Premiere: A Love Story (25 page)

Sam loved movies, especially classic romance. The acting was not always realistic, but there was an innocence or simplicity to the stories and a sense of class Sam felt was lacking in modern movies. She and Peter didn’t always appreciate the same types of movies. Peter leaned toward art films or ‘80s movies. He was a sucker for anything John Hughes. His personal collection was a little bit eclectic because he had also seen just about every movie Katharine Hepburn had ever made. Even the bad ones. Sam and Peter both agreed, however, that movies were best when seen in a theater, sticky floor and all.

The Avalon Theatre was the palace of movie theaters. It was like being in a real theater, complete with beautifully upholstered chairs, murals on the walls, and a heavy velvet curtain. Watching any movie in this theater took Sam back to a time she felt strongly needed to be preserved because it would never come again.

Movie Dinner was Sam’s favorite. She had come up with it when they were teenagers in high school. Every Friday was movie night and most of the time she, Peter, Grady and any other assortment of girlfriends or friends would skip out on dinner and fill up on popcorn and candy: Movie Dinner. Peter was never a huge fan of sweets. Sam never understood that part of him. So, he was the guy buying nachos or one of those nasty hot dogs spinning under the case. Grady and Sam usually shared a bucket of popcorn, layered with butter, as well as two big bags of peanut M&M’S. All of that was washed down with two large cherry Slurpees. By the time the movie was over, they were sick, but it was all in the name of tradition. Peter crossed over to the dark side with popcorn in his later years, but he still drank a bottle of water instead of the Slurpee. “Progress, not perfection,” was Grady’s remark.

They arrived at the theater and Peter walked up to the ticket booth. There were no posters outside and the sign above the ticket booth did not have the name of the movie playing. Sam was confused as Peter gestured her through the glass door. There was no one else around. Sam thought it was strange because they seemed to be the only two people at the eight o’clock showing. Catalina had one showing a night, so something was up. Sam tilted her head in question as they walked into the warm burgundy lobby. There were two women, both fairly tall, both in uniform, one with graying hair, standing by the entrance to the theater. One of them had a jumbo tub of popcorn and two big bags of M&M’S. The other woman was holding a tray of fried shrimp and clams from the little green shack right across from Antonio’s. Sam recognized the red and white paper. She looked at Peter and he smiled right up to his exquisite green eyes.

“Peter, what?”

“
Movie Dinner
, right?”

“Yes, but where’s everyone else and . . .”

“I never said anything about other people joining us.”

“Peter.”

“Okay, I pulled some strings. I know some people. The whole place is ours for the night.”

“The night! Well, we have enough food. Of course you brought regular food,” Sam said, snatching a fried clam out of the basket.

“Cheater.”

“A man cannot live on M&M’S and grease alone. If you’re nice to me, I might share.”

“What’s playing?”

“Well, I sort of took the liberty. We’re watching
An Affair to Remember
for you and
Some Kind of Wonderful
for me.”

Sam was pretty sure Peter knew all the lines to that movie. He’d watched it at least a hundred times.

“That’s quite a pairing.
An Affair to Remember,
” Sam sighed, “I love . . .”

“I know, when Cary Grant looks at her while she’s singing at the grandmother’s house. I know.”

He laughed and then kissed her. Sam was a sucker for a great romance and believed nothing was more romantic than Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr.

“
Some Kind of Wonderful
, again?”

“It’s a classic, never gets old. The teenage angst, not to mention the Psychedelic Furs.”

Sam laughed.

“And for you, there’s the kissing scene where they cut in to his hands clenching into her jeans. Very romantic in a hormonal sort of way.”

“That really is a great scene. Almost makes up for the Psychedelic Furs.”

Peter shook his head as he led the way to their seats. Waiting on a tray were two large cherry Slurpees.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to drink a Slurpee?”

He nodded and said, “I am. So, if I slip into some kind of sugar coma you’ll have to get me home.”

