American Outlaw - Jesse James [128]
“You’re so great in whatever you do,” I said.
“I do a certain thing,” she said, reasonably. “Either you like it or you don’t.”
“People love you.”
“But the critics never have,” Sandy said, with a wink.
This time, though, they did. Nominations poured in for Sandy: the People’s Choice, the Screen Actors Guild, the Golden Globes, the Critics’ Choice, and then, the most prestigious of them all, the Academy Awards. They all lauded her performance, and presented her with the opportunity to join the ranks of the best and most celebrated actresses of the last century.
Needless to say, our house was a whirlwind of activity that winter. Sandy was constantly doing press junkets for her movie, taking interviews, and planning for the next award show. On January 6, 2010, we attended the People’s Choice Awards, where she took home the award for Favorite Actress. But that was just a warm-up. Nine days later, Sandy emerged victorious as Best Actress at the Critics’ Choice Awards, and then, just forty-eight hours afterward, she took home the same honor at the Golden Globes. The Screen Actors Guild Awards were on January 23. She cleaned house again.
“I’m going to have to buy you a storage unit,” I joked. “I’m not sure we have room for all this hardware.”
“Quiet, you.” Sandy laughed. She embraced me. I hadn’t seen her this happy in a long time. “Thank you so much for supporting me through all of this. I know you don’t exactly adore the red carpet.”
“I don’t mind it,” I said truthfully. “It’s good to be there next to you. I’m so proud of you.”
When the day for the Academy Awards ceremony came, March 7, 2010, she was nervous as anything.
“Those other women are so incredible,” she said, as we dressed in the afternoon, readying ourselves for the long day ahead of us.
“You’re going to win it,” I said. “This is your year.”
Sandy looked at me. “Meryl Streep is nominated.”
“Yeah?” I said, frowning. “I guess she’s supposed to be a pretty good actress or something, huh?”
Sandy gave me an incredulous smile. “Yes, she’s okay.” She struggled with her dress. “Can you help me with this, please?”
I walked up behind Sandy and helped her struggle into her white Marchesa gown. “Man, you look amazing.”
“It’s not me. It’s the gown.”
“Sorry, but it’s you,” I told her. “You’re breathtaking.”
“Come on,” Sandy said. “Stop complimenting me. It’s bad luck. I’m nervous enough already.”
“Don’t be so nervous,” I said. “This is going to be a cinch. Just remember, when you go up there to get that little statue, don’t trip, okay? It could be embarrassing.”
We rode to the Oscars in style, in the backseat of a chauffeured Town Car. “I never got to do this in high school,” I remarked. “Aren’t you supposed to get all liquored up before prom?”
“You must have been quite an adorable little football player in high school,” Sandy said, looking out the window distractedly.
“I had a lot of acne, actually,” I said. “Man, maybe it was in the helmets we wore. Pretty much all of us had acne. Of course, if you really want to talk acne, we gotta bring up my best friend, Bobby. He had a ton of zits. Not just on his face. His neck, too.”
“Okay,” Sandy said. “Very nervous. Don’t want to discuss neck pimples just this minute.”
I squeezed her hand. “Sorry. It’s going to be good. I promise.”
Though I wasn’t much for award shows, even I had to admit that the Oscars was special. Just to be inside that room, packed to the gills with people I’d seen on big screens for my entire life, sort of blew me away. Even though I wasn’t part of their clan, and probably didn’t see the world the way they did, I recognized the magic of the occasion.
We waited for hours, patiently smiling and applauding through the endless awards: Best Sound Mixing, Best Original Score, Best Adapted Screenplay.
“You deserve an Oscar just for looking interested this whole time,” I whispered. “Couldn’t we have showed up a couple hours late?”
“Don’t be bad,” Sandy said, laughing.
Finally, the time arrived for Best Actress