Outside the Shrine Civic Auditorium in downtown Los Angeles.
Valerie Golino stepped from the limo in her black Gucci evening gown, the roar of cheers rolling in from both sides of the red carpet. A rush of excitement surged through her, impossible to contain.
She was the youngest woman ever to win Best Actress at Venice, but that 1986 prize had mostly just pried open Hollywood's door. The film itself, A Love Story, which had also taken the Special Jury Prize had vanished from movie history, buried under countless other titles with the same name.
Now everything felt different.
Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise had claimed most of Rain Man's spotlight, yet as the female lead she'd still gained real recognition. And now she was also Simon Westeros's Catwoman in the upcoming Batman.
She started down the carpet, too exhilarated, walking straight ahead like a fool.
She recognized plenty of the big names around her; almost none recognized her. She had no escort, her boyfriend had ended things when she'd left for Hollywood. Landing Catwoman and flying all the way to Melbourne, she'd half-imagined something might spark with the young genius director. No such luck. He hadn't shown much interest.
Hardly surprising.
The man every woman in Hollywood coveted, why would he notice her?
Her thoughts drifted until her agent, Elian Bollman, caught her arm. She'd nearly walked clean past the press zone.
She'd been told to stop for photos.
Not just for exposure, there were magazine placements already booked for the gown.
She backtracked quickly, struck a pose.
Definitely the after-effects of that fall last time, she told herself.
Yes.
Has to be.
The excuse settled her; her smile turned genuine.
Reporters shouted questions about Batman details. She wanted to answer, but kept her mouth shut. Westeros was already tearing his hair out over leaks; one careless word and he'd tear into her.
The thought made her want to spill something, just for the thrill.
Of course, she only thought it.
Photos done, she moved on. Elian appeared again to remind her about the TV interviews.
Damn. He hadn't forgotten this time.
She waited at the live spot. When Bruce Willis and his wife finished, Elian signaled. She gathered her skirt and stepped up.
The host was warm, full of compliments. They chatted about the Gucci dress; inevitably the questions circled back to Batman. Any insider tidbits? No, she would get murdered. Oh, is Westeros that strict on set?
Oops.
Remembering Elian behind her, she tossed him under the bus. "My agent would kill me."
Sorry, pal. Nobody knows who you are anyway. [TL/N: HAHAHAHAHA]
The camera swung away, panning over her shoulder.
Well. Now somebody did.
When she stepped down, no scolding, just a quick "Nice recovery."
Obviously.
At last she reached the end of the carpet. It was still early; many hadn't gone inside yet. She was steered toward the Daenerys cluster.
Amy Pascal was chatting with the Willis couple. WMA vice president Jonathan Friedman was there, along with Robert De Niro, Kevin Costner, Billy Crystal, Sandra Bullock, Madonna an entire constellation.
Elian peeled off to speak quietly with Friedman. Valerie didn't hesitate; she struck up a conversation with Billy Crystal.
The man was hilarious.
She told him how much she loved When Harry Met Sally… and immediately got quizzed on dialogue. Apple pie on the side, vinaigrette on the side, on the side was very important.
Too bad Meg Ryan wasn't around.
Word was she'd fallen out with Daenerys.
Pascal worked the crowd but didn't neglect her; they talked briefly, and Amy asked whether she was ready for Simon's nomination.
Best Original Score.
Funny, he was a director, wasn't he?
She'd heard he'd already won Best Editing once.
Add it up: Editing, Score, Sound, Visual Effects, Screenplay, Director, Actor, Supporting Actor, Actress… okay, that last one might be pushing it.
The guy really was a polymath.
Hollywood had plenty of people who stacked wins in one category, but no one who'd ever spanned this many different ones.
Close to six o'clock, everyone began filing in.
The Rain Man team was scattered. Hoffman and Cruise sat front row center; director Barry Levinson had a prime seat too. Valerie ended up next to the Dead Poets Society group, with other Rain Man nominees sprinkled elsewhere.
The film's pre-release turmoil was common knowledge, but it hadn't dented the box office. Once the movie exploded critically and commercially, everyone started claiming credit. Publicly, the conflicts had quieted. The seating chart, however, made the deep fractures plain.
Perhaps because recent hosts like Chevy Chase had bombed, the Academy had simply skipped a host this year.
After new president Richard Kahn's remarks came the opening musical number.
First award: Best Supporting Actress.
Both Sandra Bullock and Julia Roberts tight with Daenerys were nominated. Sandra for Dangerous Liaisons (a role originally earmarked for Michelle Pfeiffer until Friedman muscled in), Julia for Shelby in Steel Magnolias.
Two relative newcomers; just getting nominated was huge.
The statue went, unsurprisingly, to Geena Davis for The Accidental Tourist.
Jane Fonda followed to introduce Best Picture nominee Rain Man.
Next up: Best Sound.
Amy could have sat in the auditorium, but she chose backstage with Deutchman, Friedman, and the others.
Early awards didn't matter much; she used the time to check on the after-party preparations at the Hilton.
