The boulevard in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles was filled with camera light, the scent of perfume and hairspray almost suffocating.
As he exited his black Mercedes, flashes fired immediately.
"Are you in pre-production for your next film already?"
"Harry Jackson, over here!"
He offered just a polite smile and hurried to the entrance. This was not his night. It was Christopher Nolan's.
Inside the lobby, the Nolans were already mingling with the Warner Bros. executives. Christopher was in the midst of talking to someone, with Jonathan beside him. They both noticed Harry at the same time, and Chris immediately gave Harry the reserved, faint smile he had learned was his way of showing enthusiasm.
"Harry," Christopher said, shaking his hand. "It's wonderful to see you again. So glad you could make it."
"You aren't get rid of me that easily," Harry said. "I'd never turn down the opportunity to see your film."
Jonathan smiled, gave Harry a friendly clap on the back and said, "Harry's being modest. If it weren't for him, Memento wouldn't have gotten made at all."
One of the Warner executives - Alan Horn, the newly appointed president of Warner Bros. Pictures - approached with a handshake. "Mr. Jackson. We've been hearing a lot about you since Providence and, of course, since Memento. You have made a name for yourself in a relatively short time."
"I appreciate that," said Harry, matching his grip. He noticed Lorenzo di Bonaventura, chatting with Jeff Robinov. He recognized them instantly, men who would transform Warner Bros. into a more significant force in the next ten years. As they continued to converse Harry tucked their names into his mental file of people to watch.
Then naturally, the conversation drifted toward business. Harry spoke casually, as if he were inquiring about the weather, "There is a lot of buzz with Marvel lately. I hear Disney is circling. Is there any truth to the rumor that Warner is about to outbid them?"
Alan Horn smiled his practiced smile, "We do not discuss live negotiations, but will just say we are not in the business of losing."
Lorenzo chuckled, "Superheroes always come back around. People forget."
Harry raised his glass in semi-toast. "Then I can't wait to see what you come up with."
"By the way, I also heard about your ambitions with DC." Alan said suddenly.
Harry's smile never faltered. "I can't go for Marvel anyway. So why not take the unnoticed piece of meat. It's not like I can ever compete with them anyway."
"Oh, you are being too modest. Anyway, we wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. And remember, we are not like Jackson Multimedia. We don't throw away our own." Lorenzo said.
Harry's smile faltered a bit as a hint of anger flashed in his eyes. He didn't like their wording.
As the executives meandered closer to another group of their peers, Harry excused himself and met Christopher at the bar.
"Careful," Chris said, half-seriously. "You don't want them to be your enemies."
Harry smirked at that. "A little bit of threat keeps them on their toes."
"I'd really recommend you keep your distance with the Big Six studios and do your own thing," Chris said before pointing out two men walking up to the bar. "You should say hi to them." He turned slightly. "Harry, this is Al Pacino. And Robin Williams."
Harry blinked, and then got control of himself, responding to Pacino with a very firm shake of the hand. Pacino was more sharp and controlled. Robin Williams, on the other hand, radiated warmth.
"So you're the one who created Providence. My wife, after bad reviews, said that I must sleep with the lights on," Robin said after a grin.
Harry laughed, even though he had heard that before. "I take that as a compliment."
Pacino raised his chin in a small nod. "It is better to disturb than bore. Always remember that."
Before long, the announcer called for everyone to enter the theatre. As everyone moved inside, Harry sat down in a seat a few rows back to watch. He leaned slightly forward at they reel began to roll. Immediately from the start of the picture, Christopher's hand was evident: a measured pacing, morally hazy, and exact with framing, both impressive and intimidating.
As the reel played, Harry made quiet mental notes as his director's heart and brain began processing the film, how the film built tension, where the camera stopped or lingered.
When the film ended, the clapping escalated into a standing ovation. Christopher took a deep modest bow, and Jonathan, in his own pride, clapped for his brother and partner. Harry clapped softly from the back of the theatre, trying to smile. He felt no jealousy, only fuel, evidence that more work was ahead.
When he exited the theatre, the paparazzi lights blinded him as he returned to his Mercedes.
As he drove east on the boulevard, he took out his phone, scrolled to Gregory, and dialed him.
"Greg," he spoke as soon as his friend picked up. "It's time. We have waited long enough. Time to start producing the new film."