by Davis Bunn
The young man offered, “My church is buying out the theater.”
The elevator pinged for their floor. Liz exited with the others. “What did you say?”
One of the young women replied, “Our pastor urged us all to go that first weekend. He says it’s important. I don’t remember exactly why.”
The young man said, “They’re opening in six hundred theaters. Which is, like, nothing at all. The only chance they have to get a larger number of theaters is if they pack out the first weekend wherever they can.”
“That’s right,” the woman said. “I remember now. The pastor said we all need to go on opening night.”
Starting down the hall, the young man called over his shoulder, “Go back to him and tell him the church ought to front for the tickets.”
Turning toward her own office, Liz added a silent amen.
“The thing has taken on a life of its own,” Stanley told her that night. “My youth pastor was home with a sick baby and couldn’t attend the convocation. Even so, he’s taking two hundred students on the strength of a pal’s word.”
“Would your youth pastor happen to be the young man by the buffet table who is trying hard not to stare at me?”
Stanley turned his head and squinted.
“Don’t look.”
“If I don’t, how am I supposed to answer your question?”
“Stop smirking.”
“I’m with the finest looking woman here. What am I supposed to do, weep?”
It was a double milestone sort of date. Tonight marked their first month’s anniversary of dating. And it was the first time Liz was seen as officially in the company of the pastor at a church event.
Liz couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands. “So I’m getting stared at by total strangers.”
“Honey, what did you expect?”
“Telling myself what to expect and living it are two different things. You know a lot of these folks are now assuming I joined the church to chase you.”
“You’re probably right. And there’s nothing I can do about it but show them how much I care for you.”
Her fidgeting eased. “You say the sweetest things.”
“I’ve been practicing that line all day.”
“Pastors aren’t supposed to fib, Stanley.”
“It’s the honest truth. I knew this was gonna be a tough one. There’s a cluster behind you who are going to town. My least favorite board member is probably telling them about the last church we were involved in. Now the heads are shaking. The lady just got to the juicy bit. I was hoping to find a way to tell you how much it means, your coming like this.”
The monthly church supper was far too large to fit inside the social hall. The outdoor tables were lost beneath a summer deluge. Lightning streaked the silver curtain falling outside the glass doors, the rumbling causing the littlest kids to squeal. The crowd stretched down the connecting hallway and half filled the gymnasium.
Liz reached across the table and took hold of Stanley’s hand. It might have been the thunderbolt that followed, but a lot of the people around them went very still. “You are a dear, sweet, good man.”
A young man with a scraggly goatee and a teen’s energy rushed over, caught sight of them holding hands, and said, “Whoa.”
Stanley said, “Cue the youth pastor.”
“I can definitely come back later.”
“Sit down, Mike.” Stanley added his second hand to the mix. “Allow me to officially introduce Liz Courtney.”
“I guess you realize this is getting some kinda serious attention.”
“We noticed,” Liz said.
Stanley said, “I’m going to need to say something to the church about us, Liz.”
“Go wild.”
“Oh man,” Mike said. “Is this cool or what.”
“By the way, Mike,” Stanley said, “the lady’s seen the film. You can ask her about it.”
Mike’s energy notched even higher. “Is it as good as they say?”
“Better.”
“We’re working on getting a couple hundred people to go the second night now,” Mike told them. “I just heard the multiplex is shifting to three screens. You mind if I say something to the folks here?”
Stanley said, “I think everybody’s probably already aware that the film opens in two weeks, Mike.”
“Can’t hurt.”
“No, I suppose not. But first things first.” Stanley gave her hand a final squeeze and rose to his feet. “Time to address the troops.”
He made his way to the mike at the room’s far end. He greeted the people, led them in a prayer, and then paused. Stanley had a special way of claiming the pulpit. Liz was personally convinced it was part of his appeal, how he leaned his beefy forearms on the podium, allowing his hands to drape over the edge, and talked to the people in a soft, comfortable rumble. “We are a family. And that’s why Liz and I are here together tonight. To introduce you, our kin in Christ, to a change that’s happening in our lives. We’ve known each other for a long time. There’s a remarkable history between us—some serious pain, and a great deal of joy. And we’ve started seeing one another. I don’t …”
The applause caught them both by surprise. When it finally died down, Stanley went on, “That means more than I can say. We’re both adults, and we know there’s a lot of ground yet to cover. The good Lord tells us to focus upon this day alone. But from my side, I got to tell you, my affection for this fine lady is growing stronger every day. And it’s getting harder with every passing hour not to think about the future.”
41
The studio called it the triple whammy, a tactic devised by Sam and derided by their competitors. A few other studios wished they could do it, but not many. These days, almost all studios were run by corporate clones and pinhead accountants and lawyer-sharks in striped suspenders. Sam Menzes was the last of a dying breed, a gambler willing to put his own chips on the table and throw the dice.
Of course, doing all he could to load the dice in his favor was just business, Hollywood style.