They both laughed and sat. Sam was so excited. Peter had thought of everything and there they sat, as they had throughout their life, in a theater. Sam loved that it was empty and they were alone. The house lights dimmed and the minute the screen filled with falling snow in New York City and Vic Damone began crooning Sam was in heaven. She leaned over and kissed Peter.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, watch the movie. No one likes a talker during the movie.”

Their eyes held and just like that one more warm memory was added to their present, their future. Peter put his arm around Sam and handed her the popcorn. She threw a piece of popcorn at him, and without missing a beat, he threw a french fry at her and smirked. That was Peter. Silly and serious mixed together with intelligence and those sexy eyes.

A little after midnight, they walked home from the theater feeling the crash of the sugar rush they had enjoyed earlier in the evening.

“I do like it when she says, ‘What makes life so difficult?’ and Grant deadpans it and says, ‘People’—that’s the best line in the movie. Almost makes up for all the damn singing. What’s with all the kids singing?”

Sam pushed his shoulder and laughed.

“No, I’m serious, there are like two full songs in that movie and . . . bad songs.”

“It shows the innocence of the children she was working with. Without the songs . . . yeah, okay, maybe one too many songs.”

“More like two songs too many.”

Sam laughed.

“Okay, I noticed a similar image in both movies this time,” she said, pulling her sweater closed.

“Hmm . . . okay, this should be good.”

“The big kiss in both of them. You know the scene on the boat stairs when Grant and Kerr kiss for the first time, and you can’t see their faces? It builds the intensity, it’s so good. The same thing happens in
Some Kind of Wonderful
. When he kisses Watts, and they cut to his hands clenching her jeans. No faces, same intensity.”

Peter got that little wrinkle between his eyebrows and had to admit she was right.

“Only you could find a similarity between those two films. You always notice the details, the framework. That must be what makes you so good at your job. You take in the whole thing and then tend to the details within the context.”

Sam thought about it as they walked.

“You might be right, I’ve never thought about it that way, but I do notice things. Hmm . . . I suppose you know me after all.”

Peter pulled her in as they approached the end of the arch on the casino walkway. He gently backed her up against the arch and kissed her in the moonlight. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and the kiss deepened. Sam pulled back first and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Do you ever notice,” she said, her voice still husky from the kiss, “how they stop the movie before you see the complications of the romance? You don’t see Grant schlepping that wheelchair around New York City or what Keith in
Some Kind of Wonderful
is going to do now that he has blown all of his college money on those damn earrings. You never see that.”

Peter knew what she was saying, he knew he was the reason she was no longer a wide-eyed optimist, but there was nothing he could do about that. Besides, he liked her this way, a little darker, a little warier. She certainly made him work harder.

“Are you suggesting they put all that messy business in a movie? Who would want to see that? People only want to see the happy stuff, or indulge in their morbid fascination with tragedy. It’s like the masks, you know? Comedy and Tragedy, which is ironic because most of life is somewhere in the middle. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose you’re right. Life is not like the movies.”

“Oh stop, you are such a diehard romantic. I’m not buying this deep brooding cynicism. Just because some ass left you after college without a word doesn’t mean you’re suddenly Greta Garbo. You’re not fooling me.”

Peter put the back of his hand to his head in the classic drama queen pose. Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe I am a cynic: you bring this out in me. Maybe I’m under the spell of all those romantic words in your play. I’m out of control with you.”

He kissed her again, and she was again swirling in the storm.

“Good. I’m glad I bring out your romantic. You’re not out of control, Sam. You’re . . . how did you say it? You’re in the storm with me. We’re tossing and turning together. We need to hold on.”

He held her hand and walked her toward her house.

“See, there you go again with the metaphors,” she sighed.

“Well, we’re home, so I’ll give you a break tonight.”

Peter held her close and bowed his head to rest against hers.

“We leave tomorrow,” she said.

“I know.”

“Back to . . .”

“Work, back to work, we have a play to premiere.”

“Yes we do. Do you have an ending yet?”

“I do. Finishing it up.”

