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"Thanks. Hang on a minute, Steph. " He signed the voucher and got out of the car. Marquee lights tossed yellow streaks across the rain-slicked pavement. A throng of celebrity watchers and paparazzi milled in front of the theater. They stood cordoned behind a red velvet rope. Jules Asner was interviewing some man in a tuxedo.
As Jack emerged from the town car, camera lights flashed in his face. He smiled, waved, and kept walking.
In the lobby, he found a quiet corner. "Stephanie?"
"Im here, Dad. Whats all that noise?"
"Its a film premiere. Theres a real crowd. "
"Cool. Any movie stars?"
"George Clooney is supposed to show up, and Danny DeVito. And one of those teenybopper girls; I cant remember her name. "
"That sounds awesome. Have fun. "
"Well talk tomorrow, okay, honey? You can tell me everything thats going on with--" genetics . . . microbiology . . . physics. He knew shed changed majors, but he couldnt remember which it was now. Shit. "--your life. "
"You promise?"
"You bet. And tell Jamie Ill talk to her, too. "
"Okay. Well be home tomorrow morning until eleven. Will that work?"
"Its a date. Love you, Steph. " He snapped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket.
Inside the theater, he found a seat on the aisle.
The theater filled up quickly. Finally, a young man walked onto the stage; his ponytail was at least six inches long and thinner than a pencil. He wore a wide-ribbed red turtleneck sweater with sleeves that hung past his fingertips, and a pair of wrinkled brown corduroy slacks. His shoes were clogs. Clogs.
A hush fell over the crowd.
"Im Simon Aronosky. I directed the film youre about to see. True Love is the tragic, yet ultimately uplifting story of a woman in a coma. The deepness of her sleep is a metaphor for life itself. The film explores the hard choices a husband must make to keep his family together. After the show, Ill be available to answer a few questions. Oh, and be sure to fill out the comment cards on your way out. The mice at Disney want to know what you thought. "
The theater lights dimmed. The credits started.
A Northwest Diversified Entertainment production . . . A Simon Aronosky film . . .
George Clooney.
Thea Cartwright.
The film, shot in black and white, opened on a close-up of Theas face. She was sitting at a kitchen table, making out a grocery list. She was illuminated by a single candle. Her blond hair, long and a mass of curls, seemed to be woven of a dozen shades of gray and white. But it was her eyes that held the camera. Big, smoky-dark eyes that seemed to promise the world.
God, she was beautiful.
Jack tried to concentrate on the film, but hed never liked black and white much, and it was definitely one of those chick tearjerkers that no one really liked but made a shitload of money.
He was awakened by the sound of applause.
The lights came up.
Simon walked, slump-shouldered, back onstage. He was smiling and laughing. "Thanks. Ill answer any questions you have, but first Id like to introduce you to our star. Ladies and gentlemen, Thea Cartwright. "
Jack straightened.
Thea walked onto the stage, and even from this distance, she was radiant. Flashbulbs erupted, cameras clicked and whirred, people applauded wildly.
She wore a skimpy black top that plunged almost to her nipples, and a pair of skintight, flare-bottomed low-rise jeans. Her belt buckle was a rhinestone-studded T. Her black sandals had knife-sharp stiletto heels.
