Method - Kate Stewart Page 0,135
full of the cast is his respect. It’s as clear as day. Shannon has been calling nonstop since the film released begging Lucas to consider more offers, but Lucas refuses to bother looking. He’s stayed firm in his decision to quit. He has other plans. Studying him now, dressed to the nines, his hair much longer now, he looks in to the crowd with a solemn face as he speaks out for the first time about his fallen brother.
“It’s no big secret Blake West was a brother to me, and if it weren’t for him, I literally wouldn’t be standing here. He left us, left me, in a way I could have never prepared for and will never be able to rectify. But I’m here tonight too because he was a large part of who I am today. Good or bad, he taught me a lot more than anyone ever could about this life, a life he deserved to live to the fullest.” Swallowing, Lucas pulls out a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s worn, brown, and folded in fourths. My chest begins to ache because I can clearly see the emotion building in his face as he studies the words.
“Blake wrote this when we were living as rejects together in a box-sized bungalow in West Hollywood. I think it’s only fitting that his ‘what if’ speech be my own.” The camera pans in on Amanda, who Lucas took to the Oscars, while I’m stuck in our new temporary home overseas and for good reason. I’m going to have another baby. And this one was conceived in an entirely different way. Through trust and love.
More in love than I thought imaginable. I stare at the chance I took all those years ago, along with the decision I make every day and watch on in admiration of what he’s achieved.
Lucas laughs through watery eyes and glances at the audience with a rueful grin. “Sorry, Blake, but I have to,” he says conspiratorially before he holds a hand to the side of his mouth letting the audience in on the joke. “There’s a script note first, it says, ‘After a lengthy and mind-blowing standing ovation.’” The audience laughs as a picture of Blake slowly appears behind Lucas. I audibly gasp at the image, the sight of Blake as strong as his presence is in that room because Lucas brought him there. He won’t let them forget. Hot tears stream down my cheeks as I study the photo. It’s a candid of Blake smiling like he just ate the canary. The image is a reminder of what we lost, what we all lost. It’s then that I realize that as much grief as he’s given us all, I still have love for the person he was. Lucas’s voice brings me back to the moment, but it’s Blake’s words that strike the hardest.
“This gig was hard. I lost myself in it.” Lucas audibly swallows as his eyes fully glaze over and he pauses. “I trusted people, and I got burned.” I can see the visible shake inside Lucas. He’s doing everything he can to keep it together, but there is no acting through this, the loss is apparent, and he’s trying to close the door. He looks out into the crowd. “But I got a trophy for it, and it’s only worth something in this minute, this minute right here is what it’s all for. The recognition that I might have done something worthwhile, that I was a part of a bigger picture, that my work means something and as an artist, I guess that’s all you hope for, just a moment. This moment.” The audience goes eerily silent. “That’s all I get, a minute maybe more to sum up my journey before that music starts, and I’m forced to make my exit, so I’ll make it quick.”
Lucas hesitates as emotions get the best of him and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper at the screen as I cradle our son to me and inhale the scent of his dark hair.
Lucas presses his lips together, his voice coming out hoarse when he speaks. “I don’t know if it’s worth the cost.” Lucas falters briefly, and I can hear an audible sob in the crowd that I know belongs to Amanda. Lucas gathers himself and lifts his chin. “You know this life can take a toll, perception can be our nemesis, and the message we send is the most significant part of what we do. I can only hope I played well and hope you remember me as part of your bigger picture because legacy…that’s the hardest gig of all.”
“I want to thank my brother, Lucas, for trying to rescue me from myself. I know how hard you try.” Lucas falters again, and the crowd applauds for him as he finally breaks on stage for the world to see. It lasts for endless seconds as they give Lucas the breathing room he needs, the room he deserves, and the encouragement to continue. When the clapping dies down, he focuses on Amanda. “And for the woman who decided to love me in spite of the bastard I am, I hope this helps you understand your sacrifice, and if it doesn’t, I’m sorry, and I hope I showed you that you were always worth more.”
The camera cuts to Amanda as she sobs in her hands.
Lucas folds the paper and stuffs it into his pocket. “Blake, thank you, brother, for allowing me to be a part of your legacy,” he says, raising the statue toward the room. A single tear streaks down his cheek as he addresses the camera, the applause erupting to a deafening level. “And for my legacy, my baby boy, Ronin Blake Walker. For my daughter, who I can’t wait to meet, and for my beautiful wife, Mila,” he says, looking straight at me, “I’m coming home, Dame. This time for good.”
Everyone rises to their feet, the camera cuts to several actors shedding tears before the show fades to commercial.
If this were a scene from a movie script, he would be walking through the door at this moment so I can throw my arms around him. But that’s not what happens. He has a slew of press to take care of, the sale of our house to close on, another award to accept before he lets his star dim to make room for others. His flights home get delayed due to weather. He calls me twice to tell me he loves me, but he is too busy to talk, tying up more loose ends so we can continue the new path we’ve chosen. Life isn’t anything like the movies, and as it turns out, I don’t want it to be. After a hundred and forty minutes or so the story ends, and Lucas and I have a lot more story to live out. We have grand plans for this life we’ve made together that have nothing to do with a typical Hollywood ending.
Two weeks after the Oscars, my husband walks through our front door looking more worn than I’d ever seen him. With a weary smile, he approaches quietly and takes his sleeping son in his arms, cradling him before taking my lips in a promising kiss, his tongue thrusting slowly, deeply to show the extent of how much he missed me. Dazed when he pulls away, I get lost in his soul-filled depths, and whisper two words I’ve been dying to utter since we began the new leg of our journey together. “Welcome home.”
THE END