How to describe this Bardo of waiting, for the turn of the final page? I search the dark unknown for clues like a tracker in the wilderness but find nothing I can identify, no footprints I recognize, no breadcrumbs to follow. I long to anchor in the familiar, the everyday sounds of garbage trucks, their brakes groaning. Traffic noise, Horns honking. Seagulls squawking and the sandpipers’ patter as they scuttle away from rolling rushing crashing waves. So much I took for granted. Tasting, touching smelling; Grass, gasoline, coffee. Hail coffee! God, I miss coffee! The aroma of the brew before it yellows on a nurse’s tongue. And smog. I miss smog. The burn in my lungs on a red-alert day. Hail smog. Hail irony. Hail belly laughs. Sarcasm. Boredom. Body odor. Farts!

Hail toast. I miss toast. If I’d known I was going to die I would have eaten more buttered toast.

I don’t miss television or magazines or fashion or makeup or hairstyles or agents or contracts or Screen Actors Guild or screenings or scripts or anything to do with show business. I don’t even miss acting.

I miss applause.

Hail applause.

I loved the applause.

SLOW DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. DOROTHY CHANDLER PAVILION

AFTERNOON

1999

“Jackie, Brett! Jackieeeeee!”

We paraded down the red carpet, flashbulbs exploding like cherry bombs, hundreds of fans screaming our names. TV reporters from every state, every country, analyzing our gowns, hairstyles, everything from the size of our behinds down to the size of our pores.

With our publicists mapping the way, Brett and I swiveled left and right, accommodating the photographers and interviewers. Nicole dragged me over to Joan Rivers, who despite my protestations, insisted I was named after Jackie Kennedy and wouldn’t let go of my arm until I agreed with her.

Brett dutifully fulfilled his role of escort, shuttling in and out of my photo opportunities, smiling his dazzling smile as he was asked over and over and over again how it felt to be with me on “this, the most important day of my life.”

“I am so proud of Jackie,” he said as the cameras clicked wildly. “I am just so happy for Jackie,” he said as the fans screamed around us. “I am so proud and happy.”

He was lying. Since my nomination, Brett had been miserable. Though he wouldn’t admit it, I knew it stuck in his craw that I—who had done little to hone my talent, who had stumbled blindly into every acting job I’d had, including (and most especially) this last picture—had somehow managed to accidentally and for all the wrong reasons give a performance worthy of being nominated for an Academy Award.