Chapter 35

The rest of the ceremony didn’t go as well for Reunion. Bobby Everett scooped the award for Best Adapted Screenplay, but he missed out on the Best Director award. Mark and Lisa were passed over for Best Actor and Best Actress awards and the best film award went to an epic Second World War movie.

By the end of the night, Chloë was the film’s biggest winner.

She had to attend a small press conference before she was allowed to leave the theatre. She stood behind a bank of microphones and was bombarded with questions. Flash-bulbs went off constantly, bathing her in harsh white light and dazzling Adam, whom Chloë kept by her side. She held his arm tightly in one hand and clutched her golden statue in the other. They eventually escaped when the winner of the Best Actor award arrived and the media focus turned to him instead.

Outside, it took them longer to walk along the red carpet to the waiting limo than it had when they arrived. The limo ride to the hotel where they were to attend an after-show party was an all too short but very welcome respite from the attention.

There was another red carpet walk from the limo to the hotel where the party was being held and it was the most hectic yet. The TV crews and radio interviewers were even more keen to talk to Chloë than ever. She again spoke to the BBC, this time live on the Monday morning breakfast news.

“Congratulations, Chloë.” They could hear Bill, one of the presenters on the sofa in London, through a small loudspeaker that the reporter standing with them held. “How do you feel?”

“I’m still in shock,” Chloë replied.

“Well, we’re not,” said Sian, the other presenter. “We knew you’d win.”

“Thanks.”

“How do think this will affect your career? Are you expecting lots of big offers from Hollywood now?” asked Bill.

“Oh, I’m not thinking about that right now. I just want to enjoy tonight and come back home and continue with my studies.”

“So you still intend to stay at university?” Sian asked.

“Oh, yes. That’s my priority right now.”

“Good for you. We’ll let you get on. I’m sure there are lots of people who want to talk to you, but will you promise to bring that trophy in to see us?”

Chloë laughed. “Absolutely—unless it means I have to get up really early.”

It had been several hours since Chloë had made her acceptance speech, but to Adam it felt like a few minutes. Chloë was riding the crest of a wave. She seemed more confident and more like a star than at any point since Adam had met her in the library a few short months ago. She was giddy and giggly—but she never let go of him.

Or her Oscar.

Inside the relative privacy of the hotel’s conference room, she finally released her grip on Adam’s hand. She brushed a stray hair from her face and grabbed a glass of champagne. “I think I deserve this,” she said.

“Yeah, me too. The champagne and the award.”

“Aww. You say the nicest things.” She swallowed her drink in one go and gasped. “I still can’t believe I won.”

“You better believe it,” said a voice from behind them. It was Sam Bradwell. “What did I tell you? Vegas bookies are never wrong.”

Sam was accompanied by Michelle and Hilda. Michelle looked stunning—but not as stunning as Chloë.

Hilda looked even more leathery and was wearing even more makeup than usual. They both congratulated Chloë before moving on to greet someone else. Sam stayed with Chloë and Adam.

“I didn’t know you’d be presenting that award,” Chloë said.

“I wasn’t scheduled to. It was supposed to be Clive Jameson—you know him, don’t you?”

“Wasn’t he caught in a car with a prostitute the other night?” Adam asked.

“Exactly. I was his last-minute stand-in. It was such a pleasure to call your name.”

“Thanks. I’m glad it was you. I was so stunned, but having you there sort of gave me the strength to say what I needed to.”

“Glad I could be of service. Look, Chloë, can I offer you a word of advice? I might not get the chance again any time soon. At least, not before April.”

“Of course. Advice from one of the greats, I’d be a fool to turn down something like that.”

He smiled. “Be careful, okay. I’ve seen people win Oscars in the past and far from making their career, it’s killed it.”

“How so?”

“They made bad choices. Let their award-winning status go to their head. They listened to the wrong people, picked the wrong scripts. They used the Oscar to command large fees for movies that they shouldn’t have had anything to do with. Chloë, you’re going to find a whole bunch of scripts landing on your doormat—or maybe that should be in your inbox these days, huh? But the point is that ninety-five per cent of them will be complete trash. Learn to recognise them for what they are. Stay away from the blockbusters—they’ll earn you big bucks but ruin your reputation. Pick scripts that will allow you to show just how good a performer you are.”

Chloë nodded. “Okay. But I don’t plan on making any more movies until I’ve graduated. Apart from yours at Easter.”

“Good. That’s a very sensible attitude. I hope you stick to it. You’ll find all sorts of vultures trying to advise you. Just be careful who you listen to, okay? Now ... Enjoy the rest of the night, you deserve it.”

After an hour of shaking hands with stars, directors and producers, Chloë pulled Adam close and whispered, “I’m ready to get out of here. I’ve had enough and my cheeks hurt from all the bloody smiling.”

“Okay. Let’s go and find Hilda and let her know.”

Hilda wasn’t hard to find. She was by the bar.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Hilda said. “I’ll have someone bring a car around the back. There’ll still be reporters out the front.”

“Thanks.” Chloë grinned. “I think I’ve been photographed enough tonight.”

“I guess this is goodbye then. For now.”

“Aren’t you coming to see us off tomorrow?”

Hilda shook her head. “Oh, no. I plan to be sleeping off a hangover when you’re getting on that airplane. Oscar night is the one night of the year I can let myself go and not have to worry about my clients. Don’t worry— everything’s arranged. Your bags have been packed and a car will pick you up bright and early in the morning.”