The normal way of introducing a finished film was to line up a series of test screenings. The audiences were asked to fill in cards with their responses, and a few viewers were held back to talk at length with the marketing clones. Sam loathed the process with a vengeance. It was the sort of tactic an accountant would think up, all caution and layers of marketing reports between them and the firing squad. The only time Galaxy introduced a film that way was when there was internal disagreement over structure and they wanted the audience’s help in deciding which way to go.
The Sam Menzes approach was to go for the surprise factor.
In the run-up to opening night, his team held three simultaneous screenings. Tonight the Academy’s largest screening hall hosted nine hundred film critics and cable lollipops and guests, flown in from all over the country at Sam’s expense.
Shari’s secretary, Emily Arsene, and Leo Patillo were all doing duty at the bar tables set up in the massive foyer, from where Shari hoped they could garner initial responses. Shari herself had been ordered by Sam to represent the studio, along with Raul Solish, the director, and Iron Feather’s costars, Colin Chapman and Billie Rondelle. This was not the official launch, the so-called charity event where thousands of camera flashes would light up the red carpet. This was the critics’ turn.
The out-of-towners had virtually filled the Beverly Hills Hotel. They arrived at the screening in a convoy of gleaming limos and would depart the same way. The foyer bar sported a fifteen-foot ice sculpture of a frontier hunter right down to the flintlock musket, and spouted vintage champagne. The buffet held mountains of caviar and lobster tail and fresh sturgeon. Tables to either side of the door groaned under the weight of gifts to be handed out at departure time—the gift bags resembled those handed out on Oscar night, an allusion to the prizes Galaxy hoped the film would win. Included in the pile of goodies was a dual DVD set of longer interviews with each of the principals and a
ll the film’s trailers. The on-air critics could cut and weave as they chose without the expense or energy of actually having to spend time with the people.
Nothing was too good for the critics.
Shari and Billie and Colin and Raul made their way down the battery of TV cameras and smiling on-camera talent. A bevy of studio PR lackeys held the interviews to sixty-second spots. Shari followed the parade, bringing up the end.
Carey McGraw from Evening Entertainment met her with a smile. Shari had intentionally given her friend the last spot and extra time with each of the principals. Carey shook her hand briskly. “Ready?”
“Just a minute.” Shari handed over a card.
“What’s this?”
Shari turned her back to the camera and pushed the mike Carey held well away. “Sam is having a few friends of the studio over tonight. They’ll have a screening first and then dinner will be served. Afterward they’ll have a private Norah Jones concert.”
“Sam is inviting me?”
“No camera, of course.” Shari patted her arm. “Consider it payback for the good press you’ve given us on this film.”
Carey slipped the card into her pocket. “It’s good to have friends who know how to say thanks.”
Shari turned back around and smiled for the camera. “I couldn’t have said it any better myself.”
Shari left after the screening but while the party was still in full swing. Jason joined her, along with Emily and Leo. The limo was ferrying them the short distance from the Academy headquarters to Grauman’s Theatre, where a select audience of local trendsetters were being treated to a first viewing of Iron Feather. The three principals—Billie, Colin, and Raul—were driven straight to the Menzes residence. Shari would join them shortly. But first she wanted to see the faces leaving the theater. The marketing guys had wired the place with infrared cameras that constantly scanned the audience’s response to certain scenes. Two dozen moles would drift with the departing crowd, gauging their responses. But Shari wanted to see it for herself.
Leo made himself a drink from the limo bar. “Anybody else want something?”
“You better lay off,” Emily warned. “We’ve still got work to do.”
“Work, schmerk.” Leo pulled hard on his glass. “What we’ve got on our hands is a full-blown winner.”
“The critics seemed pleased,” Shari agreed.
“They weren’t pleased,” Jason said. “They were blown away.”
“You’re sure?”
Jason took Shari’s hand. “There are a lot of times you need to doubt in this business. Tonight is not one of them.”
Leo smirked at the sight of them holding hands. “And I thought it was just a matter of time for you and me to be an item.”
Emily laughed out loud. “News flash. Shari’s after bigger game.”
“What, you’re saying I’m not prime material?”
“Not even afternoon soap material.”
“I’m crushed.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Better you hear it from a friend, though, right?”
“Oh. Is that what you are?”
Shari leaned her head on the seat rest and sighed. Jason squeezed her hand. “Happy?”
“Very. And tired.”
“You should be. You’ve earned a rest. Soon as this thing is launched,” Jason told the others, “we’re sailing down to Cabo.”
“Nice,” Leo said. “You got room for a third?”
“No,” she and Jason said together.
Emily asked, “Any word about the competition?”
Leo snorted. “If you can call it that. At last count, Long Hunter is slated to open in four hundred theaters.”
Shari sat up straighter. “I thought they didn’t have a distributor.” “Shoestring has opened its own division,” Jason replied. “I heard they were up to six hundred screens.”
“Four, six, what’s the diff? We’re going to bury them.”
“When did this happen?” Shari asked. “Their setting up their own distributor, I mean.”
“Couple of weeks ago. I sent you a memo.”
“No you didn’t.”
“What’s the matter?” Jason asked.
“Six hundred theaters. That’s a lot.”
“It’s nothing,” Leo said. “They’ll be gone in a week.”