“The movie’s almost over. Things are going to get complicated again.”

“You can take it. I hear you’re pretty tough.”

Peter kissed her.

“See you tomorrow?” he whispered over her lips.

Sam opened her eyes.

“You will. Goodnight, Peter. Thanks for the . . . the great date.”

She touched her lips to his one last time.

“You’re welcome. Sleep tight.”

Sam walked toward the door, her fingers brushed out of his hand, and she looked over her shoulder. Peter was watching her with a look that told her this life was possible, even after the movie ended, but she still didn’t have the details. Her mind couldn’t figure it all out, and she knew, despite Peter’s lovely words, that nothing was simple.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T
he week following the wedding was hectic, as everyone started to focus on the final details of the production. The Playhouse was less than a month away from opening night and there was still a lot to be done. The scrim for Phillip’s dream scene had torn, yet Sam was being told with she wouldn’t be able to have a new one until three days before opening. That was cutting it too close, so she was working with the costume and scenery department to see if the tear could be repaired.

Carmen had the baby three days prior to Sam’s return, so Sam was filling in as Carmen tried to juggle working from home. Candice was busy with casting and rehearsals for
Bent
at the Black Box.
Bent
was still six months out, but the protests had already started.
Clearly people didn
’
t have enough to do
, Sam thought. It was all normal stress. Sam was back to going to her spin class in the morning. There was nothing she couldn’t handle.

Peter had stayed at her house a couple of nights. They’d tried a new Vietnamese place two nights ago, but for the most part they were well into a routine of up late, fall asleep, wake up, and do it all over again. Peter was tired from flying back and forth to New York to deal with a new principal actor there who was not adjusting well. When Peter was in Pasadena, he was distracted and constantly on the phone with his director back East. The pressure was mounting for his play in Pasadena, and even though Spencer and Julie were handling almost every decision, Sam could tell Peter was being pulled.

On top of everything else, they were asked to attend a fundraiser for Grady’s father’s campaign. Sam didn’t mind these events; it would give her a chance to promote the theater and dress up. She actually looked forward to a little break. Peter on the other hand would rather as he put it, “Gouge my eyes out before standing in a monkey suit and talking about absolutely nothing.” He had work to do and didn’t have time for this “society crap.” Sam left the theater at five, right after Spencer called the rehearsal. She had to get home and change. She had asked; Peter mumbled that he wasn’t sure if he would be there or not. She gave him his space. They decided they would meet there, if he attended at all.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Grady kissed Sam’s cheek and took her hand to help her down the last two steps as she entered the ballroom. The place was packed and Grady was on. He was in his Armani and playing the dutiful senator’s son.

Returning the kiss to Grady’s smooth cheek, Sam straightened his tie for the society-page photographers snapping away. Sam had played this game her whole life and watched her parents play it with aplomb. She hadn’t been to a fundraiser since the one at the Norton Simon, but it was like riding a bike. She pretended that her shoes didn’t hurt and rolled her shoulders back.

“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself there, mister.”

“Our table’s over there. I’ll walk you over, but then I need to go say hello to Senator Grafton. He wants me to look at pictures of his new parrot.”

Grady rolled his eyes.

“The sacrifices I make.”

He smiled his movie star smile, took Sam’s arm, and began to lead her toward the table. He leaned in as they walked, talking through his sparkling teeth.

“You see the enchanting woman sitting next to my father?”

Sam nodded.

“That’s my new babysitter, at least for the campaign. Can you imagine? For some reason my father thinks I’m threatening his chances of re-election.”

“Hmm, do you think it was when you did karaoke at that biker bar? Or when you and Peter were photographed playing flip cup at the club bar?” Sam asked, still smiling.

“Yeah, I don’t know, but he’s hired a damn firm to babysit me, and she, yeah, she’s a piece of work. Told me to lay low and keep my zipper up. I’m staying home nights, Sam. Can you imagine?”

“Hmm . . . she is lovely, maybe you’ll learn something.”