked her red wool skirt under herself and sat. Her face, still somber, flickered with something else, as if that straight jaw and those tender eyes masked another person underneath. A giddy child, from the looks of it.

“The nominations?”

The line of her lips broke round and wide. “How’d you know?”

He leaned back and pushed the typewriter away. “I told you not to get excited.”

“You said the same thing about the Globes,” she said, her eyes as wide as the two golden spheres sitting on a shelf behind him.

“You know the Academy’ll never recognize me. Not after my stunt in ’68.” She waved the paper and her eye caught a beam of light from his desk lamp, sparkling like one of those new awards. “So it’s good?”

“Well, that all depends. If you were hoping for five nominations, you’re in for a letdown. But if your expectations were more conservative, let’s say four…”

“Spill it!” he laughed.

“OK, well, first nod is for best song.”

“For?”

“’From Damsel to Dame,’ Carly Simon.”

“Fantastic!”

“Yep yep! That’s already more than we’ve ever gotten…as in zilch, zero.”

“Would you read the next one please?” he asked.

“OK…our second nod, ladies and gentlemen…film editing, Carlos Lowell.”

“Catty Carlos,” he said. “Guess he’s finally getting that raise.”

“Yep yep,” Hillary said.

“So, the next?”

“Oh, the other two aren’t that important. Still, though, for nods!”

“You kind of got my hopes up now!” He saw mischief in her eyes. “Come on!”

“Sure you don’t want to grab a change of underwear?”

“I’ll take my chances!”

“Better start writing your speech, just in case. You’re up for best director.”

He sank further into his seat. “Oh my God…” he breathed. Suddenly his Golden Globes seemed like golden geese. She giggled with excitement, but he just spaced out.

“Wes? You there?”

He covered his mouth for a moment, head swimming. “Walter Mirisch must have finally forgiven me for that toast I gave at his wedding!”

“Statute must have expired,” she said.

“What’s the last one?”

“Oh…yeah, well…I guess we’re going to need to work on that speech together…” His eyes widened at the implication as she added, “Color Twenty, nominated for best picture of the year!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“We got Barry Lyndon, Jaws, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Dog Day Afternoon, and…Color Twenty.”

FEBRUARY

Weston stirred as the phone rang beside the bed. Half-awake, he considered just unplugging the thing, but by the time he mustered that much consciousness, he decided he might as well answer.

“Hello?”

No reply.

“Hello?”

Breathing. Slow and steady. Heavy.

“Who is this?”

More breathing. Slower. Heavier.

“Whoever this is, if you don’t stop calling, I’m going to trace the calls!”

“I love you.” It was a woman, or a man doing a good job of impersonating one.

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