seated.
At first Barrie was so distracted by Mick’s warm, live presence in the seat beside her, his thigh pressed up against hers, that she couldn’t concentrate on the movie. But gradually the action on the screen captured her attention.
Rocket Man was not a film that she would ever have bothered to see if DJ hadn’t been the star. But even without her case, she probably would have seen the movie simply because DJ was in it. Based on a wildly popular graphic novel series—Meaning comic book, she thought disdainfully—it was a megabudget “tentpole” film: one of those that the studios hope will spawn numerous sequels, spin-offs, video games, toy and clothing lines, even amusement park rides. It was full of car and helicopter chases, all manner of things blowing up, and macho dialogue. In fact, the only watchable thing about it, from Barrie’s point of view, was DJ.
But his casting was what made the movie. Of course a vampire, or any Other, always brought a certain extra something to a performance, but the whole idea of having a quirky, volatile, unpredictable actor known for his excruciatingly intense character roles playing a comic superhero meant that clichéd fight scenes suddenly turned into laugh riots, and the absurd plot points seemed laced with satirical commentary, and there was an underlying mystery and darkness to the character that elevated the proceedings above their comic book roots. Despite his troubled life, or probably because of it, DJ remained as mesmerizingly watchable as he had been all those years ago in Otherworld.
Beside her, Mick seemed oddly riveted himself. At one point she leaned in to him and said, “He’s so good.”
Mick said, “Yes, he is.” His tone was ambiguous.
Even though the explosions took over for actual plot in the end, Barrie had to admit that the movie was much better than she had ever expected it to be, and she joined the applause as the credits rolled.
Instead of moving to a different venue for the premiere party, the studio had walled off Grauman’s famous courtyard and dressed it with parts of the Rocket Man set and some pretty magnificent lighting. She had to admit there were some things that Hollywood just got right, and spectacle was way up there on the list. It was a fabulous party, everything designed to make people feel like the innest of the in-crowd just to be there at all.
Mick went off in search of drinks, and she stood beside a column, scanning the crowd.
All around her partygoers drifted and schmoozed and star-watched, holding their drinks and appetizers: a spread of Asian delicacies, since the main action of the film was a romp throughout Asia.
She caught sight of Darius in the throng, surrounded by men in high-powered suits. Her first instinct was to hide, but he had already spotted her. He excused himself to his entourage and moved toward her, sharklike in his ability to part the crowd.
As he approached her, he took a flute of champagne from a circulating waiter and presented it to her with a small bow.
“Delighted to see you here, my dear.”
“Are you?” she asked, and immediately worried that she’d gone too far.
He smiled thinly. “But of course. You’re proving as resourceful as your father. Much better than my handing everything to you, isn’t it?”
I see, this was all some kind of lesson from the kindly mentor, she thought cynically.
“Did you enjoy the film?”
“DJ is amazing,” she said, glad to have something honest to say.
“Sensational. The film will break three hundred, easily.”
Meaning three hundred million, domestic box office. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the inevitable focus on the financial bottom line, but it repulsed her.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, forcing a pleasant tone.
Darius seemed to spot someone important in the crowd; he held up a finger as if asking the person to wait and turned a smooth smile on Barrie. “I do hope you find what you’re looking for tonight.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” she assured him.
He gave her a slight bow. “Happy hunting, then.”
As Darius glided away, she looked over the crowd, searching for DJ. She knew it would be a trick getting to talk to him; every person—and Other—at the party would be lining up to fawn over him. Even so, she was determined to try, but as of yet, there was no sign of him. There was no sign of Mick, either.
Then she saw a familiar face, flitting from group to group.
Harvey Hodge was tuxed to the max and hobnobbing