Page 114 of Broken Beyond Repair
One of them was her previous co-star who had disguised his boyfriend as his PA. She’d even received a text a week ago heaping thanks upon her. The exact expression read,If Beatrice Russell can show herself, then I bloody well can too!
Hayley turned to her plus-one. “Sydney, how are you feeling about tonight?”
“Nervous, excited.” She turned to look at Beatrice, her face melting in front of the world. “Proud.”
Beatrice grinned and leaned in for another kiss. The red carpet lit up again with support.
“Well you make a lovely couple.”
“Thank you,” Beatrice replied, flashing the presenter another smile.
A steward led them further down the gauntlet for more photographs. Sydney was held back by a steward as Beatrice was ushered in front of the cameras by herself. Lights flashed as the crowd of photographers shouted her name, all hoping to get the money shot. She gave them their moment, resting her hand on her hip and ensuring she smiled in all directions before extending her hand to Sydney, impatient to have her back by her side. As Sydney reached her, she pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek.
Leading them inside, the steward directed them to another usher, who took them to their seats in the enormous ballroom. They joined three other couples; two were the film’s director and producer and their ‘wives’. When would she be able to say directors and their husbands more frequently, Beatrice wondered. The other couple were the film’s costume designer and her husband.
Sydney leaned into her and whispered words of disappointment at not sharing a table with ‘proper celebrities’. Beatrice was quietly relieved they weren’t, after watching Sydney’s legs wobble when Anne Hathaway passed them on the way to their table. She wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at 99 percent of the celebrities in the enormous ballroom a few months ago. Now that she was no longer working for the rich and famous, Sydney forwent all her rules of knowing who’s who.
Since Christmas, she’d been consuming Beatrice’s back catalogue of films and those of many other actresses she admired. Beatrice was forced to step in at one point and enforce a total ban onThe Devil Wears Pradawhen she’d come down late one night to find Sydney watching it for the third time that week — that she knew of. An entire world had opened to her girlfriend, and she was embracing every part of it.
After a three hour wait it was time for Beatrice to find out if she was the winner of the award for Best Actress. A camera was directed at her and three other women in the room, all of whom she would be more than happy to lose to. Secretly, of course, she wanted this win. Although demand for her had never been so high since coming out, she needed this award to shore up her position on the world stage. Brief clips of their performances were played on the enormous screens on either side of the stage. Sydney grasped her hand under the table whilst they watched.
Beatrice had been practising her losing face in the mirror over the last week; perfecting it was vital. A lot of judgement came from whether you pulled it off or not. It was best to assume you’d lost before it was announced, all whilst trying to smile tentatively at the camera.
Time stood so still she hadn’t realised they were at the point of calling out names until she heard, “Beatrice Russell,” boom from the microphone.
The entire audience were on their feet before Beatrice managed to clamber onto her own. She kissed Sydney and then hugged her director and producer; it was a win for all of them.
The applauding was deafening as she made her way gingerly up to the stage to accept the award, praying all the while that she didn’t fall over or lose a shoe.
“Wow, I didn’t expect to win this one.” Beatrice smiled at the heavy, gold-plated statue in her trembling hand whilst she regained her breath and allowed the audience to settle down. “Not after recent events anyway. They literally had an excuse to not give it to me, and yet here I am, an openly bisexual woman with an award for best actress. Maybe we are improving as a society.” She flicked her hand down in front of her, narrowly missing the microphone. “I jest of course. It’s because I now fall into a fetish category…” She was relieved to see most of the room roar with laughter, though she noticed a few sullen faces in the crowd and pointed at them. “Oh, I can see a lot of men looking uncomfortable.”
After trying to shove a lengthy list of thank-yous into thirty seconds, including the director and producer at her table, she moved on to her dedication.
“I dedicate this award to my girlfriend” — Beatrice took in a breath and pushed it out through pursed lips — “who has shown me the purest love, given me immeasurable support, and encouraged me to stand up and be counted. I love you, Sydney.” She blew a kiss to Sydney from the lectern and watched as her girlfriend covered her mouth with her hand. After months of feeling it, to finally say it in front of the world gave her an unbelievable sense of satisfaction. “I can only hope we continue to see more people like me, standing up here in the future. That’s not a suggestion; it’s an order. Hashtag #OutAndProud!”
Taking one last glance at Sydney to find her mopping tears with a tissue she left the stage to resounding applause.
An hour later, she was standing outside the ladies’ toilet of theVanity Fairafterparty, waiting for Sydney, who insisted she couldn’t go alone. After Beatrice had smiled at various faces she recognised, and a couple she’d like to slap, Sydney finally emerged from the restroom with her hand covering her mouth. She spat out a giggle as she joined her girlfriend.
“Oh my God, Bea, I just peed next to Meryl Streep! I mean, I didn’t know at the time. We came out of the toilet at the same time, and then I washed my hands next to her. She even smiled at me in the mirror. Then we reached for a paper towel at the same time, and she let me go first.” Sydney finally stopped for a breath.
Beatrice laughed as Sydney’s knees gave way a little.
“You saw it in the mirror? You should have sent up anSOS, I would have come in and picked your jaw up off the floor.”
“Do you think she knew who I was?” Sydney asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“I’m sure.” She wasn’t at all, but she wasn’t about to rain on her parade. “You’ll have to get used to that.”
“I will never get used to urinating next to Miranda Priestly!”
Beatrice pictured that for a moment and smiled.
“Do you think she’s here with Anne Hathaway?”
“Sydney, Miranda Priestly and Andy Sachs are not a real-life couple. We aren’t living insideThe Devil Wears Pradamovie.”
“Oh, yeah.” Sydney shot her a goofy grin, and then her face fell flat as reality kicked in.
