Free Adulation by Elisa Lorello Page A

where?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Where are you from?”
    “Oh. Long Island,” she said, slapping her palm to the side of her head, as if to knock some sense into it. The gesture delighted him.
    “Of course,” he said. “Long Islander. Should’ve recognized you were a compatriot by your accent.” He looked  at the cigarette butt on the ground for a second before fixing his gaze back to her, trying to think of something to say to keep her there just a little bit longer. “You smoke?” he asked.   What a fucking stupid question .
    “Me? No.”
    He studied her features, mentally tracing each contour as if trying to memorize them, resisting the urge to invite her for a cup of coffee, blow off the film premiere and the Q&A and go somewhere and talk for hours. He pulled his jacket closed and leaned forward.
    “What’s your name?” he asked.
    For a split second, she wore a bemused expression; then, just as she opened her mouth, a guy in a black leather jacket and black pants approached them from the opposite direction, talking loudly on his

    phone in a heavy Brooklyn accent, and stopped when he saw Danny, barely pausing for breath.
    “Holy shit, Joey. Danny Fuckin’ Masters is standin’ right in front of me. You know who that is?
    Hey Danny,   Glengarry Glen Ross   is my favorite movie.”
    “Thanks, I didn’t write that one,” said Danny.
    “No? Well, you shoulda.”
    At that moment, Danny and the woman exchanged complicit glances before he turned back to the
    goon.
    “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, unable to contain the smile cajoled not by him, but her.
    “Anyway, I only know who you are ’cause of Charlene Dumont. Hey Danny, you’re bangin’ my girl, know what I’m sayin’?” said the goon, making a lewd motion with his fist and laughing. Meanwhile Danny mourned the prematurely crushed cigarette.
    “Well, there’s a Gershwin song for you.”
    Danny’s attention shot back to the woman, who’d uttered the crack barely loud enough for him to hear it, and he burst out laughing. She put her hand to her mouth and stifled a giggle of her own when she realized he’d heard her.
    “I’m tellin’ ya,” the goon continued obliviously, “she is smokin’ hot.”
    “Yes, she is,” Danny said, deadpan, his eyes locked into a gaze with the woman’s.   Dammit, what is her name...
    “Hold on, Joey. Hey Danny, let me get a pic wit-chuh. I ain’t never gotten my picktch taken with no director before. Here, sweetheart,” said the goon, practically tossing his phone to the woman, his buddy Joey still presumably on the line, “take a picktch.”
    The woman flinched and caught the phone. Danny begrudgingly let the elusive Joey’s friend lean in and extend his arm around him in one fell swoop. He looked at her behind the phone, yearning to pose with her instead, wondering if he should make the request to do so.
    “I think I got it,” she said.
    “Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my break’s over, and I gotta get back inside,” he said to the
    goon.
    But before Danny could ask her to stay for just one more minute, the goon said, “Wait, we gotta doit again. You weren’t lookin’ right.”
    Just as he did so, the woman said, “It was nice to meet you,” and she hurried away.
    “Hang on,” Danny called out, but she’d already turned the corner. He wanted to follow her, butjust as the goon  extended the phone out for another picture of them, the door opened and Paul Wolf calledto Danny.
    “We need you,” he said.
    “OK,” he said to Paul. And then, to the goon, “Thanks, but I really gotta go now.” He wasimpatient, even irked, as he opened the door and ducked back into the theater, hearing the goon shouting, “Hey, you ain’t fuckin’ Al Pacino, ya know. Show some respect. Can you believe this guy, Joey?”
    Danny pushed his hair back, rubbed his eyes, and exhaled a deep, forceful breath as Paul greetedhim backstage a second time. “That was a quick