“Leo’s right,” Jason said. “Iron Feather is opening on, what, three thousand screens?”
“Thirty-seven hundred,” Emily corrected.
“It’s not just the number. It’s the initial impact,” Jason said. “Your film is coming out first and strongest. You’ll get all the publicity. You’ll come up top in the ranks.”
Leo said, “They had some church group meeting in Austin.”
“Who did?”
“I wrote you about this, Shari. Some church thing, is all. They’ve hooked up with some of the indie cineplexes. They’ll play one week to empty houses and then vanish.”
Emily said, “All it means is they’ll be able to claim a theatrical release instead of a straight to DVD.”
Jason watched Shari’s face. “What’s bothering you?”
“I don’t like hearing this after the fact, is all.”
“And I’m telling you, I sent you a memo,” Leo insisted.
“It’s not just that,” Jason said. “Is it Lizu?”
“Who?” Emily asked.
“Shari’s grandmother.”
“Sure, we met. She’s one sharp cookie.”
“She is still worried,” Shari said.
“Did she tell you why?”
Shari wished she could just blink her eyes and clear away the fog of worry. Instead, her grandmother’s quietly insistent voice floated so clearly Lizu might as well have been in the limo with them. “She still thinks they could be a threat. Back before the shah fell, my grandfather was governor of a province in Persia. This was before my father was born. By the time he came along, my grandfather had first been the shah’s ambassador to Pakistan and then took a position in Tehran.”
“Wow, we’re in the presence of royalty,” Leo said.
“Let her finish,” Emily said.
“Back when he was regional governor, they had some problem with missionaries. The local Muslim clerics wanted them gone. But the missionaries were Americans and the shah was concerned about upsetting the American government. So nothing could be done officially. But the clerics wouldn’t leave it alone. Finally my grandfather gave them the okay to cause a riot. They burned down the churches and beat the missionaries pretty badly. They all left. Problem solved, or so everybody thought. Only ten years later, when the shah got into trouble, they discovered the problem hadn’t gone away at all. The province was a hotbed of underground churches. There were hundreds of them. And hundreds of thousands of Christians. Living right under the imam’s nose.”
Leo rattled the ice in his glass. “You going somewhere with this?”
“Probably not,” Shari agreed. “I thought I’d put the whole discussion behind me. But hearing about Shoestring putting together six hundred theaters rattled me.”
“And I’m telling you I sent you the memo.”
Emily said, “Let’s let the memo thing die a simple death, okay?”
“So what—” Jason started.
Emily’s phone chimed. “I thought I turned this off.” She glanced at the screen and said, “It’s the boss.”
She hit the button. “Yes, Sam. Yes, it went great.” Emily smiled and said, “She’s right here.”
Shari accepted the phone. “Hello, Sam.”
Sam Menzes was a very happy man. “You’ve done us all proud, Shari. The initial responses are astonishing.”
“We’re on our way to Grauman’s now. I should have more for you when we get to your place.”
Sam brushed it aside. “Audiences will believe what we tell them. The critics are essential. You have them on our side. PR reports nothing but good things came from tonight’s viewing.”
“Raul and Colin and Billie mad
e the film.”
“I will thank them in the appropriate manner. But it’s time you accepted your own kudos. I gave you the ball and you ran with it for a touchdown.”
She glowed but could not keep herself from confessing, “I’m concerned about Long Hunter gaining a theatrical release.”
“Four hundred screens is nothing.”
“Jason has heard six.”
“Anything under fifteen hundred means they’re not able to cover all major markets. They’ll have a week of sporadic audiences, perhaps two. Then it will fade into history.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Mark my words. You’ve put that Tennessee street urchin right where he belongs, in the ground right beside his little film. I can hear the dirt hitting their casket. Forget them. Gauge the reaction at Grauman’s and then get on over here. There are some people I want you to meet.”
Shari shut the phone and related what Sam had said about Shoestring. Emily agreed, “They bury the bodies still warm in this town.”
“Meet some people,” Jason said. “Sam Menzes wants to personally introduce you into his circle.”
“Remember me when you hit the peaks,” Leo said.
“You’ll always be my special guy, Leo.”
“Huh. She says this while she’s got a dead solid lock on another man’s hand.”
They pulled up in front of the old-style theater awning. Building-sized posters were already going up for the upcoming release of Iron Feather. Shari stepped from the limo and took a moment to drink in the sight.
Jason draped one arm over her shoulder. “Your name isn’t on this one. But it will be soon.”
“I don’t need the fame.”
“No, and that’s just one more reason why you’re so special.” He smiled just for her. “Ready?”
“Yes.” And she was. If only she could erase her grandmother’s nagging whisper, the night would be perfect indeed.
42
Galaxy Studios held their official release at the largest theater in LA, a new Westwood behemoth. The reception afterward was at Chasen’s. The stars walked the red carpet while mammoth klieg lights spun pillars into the night sky. A massive banner for Iron Feather stretched above the restaurant entrance. Portable bleachers had been set up to either side of the red carpet, specialty items trucked in for just such an occasion. The bleachers were jammed with screaming fans.