“You didn’t thank me.”
“Tonight, when you accepted your award…you forgot to mention me…”
“Oh my…you’re right…”
“It’s all over Twitter…that and speculation about how much plastic surgery I’ve gotten…”
“Babe…I’m so sorry…”
“Every member of the Academy that I abhor that I spent hours with, campaigning for you..every audition I helped you prepare for…every script I read…every year I put off starting my career…and you don’t mention me in the greatest moment of your career…you thanked the craft services people for goodness sake…do you know how humiliating this is?!”
“Honey, what can I do to make this right? I’ll do anything?”
“I want Cleopatra.”
“What?! The role is already cast. It’s been cast for months!”
“Un-cast it. You’re directing and producing. I want it. It’s my time now.”
He sighed deeply. She knew what he was thinking. She wasn’t the right look, age, or a bankable name. But he’d do it. He had no choice. She was the brains of this operation. He slid across the backseat and kissed her forehead.
“I’ll make it happen. I promise.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, my love.”
Of course he’d forgotten she’d written his acceptance speech.
For Flash Friday!