Free Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast by Richard Bard

flashes from phones that suddenly
appeared from pockets. He spun her into a dip and her smile was effervescent.
As the song rose to a final crescendo, he pulled her into a twirl and lifted
her into the cradle of his arms, their eyes locked as the room spun around
them, their lips meeting with a tenderness that wasn’t staged. This was the
woman of his dreams, he thought, as he carried her off the dance floor to a
round of applause.
    “Let’s get some air,” he said, setting her down and leading
her onto the terrace.
    “It’s beautiful,” she said a few moments later, leaning
against the rail and taking in the view. The gentle breeze carried the scent of
pine. Couples walked arm in arm along the garden pathways below, disappearing
beneath the canopy of trees. A sea of twinkling lights accented the roofscape
that stretched to the horizon, dominated by the illuminated dome of St. Peter’s
Basilica that seemed but a stone’s throw away.
    “I’ve set us up with a private tour for tomorrow,” he said.
    “It’d better not be too early. I’ve been getting up at four
in the morning for the last month and I’m sleeping in.”
    He pulled her close and lowered his voice. “No worries. I’ve
given us all morning for plenty of bed time.”
    She shivered and leaned in for a kiss that was interrupted
when a waiter approached bearing a tray with two flutes of champagne.
    “ Mi scusi, signore e signora ,” the man said with an
apologetic expression. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the gentleman— il
direttore —insisted.” He pointed to the film’s director, holding court with
several couples in the main room. “It is a gift from his private reserve.”
    Lacey’s brow lifted in surprise. “Wow,” she said, taking one
of the glasses.
    Marshall took the other glass and the waiter bowed and
walked quickly away.
    He held the glass up and examined the contents. “You think
this is some of the famous stuff?” He was referring to the rumor that the
director—who had a passion for fine champagne—had purchased a bottle of Cristal
Brut 1990 Methuselah at an auction in 2005 for over seventeen thousand dollars.
    “In your dreams,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “which
you might as well stick with since you couldn’t taste the difference anyway.”
    She was right about that. He’d rather get juiced on a Red
Bull than be tickled by champagne. But even if the liquid he twirled in his glass
didn’t originate from the rare bottle of Cristal, it likely came from one
costing a couple thousand or more. That’s just how the director rolled, which
meant the flute in Marshall’s hand probably cost over five hundred dollars. He
clinked it against Lacey’s.
    “Bottoms up.”
    Her eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare!”
    He grinned, she elbowed him, and they raised their glasses.
    “To the director,” he said.
    As if on cue, before they could take their first sip, the
music suddenly stopped and the director’s voice boomed over the sound system.
He had a microphone in his hand and was hurrying toward the stage. “I need
everyone’s attention. Right now.”
    It sounded more like a military command than a prelude to a
toast.
    Hollywood…
    Marshall and Lacey moved inside along with the other guests.
The stout director was dressed in a tux. His gray ponytail swung back and forth
as he climbed the steps and marched to the center of the stage. His face was
flushed, his expression stern. He raised the microphone to his mouth. “There’s
been a fire.”
    There was a chorus of gasps.
    “Nobody was hurt,” the director added quickly, patting the
air with his free hand to quiet the crowd. “It was an electrical short in the
production trailer. The fire’s out but the trailer is toast.” He shook his head
before adding, “We lost today’s footage.”
    For a beat, everyone in the room stood frozen, eyes narrowed
and mouths agape. Then heads swiveled and murmurs rose as the full meaning
behind the news sank