She had always been a free spirit.
Like a cat.
In a crowd, she could be elegant, playful, even coquettish. Alone, she thrived just as well, utterly carefree.
She'd thought it would stay that way forever.
Until one day, one night—perhaps the moment a certain guy grabbed her wrist.
Suddenly, she was tamed.
He was strong enough, brilliant enough, mysterious enough, yet he tolerated her little indulgences, indulged her minor tempers, and encouraged her small mischiefs.
The perfect lover.
So she latched on without hesitation.
Hmph hmph hmph.
She didn't stop him from going to Arizona, even thinking back to her old prank, wondering if Kate, whom she'd teased relentlessly, could resist his charms.
But.
With him gone again, she suddenly felt out of sorts.
So these past few days, she'd simply moved into his house, wandering quietly through the villa like a cat whose owner had left home.
At night, she slept in his bedroom.
She wasn't sure when it happened, but she seemed to hear the phone ringing.
She hated answering calls, especially late at night—hated it, hated it, hated it.
Didn't they know no one was home?
She pulled a pillow over her head, and soon the call went to voicemail.
In her drowsy haze, a girl's voice came on.
Giggling and chattering away to herself.
She reluctantly perked up an ear and listened—oh, it was Sandra Bullock.
Calling at this hour.
Hmph hmph hmph.
She wondered if she should pick up suddenly and embarrass her.
But she decided against it.
Listening to the girl talk about how Run Lola Run was packing theaters, she felt quite pleased, though she herself disliked going to movie theaters, preferring private screening rooms.
Sandra also mentioned the rating for Run Lola Run.
She was annoyed about that too.
With Simon away, she'd been liaising with Orion as the producer's representative these past few days, so she knew the details.
It was clearly sabotage from the Big Seven studios.
Run Lola Run should have easily gotten a PG-13, but it ended up rated R. And with the release schedule so tight, there wasn't even time to appeal—they'd had to rush it out as R.
Thinking about it, by the time Sandra hung up, she was fuming and wide awake.
Hmm.
She came up with perfect excuse—little boy, you'd better comfort me quick, or I'll never sleep.
She scooted to the edge of the bed to grab the receiver, only to remember his recent calls mentioning night shoots until two in the morning; he definitely wasn't back at the hotel yet.
She had to give up.
Turning back, she buried her face in his pillow, sniffing it. The linens had been freshly washed recently, but she still felt his scent lingering.
Suddenly, she wasn't so angry anymore.
Time to sleep.
When she woke again, it was broad daylight.
After breakfast, she changed into a wine-red OL business suit and drove her wine-red Ford sedan to Orion.
Orion Pictures' main focus lately had been Oliver Stone's Platoon.
This politically charged Vietnam War reflection film had already won several key awards at last month's Golden Globes, including Best Picture and Best Director, and it had multiple Oscar nominations coming up, making it a major contender this awards season.
Moreover, Platoon's box office was stellar—from initial limited release to now, this film with a mere $6 million production budget had grossed over $40 million.
Though their primary energy was on Platoon, Orion hadn't slacked on promoting Run Lola Run; they'd even set up a dedicated office for it.
Janet arrived at Orion Pictures headquarters and spent the morning bustling with a few staff members, compiling feedback from yesterday's premiere of Run Lola Run—mainly reviews from major newspapers and audience surveys.
As for box office, they'd have to wait until Monday for the opening weekend's three-day totals.
The initial response was better than anyone expected: newspaper reviews were overwhelmingly positive, and audience surveys showed strong popularity.
Some theater managers even called, hoping to expand screenings next week.
She was kept busy until noon, when Janet personally faxed the compiled materials to Arizona.
...
During this time, the crew wrapped at two in the morning, but by the time everyone settled down, it was often three or four. Some staff had quit, unable to handle the chronic late nights, but Simon's constitution was solid—he didn't feel much strain.
Run Lola Run had premiered yesterday, but Simon couldn't see it.
Though Arizona bordered California, only the state capital, Phoenix, had a handful of theaters showing Run Lola Run. Stuck in the small town of Coolidge, the crew had no access.
As his first film since arriving in this era, Simon was confident, but he couldn't help feeling a bit anxious.
He'd gone to bed at three last night and woken before nine this morning.
He wanted to call Los Angeles right away, but remembering the one-hour time difference—they weren't at work yet—he held off. Instead, he drove over fifty kilometers north to Phoenix and hastily bought a stack of newspapers.
By the time he returned to Coolidge, it was past eleven.
Crew members were stirring, heading in twos and threes to the designated restaurant for meals. Simon parked by the roadside just as he saw Kathryn and a few others emerging from the motel, laughing.
[TL/N: So Kathryn Bigelow nickname is Katherine, i won't change this and just let it be.]
Spotting Simon fresh from his car, Katherine smiled and greeted him. "Simon, how's the premiere of Run Lola Run going? Oh, and we're all heading to lunch—join us, and we can chat about it."
Simon nodded, clutching his stack of newspapers, and greeted Katherine's companions: Jenny Wright, Adrian Pasdar, and the others.
Jenny Wright was arm-in-arm with a handsome young man—her boyfriend, who'd come to visit these past few days. To Simon's surprise, the guy's name was Nicolas Cage.
Hollywood really was a small world.
Over this period, they'd all grown quite familiar, and everyone knew Simon's film had premiered yesterday.
Once seated in the restaurant, Katherine and the others eyed the newspapers in Simon's hands.
Simon simply distributed them.
Though Jenny Wright looked innocent, she had a wild streak and loved rock music. Grabbing a copy of the Arizona Daily Star, she flipped through it quickly and eagerly read aloud: "Found it—Run Lola Run. From start to finish, I couldn't believe an 18-year-old kid could make a film this outstanding. But yesterday, I walked into the theater full of doubt and was stunned by a dazzling audiovisual feast. Superb cinematography, superb score, superb editing—and rarest of all, a superb cinematic concept. Run Lola Run has earned its place in film history, and Simon Westerlo will undoubtedly become one of Hollywood's finest filmmakers. Whoa, is it really that over-the-top? Simon, I think I need to see this movie soon—and hey, consider me for the lead in your next one."
In the restaurant, after Jenny's recitation, the others grew interested in the remaining papers Simon had passed out. They grabbed them in pairs and triples, huddling to scan through.
In the end, to everyone's amazement, of the dozen-plus papers Simon brought back, aside from one questioning whether Simon had actually directed it himself, all the rest offered glowing praise.
Jenny Wright even teased that Simon must have ditched any papers with bad reviews along the way.
Since it was Saturday, they quickly agreed to head to Phoenix that evening to watch Run Lola Run together.
After the lively meal, when he saw the official fax from Orion in Los Angeles, Simon finally felt completely at ease about Run Lola Run's box office prospects.
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