About half an hour later Vanessa tapped her shoulder, Best Art Direction was coming, one of Rain Man's eight nominations.
Amy turned to the monitor.
Onstage, the Best Animated Short winner was still speaking.
Amy felt a pang of regret.
Pixar's Tin Toy had been submitted, but the Academy had clearly squeezed Daenerys this year, even this minor category had slipped away.
Art Direction went to Dangerous Liaisons; Rain Man shut out again.
Technical awards didn't usually sting, but the loss cast a shadow.
Cinematography and Editing followed, both losses. The mood backstage darkened further. Ira Deutchman had already stepped out twice for a smoke.
The big categories were saved for later, but if Rain Man couldn't win the technicals, the heavier fights looked grim.
A shutout would spark controversy for the Oscars and turn Daenerys into industry punchline.
The tense wait dragged on. Three hours in, the ceremony was halfway done.
Lloyd Bridges, Beau Bridges, and Jeff Bridges took the stage together to present Best Original Screenplay.
Rain Man was among the five nominees.
Hope flickered, then dimmed. The lingering feud with the Writers Guild made a win feel unlikely.
After the clips, Jeff opened the envelope, glanced, smiled, and handed it to his father. Lloyd looked, milked the pause, then announced, "The Oscar for Best Original Screenplay goes to Barry Morrow and Ronald Bass, Rain Man."
Applause erupted.
The two writers rose from the back rows. Instead of heading straight to the stage, they detoured, embracing director Levinson, then Hoffman, then Cruise in turn.
The choreography was blatant to anyone paying attention.
The clapping continued, but expressions varied: some knowing, some gloating, most simply enjoying the show.
Everyone knew Rain Man had been a CAA package. Both writers were CAA clients. Their deliberate pilgrimage to the scattered principals screamed provocation and credit-grab.
Sure enough, once onstage they thanked Levinson, Hoffman, and Cruise profusely and never once mentioned Daenerys.
Century City, CAA headquarters.
Past seven in the evening, but many top agents were still gathered in a conference room. Michael Ovitz hadn't left either.
Cheers and high-fives broke out as the win and the writers' performance played across the screen. Ovitz allowed himself a smile, then quietly instructed his assistant David O'Connor to personally check on CAA's own after-party.
Like Daenerys, CAA was throwing a lavish celebration tonight.
This was shadow warfare.
Everyone understood the stakes.
If CAA failed to protect its clients' glory, the agency's meteoric rise would take a serious hit.
The screenplay win burnished Rain Man, but it was primarily a CAA victory. Without their muscle, the Writers Guild would likely never have let the film take the prize.
Now, if Levinson and Hoffman claimed their expected awards, CAA would own the night.
The win bolstered Ovitz's confidence.
Of Daenerys's eleven total nominations, five had now been announced: Julia's Supporting Actress lost, three Rain Man technicals lost, and only the CAA-driven screenplay won.
Everything left except Simon's personal Score nomination, was heavyweight: Picture, Director, the acting prizes. All scheduled near the end.
Backstage, despite Rain Man still favored for the big ones, Amy felt deflated.
Seeing Ira even more crushed, she rallied to console him. His recent track record was undeniable, Working Girl and Mystic Pizza had both succeeded commercially, and his awards strategy had been flawless.
In the end it came down to Daenerys's shallow roots in Hollywood.
She comforted herself too: even if the night ended poorly, no one had matched Daenerys's box-office dominance last year. Every other studio would happily trade every Oscar for those numbers.
The ceremony rolled on, indifferent to private moods.
After the special achievement award, Bruce Willis and Demi Moore took the stage to present Best Original Score.
Every person aware of the undercurrents snapped to attention.
Many shared Valerie's earlier thought on the carpet: Simon Westeros was a true polymath. Hollywood had its share, but earning technical nominations outside directing was historically rare.
Supporting categories weren't televised, sparing any awkward shot of Simon's empty seat.
The couple finished the nominee reel. Bruce tore open the envelope slowly, looked, showed genuine surprise, then passed it to Demi.
Plenty in the audience caught her silent "wow," the brief sweep of regret across her face as she glanced down. Only then did she lean into the mic: "A surprising result, and a shame he couldn't be here tonight. The Oscar for Best Original Score goes to Simon Westeros, Rain Man."
The hall froze for a beat, then polite applause swelled.
"He actually won."
"You're kidding."
"What's next, Cinematography? I hear he's even better at that."
"My God."
"Could the Oscars have a grand slam?"
If the broadcast had live stream bullet, the screen would have been flooded.
At CAA, Michael Ovitz nearly hurled his coffee cup.
Backstage, Ira stared at the monitor, stunned, then threw his arms around a shocked Amy in an uncharacteristic hug.
Any other year, Best Score would have been minor. Tonight, in this charged atmosphere, it felt as monumental as Best Picture for Daenerys.
Amid a thousand different emotions, Valerie gathered her gown and climbed the steps to deliver a brief acceptance speech on Simon's behalf.
Celebrations broke out. Amy and Ira wasted no time dialing Melbourne to share the news.