With Run Lola Run's release, these days, Simon found it increasingly difficult to stay with the Near Dark crew.
More and more media reporters were showing up in the small town of Coolidge.
At first, it was just local Arizona journalists, but soon reporters from neighboring states like California, Nevada, and New Mexico started arriving, buzzing around the set—either seeking interviews with Simon or straight-up tailing the production.
Many times, during night shoots, flashes would suddenly erupt around them, with predictable results.
Though there was no proof, Simon was fairly certain this was instigated by Near Dark's producer, Edward Feldman. The motive was obvious: to boost the film's exposure. In the early days, Edward Feldman had seemed thrilled by the reporters' presence, even granting an interview to the Arizona Daily Star.
During this period, word around the set was that the film's backer, De Laurentiis Entertainment Group, was teetering on bankruptcy due to worsening finances.
With Run Lola Run's sudden smash hit, Edward Feldman—or De Laurentiis execs—clearly saw Near Dark, with Simon's involvement, as their last lifeline, hoping its earnings could ease the company's woes. So they'd leaked Simon's presence on set.
Now, Near Dark's name was riding Run Lola Run's coattails, appearing frequently in papers and drawing attention.
But Edward Feldman evidently hadn't anticipated that, with most of Near Dark being exteriors and the crew lacking manpower to seal off remote locations, a horde of reporters swarming daily made filming impossible.
In a parking lot west of the small town, the date was also March 2, Monday.
Eleven p.m.
Tonight's shoot was an explosion scene: male lead Caleb rams a tanker truck into a vampire, triggering a massive blast.
The crew had spent the entire previous weekend prepping for this; Simon had planned to leave last Friday but stayed to help Katherine with the challenging setup.
Inside the lot, after double-checking the arrangements with Katherine, Simon gave her an encouraging look, pointed off in the distance, and smiled. "Go ahead and start—I'll watch from over there."
Katherine nodded, watching Simon head toward the reporters cordoned off at the lot's edge before instructing everyone to their positions.
On the other side, Simon approached the media scrum. Seeing cameras raised, he gestured quickly and called out, "Guys, this setup's worth at least $100,000—if flashes ruin it again, the crew'll have to send lawyer letters. So, how about putting the cameras down? I can chat with you for a bit."
After staking out Coolidge for over a week, this young man—who'd sparked nationwide buzz—had never directly engaged the press.
Hearing him offer to chat—knowing he was just keeping an eye to prevent interference—they obliged by lowering cameras, pulling out recorders instead. A quick-witted reporter immediately asked, "Simon, heard you're only getting $500 a week on this film—is that true?"
Simon stood inside the cordon, smiling. "I'm just here to help—pay doesn't matter."
The same reporter followed up: "So, you're really pursuing Kathryn Bigelow?"
Simon wasn't surprised by the question.
Lately, more than one paper had speculated about him and Katherine; he could only shrug it off. Shaking his head, he said, "Of course not—I already have a girlfriend. As you know, Katherine was assistant director on Run Lola Run. We agreed to help each other out, so that's why I'm here."
Hearing Simon admit to a girlfriend, the reporters buzzed with excitement.
Celebrity romances were prime gossip fodder, and Simon's fame now outshone many stars; his age and looks guaranteed female readers' interest.
Questions flew all at once.
"Simon, can you tell us who your girlfriend is?"
"Simon, spill about her?"
"Simon, is it Sandra Bullock?"
"Simon..."
Simon felt the swarm of voices, raising a hand. "Sorry, I don't know if she'd want the attention. So, can't say for now."
The reporters persisted, rephrasing relentlessly.
Simon kept an ear on the activity behind him. As Katherine called "Action," he signaled for a pause and turned toward the set.
Under many watchful eyes, a thunderous boom erupted—the extended tanker erupting in a massive orange fireball.
Though dramatic, Simon knew such explosions were safe; standing over ten meters away, he felt only a mild wave of air.
Observing the preset camera positions, he confirmed everyone was methodically at work before relaxing.
About ten minutes later, Katherine signaled an OK from afar.
With tonight's sole scene wrapped smoothly, Simon had no mind to linger with the reporters, stepping back toward the set.
Snapping out of the blast's awe, the journalists called after him; some tried to follow but were blocked by prepared staff.
The ten-minute shoot had taken three days to prep and over two hours to wrap up. By the time the crew packed and returned to the motel, it was 2 a.m. on March 3.
After goodnights and a wash-up, Katherine sat on her motel bed in pajamas, feeling the silnce around her, suddenly wide awake.
She picked up her director's notebook, leaned against the headboard, and flipped it open.
The flyleaf read: Caleb's adventure, Mae's rebirth.
His words.
Near Dark had started late January; he hadn't joined then, so she'd handled the first two weeks alone.
Though reluctant to admit it, she hadn't been as assured as him. Even with meticulous prep, shooting brought confusion.
In those first weeks, she'd wonder: How would he shoot this?
Then realize she couldn't mimic him.
He knew exactly what he wanted, commanding staff with confidence. She had to discuss most details cautiously with other creatives.
Because unlike him, she wasn't versed in cinematography, lighting, set design, editing, scoring...
Beyond film, he seemed knowledgeable in so much.
Practically Athena's bastard son. [TL/N: Greek Goddess.]
Though she'd dismissively said she could manage without him, things smoothed once he joined.
Sensing her uncertainty on characters and plot, he'd summed it up with that flyleaf phrase.
"Caleb's adventure, Mae's rebirth."
His insight clicked; she'd sorted much out.
On Run Lola Run, she'd handled trivial logistics. Here, he was like a patient teacher guiding a child's first drawings.
For issues, he'd suggest: "Maybe like this..."
So patient.
She'd learned immensely.
But she knew his intense control streak. He must've thought countless times of shoving this clumsy woman aside to direct himself.
Little bastard.
He definitely had.
Illogically musing, she realized he'd leave tomorrow. The crew shifted to day exteriors soon; with reporters swarming, filming couldn't proceed with him around.
Sigh.
A soft exhale in her heart.
With Run Lola Run's triumph, he was Hollywood's A-list. Projected over $150 million domestic—no one could deny his talent and status.
The down-and-out teen from that bus encounter had, in a blink, left everyone behind, leaving her to gaze up.
These thoughts stirred a sudden urge to talk to him.
He was right next door.
But even without ulterior motives, reporters nixed it.
Though past 3 a.m., who knew if those news-crazed journalists lurked? The motel's open U-shape faced the wide road; any room's comings-goings were visible.
If spotted, it'd be inexplicable.
Lately, gossip about them exploded. She'd seen a few pieces—felt odd, worried about Jenny's reaction—but feigned nonchalance.
Sigh.
She wasn't like Jenny.
Who'd lazily snagged her man, while she dithered.
This sparked a small impulse.
She raised her hand.
Gently knocked on the wooden wall.
Knock knock knock.
Her heart raced in sync.
But.
After a wait.
No response.
Disappointed, her rebellious spark flared.
She knocked again.
Knock knock knock.
Finally, a voice from next door, laced with amusement: "Sleepless in the dead of night, milady—shall I break through the wall?"
Poetic odd cadence, Hearing "break through," her heart leaped; she blurted, "You wouldn't dare!"
"Then behave and sleep—it's late; i thought it was rats."
"You're the rat."
"Tolerated this long without burrowing over—clearly a gentleman rat."
"Pfft."
"Alright, no more—get some sleep."
Satisfied inexplicably, she lay down, pulled up the covers, switched off the lamp. Recalling his coaxing tone, she murmured softly: "Little bastard."
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