For all you mean girls…the ones stuck-in-high-school-bully-mentality, those-ladies-who-lunch with their Berkins, in Bentleys, with Botox and Boobs, who snubbed me at your high society social events – maybe you should have thought twice.
Here’s the life little-ole-me led before moving to South Florida in self-imposed witness protection, to write my next novel, ride my bike, and to be as far away from “society” as possible. Except at my little event — The Academy Awards — this once valedictorian-nerd appeared in a shiny little publication, too: “Vanity Fair.”
I had been dividing my life between New York and England with my boyfriend, Simon Beaufoy, before moving cross-pond to Palm Beach in April of 2011. I chose Florida to escape to a “gentle” place to write my third book. (My first, “Plan C,” from Bloomsbury Press, was an international best seller. My second, “Court of the Myrtles,” is due out Mother’s Day.)
I remember the sheer look of terror on Simon’s face the morning they announced he was nominated for an Oscar for Best Screenplay for “127 Hours.” (Simon had previously swept every award for writing “Slumdog Millionaire.”) This was an honor, sure, but he knew what his tour-of-duty would entail, and it wasn’t sipping champagne in the trenches.
Up until now, his previous awards had been used as doorstoppers. A Golden Globe weighs 5.5 pounds, a WGA Award 7, an Oscar 8.5 pounds, and, well, just the right amount of weight and amount of statuettes to hold our 17 doors into the swing-open position at our Oxford England townhouse.
The promotions began with the BFI London Film Festival closing-night gala, with long red carpet, screaming and fainting women — you’d think Simon, director Danny Boyle (who directed the Olympics last summer, too) and actor James Franco were the Beatles! But when the premiere ended, it carried on. And I was right by his side.
There were constant flights — London to Los Angeles — that seemed 127 hours long! First the People’s Choice awards, then the 16th annual Critics Choice awards then the 68th Golden Globes, the 23rd Scripters, the 62nd WGA Awards, and back to London for the 35th BAFTA. Turn around to LA for the 26th Spirit Awards. And, well, you get my point.
Finally: The 83rd Academy Awards. That’s about when my super-sexy boyfriend turned into Oscar the Grouch. And the Oscars turned into “Occupy Sesame Street!”
For those who will never walk the mother of all carpets, here are 10 things you don’t know about the Oscars, from a nominee’s girlfriend who did.
1. "He makes so much money!" You're not paid for the Oscars. For months you're involved in a promotional tour.
Colin Firth summed it best: “Open your calendar and put a big red X through your life.” While all of you think you want to be there, “there” means counting the moments until you can wipe off the makeup, rip off the gown, put on your robe and order room service. Instead, you will be hugged, kissed, groped and photographed for the public to marvel at like some exotic pet. Every PR itinerary begins with these words: “We appreciate your publicity commitment on behalf of ‘X’ film. Below please find your current schedule.” Five pages on how your life will run. Not a second to pee. Not even in the privacy of your room, because there are constant ringing phones, and notes slipped under your door.
There are awards luncheons, dinners, photo shoots, tea parties, cocktail parties and Q & A’s. Mark Wahlberg was at a dinner/screening for “The Fighter” when an audience member raised her hand. Mark said, “I know you have a lot of questions, but “I’m going to have a heart attack if I don’t get some sleep.” And then, “Where’s the men’s room?”
2."You get all those free clothes!" Unless you're Natalie Portman, you often buy your own gowns, tuxes and shoes. Though they might throw accessories at you. And then you'll pay for your own psychiatrist, too. Upon arriving at an event, you wait inside your Escalade in long security lines so they can check under your hood for bombs. By the time you step onto the red carpet, your bladder is bursting through the sequins, so you can no longer fit into that expensive gown. Btw, probably a good time to mention you get these zany gift bags for being a nominee, sans Chanel inside, but full of teeth-whitening strips, faux-diamond-studded cowboy belts and even a neon pink thong.
3. "You get to be on the red carpet!" Actually there are TWO parallel red carpets. One to the right for VIP guests (some producers) sipping champagne and star gazing at the carpet to the left – the real one — where "Yippee, you're a nominee!" I got to be on that red carpet. That carpet means no cells, no drinks, hot melting lights, and no peeing. Simon told me during Slumdog he attempted to leave the red carpet to find a bathroom and security refused him back in. I wasn't about to miss his special moment…I remember thinking I could just tinkle right here…literally on the red carpet, right down my leg, concealed under my gown, step away from the puddle and let Penelope Cruz – just behind me — take the blame. Harvey Weinstein shared my sentiment aloud: "Where can a guy take a F*
About the Author
