Platinum Cheap Shots

one

So you finish your first nice meal in the week, friendly waiter, chopsticks, a warming drink, and need to dash to the film. Just as the flash storm hits. Standing in the doorway only 3 blocks from the theatre, you know you aren't going out there, in the cold rain only to sit in an overly airconditioned seat for three hours. Not after catching the sniffly back-to-school bug from Sam the Scrabbler on the weekend.

How do you know you are friends? When she goes into the rain to retrieve her car, to drive you both two blocks closer to the line. Which she does, leaving you standing there as cabs and delivery cars splash by.

After the movie, hot tea and warm socks dominate. She will be off shortly to Midnight Madness, and you to bed. For a few moments, there hangs a damp silence as the tea spices scent the air.

What movie did we see?

two

Flashbulbs bathe Brad and Angelina, Peirce and Kiera and all the rest. Now look elsewhere.

The man in the third row, peering over shoulders to catch a glimpse. Silvered shoulder-length hair spills onto the dark jacket just as he turns around, my camera staring at him instead.

Videographer wielding dozens of pounds gracefully angled up past the podium. Here they come, the glitterati, and his red light glows on. And finally, there she is. He moves closer still across stage left to reach up and zoom in closest. His meal ticket.

A young man sits beside me, willing to chat. A screenplay writer/ director, unseen as of yet by any except school chums. Studying each move and motion, each smile, a look. With a confidence he'll need later. Still real.