If the Best Director award highlighted individual accomplishments, then the Best Picture award was an honor for the entire team.
Eric leaned back in his chair, not particularly worried. He was certain the award would go to Chicago. He knew this in advance.
But when he imagined Harvey Weinstein celebrating the victory, Eric felt disgusted and wished the event would be over soon.
On stage, Kirk and Michael Douglas opened the envelope and read the winner's name.
"And the winner is The Pianist!"
"What?!"
Eric jumped from his seat, realizing it wasn't his award, and quickly sat back down.
Nicolas Cage, seated nearby, looked at him in surprise. "Eric, it seems like you really love The Pianist—even more than Polanski himself."
"Yeah, that's true. The Pianist is an outstanding anti-war film; it's brilliant!" Eric replied absentmindedly, tormented by questions in his head. He couldn't believe his eyes and ears.
He had been certain Chicago would win. But the reality was different. The Pianist had indeed won Best Picture, and Adrien Brody was already hugging the screenwriters and producers, laughing and celebrating.
Eric glanced at the Chicago team. They were also applauding, but their faces couldn't hide their disappointment. Harvey Weinstein, in particular, looked extremely displeased. His attempts to appear satisfied were in vain, as his twitching mouth betrayed his true feelings.
Eric understood that Weinstein had invested a lot of effort and money into securing this award, but it was all for nothing.
Without this crucial award, Chicago wouldn't reap the expected financial benefits, and sales of DVDs and broadcasting rights would be cut in half. Awards bring money.
Eric, relishing Weinstein's dissatisfaction, was pleased with the change in outcome. He didn't care what had caused the shift; the important thing was that it was for the better.
Producer Robert Benmussa of The Pianist took the stage to deliver his acceptance speech. With that, the 75th Academy Awards ceremony came to an end, as did Steve Martin's hosting duties.
But the ceremony wasn't the end of the night. The Vanity Fair after-party awaited, where the winners could show off their statues.
At the after-party, no one would hold back their emotions. Women would don their favorite dresses and bright makeup, while men could indulge in food and drink. After spending over three hours at the ceremony and two more hours getting ready, everyone was hungry.
As Eric left the Kodak Theatre, he noticed many actresses getting into cars to change outfits.
When he arrived at the party venue, the room was already ablaze with bright lights and filled with celebrities.
At the Oscars, frugality and anti-war sentiments were promoted, but there was none of that at the Vanity Fair party. A red carpet was rolled out, and the atmosphere buzzed with festivity.
Numerous media outlets gathered at the event, camera flashes lighting up everything. Adrien Brody and Nicole Kidman posed for joint photos.
When Eric, young and attractive, entered the room, reporters immediately began shouting to get his attention.
"Eric, let's take a photo."
"Director Cooper, we've been waiting for you!"
"Cooper, come over here, let's get a shot—you'll look great!"
Eric waved his hand and walked on, signaling that he had no intention of posing for photos. He wasn't a star or a winner, so he didn't see the point.
At that moment, Adrien Brody politely stepped aside, and Eric heard Nicole Kidman's voice:
"Come here, Eric, you don't want to leave me standing here alone, do you?"
Suddenly, someone gave Eric a light nudge from behind. It was Peter Jackson, grinning widely:
"It's not right to refuse a lady, especially a newly crowned Oscar winner. Show some gallantry."
"Fine!"
Shrugging, Eric approached the group of reporters and stood next to Nicole Kidman. The cameras instantly began clicking, capturing every moment.
After a few photos, Nicole turned to him and quietly said, "Eric, you can put your arm around my waist."
They were already standing very close, and when she turned, it seemed as if she was about to kiss him on the cheek. The reporters immediately began snapping photos, eager to capture the moment.
"Nicole, Eric saved you tonight—are you going to kiss your hero?" one of the journalists boldly called out.
Kissing, of course, would have been inappropriate—at least in public—but Eric did place his arm around Nicole's waist.
Although it was winter outside, celebrities didn't seem to feel the cold. Nicole, for example, was wearing a backless dress. Her skin felt soft and smooth to the touch. Despite being in her thirties, she took care of herself as well as, if not better than, younger women.
After the photo session, he ran his fingers along her back, and they exchanged smiles before stepping aside to make room for others.
Eric headed inside, dodging awkward questions from the reporters.
Inside, the room was filled with celebrities, some familiar, others not, all laughing and chatting with each other.
Grabbing a glass of champagne and eyeing the arranged dishes, Eric was pondering where to start when he heard Steven Spielberg's voice behind him.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, at least my stomach thinks so. It's demanding carbs and calories."
Spielberg smiled.
"Youth is a wonderful thing. When I was your age, I could wake up in the middle of the night, down two bottles of beer, and eat a giant piece of bacon the size of a human face."
"But now I'm 57, and I can only allow myself a small piece of bread and a couple of cherries. My stomach can't handle more."
Eric, after drinking half his champagne and finishing an appetizer, responded thoughtfully:
"Steven, I've never thought of you as old. No one in Hollywood does. With the pace you work at, it's clear your energy and ambition haven't gone anywhere."
Eric took a knife and cut a piece of bacon into eight parts.
"Let's see if you're still young. Want a piece?"
Spielberg hesitated for a moment but then understood Eric's hint. Hollywood had seven major studios, but the eighth piece hinted at something more.
Without hesitation, Spielberg took a plate in his left hand and, holding a fork in his right, stabbed one of the bacon pieces with some force.
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