CAMERA BULBS flashed. The area was packed with women in designer gowns and men in tuxedos. Video cameras and reporters holding microphones dotted the crowd.
To Del, the evening’s energy was palpable. He hadn’t experienced this in more than forty years. As if that weren’t enough to get people buzzing, he and his date would, without a doubt, be the most talked-about couple at this year’s Academy Awards.
When their limousine door opened, Nora stepped out first and waved to fans who cheered from the sidelines. Dressed in a green, unconventional Armani gown that shimmered in the sunlight, she had attempted to straddle the line between glamour and her own striking personality. She wore her raven hair up, which exposed her elegant, creamy white neck, around which she’d adorned a long, silky scarf.
Little did she know, the following day, critics would balk at her attire and label her the ceremony’s worst-dressed attendee. Del thought she looked gorgeous.
But more than Nora’s attire, critics would chatter about that night’s unexpected May-December pairing with Del Corwyn, setting the grapevine afire with speculation.
Emerging from the limo, Del stood beside his date on the red carpet, where he rested his hand upon the small of Nora’s back. Her muscles felt tight.
Oh, the spotlight felt so warm on his face. Del Corwyn couldn’t contain his grin if he tried.
* * *
Halfway through the ceremony, murmurs of conversation filled the auditorium during a commercial break. As a Best Actress nominee and the expected winner, program planners had assigned Nora Jumelle an aisle seat in the third row, a spot accessible to roving cameramen, who had taken several reaction shots of her applauding already. Del sat to her left, within the scope of those camera shots, too.
Del leaned over to Nora and whispered into her ear. “Looks like your category is next. Your big moment. Are you ready?”
Though she responded with a nod, Nora couldn’t stifle the queasiness in her stomach. She had rehearsed her acceptance speech too many times to count and still wasn’t satisfied with it. But she couldn’t do anything about that now.
The anticipation had gotten to her, but in a positive way. The distinction overwhelmed her. Gratitude filled her heart. And although she wouldn’t admit it to anybody, she had bought into the frenzy. This acceptance from her peers meant everything to her.
A place to fit. Nora Jumelle—Nora Tasmyn—had longed for that her entire life. To know she mattered. Tonight, she would matter to someone.
Within a few minutes, the commercial break ended, and the attendees applauded as the host welcomed the prior year’s Best Actor winner to the stage. Nora’s gut flipped. She gripped the armrests of her seat and took a deep breath. She tried to visualize herself at peace, sitting in the lotus position on a beach in Antigua.
The actor starting announcing the nominees in alphabetical order. Nora was third on the list. When he announced her name, she fought to retain her composure and offered a smile amid the applause. Like all nominees who preceded her, Nora pretended not to notice a video cameraman standing in the aisle, shooting live footage of her face as she awaited the actor at the podium to break the seal and announce the winner’s name. She began to perspire, which she hoped the camera shot didn’t reveal.
Del gave her hand a squeeze. That helped calm her nerves.
When the actor finished reading from the teleprompter, he lifted the mystery envelope.
“And the Oscar goes to…”
With that, he unsealed the envelope and removed a solitary card. Nora’s destiny was engraved on that stiff, oversized piece of cardboard. Although the winner of this category was considered a shoo-in, the actor turned astute, teasing the audience with a twist of his lips as he prolonged, for a few ticks of the clock, his status as the only individual in the room who knew the winner’s identity officially.
Nora fought to breathe, her stomach unsettled, an emotional shroud upon her heart despite the joyous occasion.
The actor swept the crowd into his gaze.
“…Charlize Theron!”
The dark-horse nominee.
Stunned, Nora’s limbs morphed into a state of paralysis. Then, remembering the broadcast would capture the immediate reactions of all five nominees in a split screen until the winner rose from her seat, Nora summoned her most gracious smile and applauded the winner. But the rejection sliced through the center of her heart. Not disappointment over the loss of an award, but the pain of the little girl she thought was no longer alive inside her. As it turned out, Nora Tasmyn had attended the Academy Awards, after all.
Once the cameraman moved on—which took him an eternity—Nora closed her eyes. Darkness settled into her soul.
Del rested his forehead against hers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. Rather, it would have been a whisper, but he needed to shout for her to hear him over the applause that erupted throughout the auditorium at the unexpected development.
Nora didn’t reply. Instead, she masked the pain with the façade she’d fashioned so well. She glanced at Del and allowed the Hollywood gleam she’d perfected to overtake her countenance, hoping the overhead lights didn’t reveal the sheen upon the moist surface of her eyes.