Death of a Blue Movie Star

"I'm the only person in the world who got blown up my first time in a porno theater…" Then he caught her amused look. "Well, okay, maybe not my first. But I don't go all that often."

Hathaway was about five six, early thirties, pudgy. He had bandages on his neck and his arm was taped. He spoke loudly too-just like Rune after she'd witnessed the bombing-and she guessed the explosion in the Velvet Venus had temporarily deafened him. "How did you find me?"

"The policeman who interviewed you? Detective Healy? I got your name from him."

The camera was set up. Hathaway looked at it uneasily. "You can mask my face out, can't you? So nobody'll recognize me?"

"Sure. Don't worry."

She started the camera. "Just tell me what you remember."

"Okay, I was doing an audit at a publishing company on Forty-seventh. I'm an accountant and financial advisor. And, what happened was I had a couple hours off and I walked to Eighth Avenue to this deli I'd seen. They had great-looking fruit cups-they seemed nice and fresh, you know, lots of watermelon-and there was this theater right in front of me and I thought, Hell, why not?" He took a sip of the beer. "So I walked in."

"What was your impression?"

"Filthy, first of all. It smelled like, you know, urine and disinfectant. And there were these tough-looking guys. They were… well, black mostly, and they looked me over like I was, I don't know, dessert. So I hurried down to a seat. There were about ten people in the whole place is all and some of them were asleep. I sat down. The picture was awful. It wasn't a movie at all but this videotape. You could hardly see anything it was so fuzzy. After a while I decided to leave. I stood up. There was a big flash and this incredible roar and the next thing I know I'm in the hospital and I can't hear."

"How long were you in the theater?"

"Total? Maybe a half hour."

"Did you get much of a look at the other people in there?"

"Sure. I was looking around. You know, to make sure I didn't get mugged. There were some folks there. Some dockworker sorts. And transvestites-you know, prostitutes." He looked away from both Rune and the camera.

Rune nodded sympathetically and it crossed her mind that Warren Hathaway might know more about transves-tite prostitutes than he wanted to admit.

"Did you maybe see somebody in a red windbreaker?"

Hathaway thought for a moment. "Well, there was somebody in a red jacket, I think. And a hat."

"With a wide brim?"

"Yeah. It looked funny. He moved kind of slow. I got the impression he was older."

Older? Rune wondered. She asked, "He was leaving the theater?"

"Maybe. I couldn't swear to it."

"Any idea how old?"

"Sorry. Couldn't say."

"Could you describe him at all?"

Hathaway shook his head. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. What're you exactly, a newspaper reporter?"

"I'm doing a film about that girl who was killed in the second bombing. Shelly Lowe."

A motorboat went past and they both watched it.

Hathaway asked, "But she wasn't in a movie theater, was she?"

"No, it was in a studio that made adult films."

"It's terrible what people do to make a point, isn't it? That they feel lives are less important than politics or a statement…"

His voice faded and Hathaway smiled, then said, "I get too serious. My mother tells me all the time I get too serious. I should loosen up. Imagine your mother telling you that."

"Mine sure doesn't."

He looked at the camera. "So you're going to be a film maker?" Squinted in curiosity. "You have any idea what the average ROI is in that industry?"

"ROI?"

"Return on investment."

Accountants might have been as bad as cops when it came to initials. Rune said, "I sort of do the creative part and leave the money stuff to other people."

"What's the market for a film like yours?"

And she told him about the independent circuit and art film houses and public TV and the new but growing cable TV market.

"And it wouldn't be a large investment," Hathaway considered, "for films like this. You can probably control costs pretty easily. Indirect overhead would probably be pretty low. I mean, look at fixed assets. Virtually nonexistent in your case. You can lease equipment, wouldn't have to amortize much, only the more expensive items… If you were smart, the net-net could be great." Hathaway gazed off into the evening sky, seeing a huge balance sheet in the stars. "If you've got a success you're looking at pretty much pure profit."

They finished their beers and Rune got up to get more. She shut the camera off. He said, "I wasn't much help, was I?"

An older man in a red windbreaker…

"No, you were real helpful," Rune said.

As she returned with the beers she felt his eyes on her. And she knew the Question was coming. She didn't know exactly what form it would take but, as a single woman in New York, she'd have bet a thousand dollars that Hathaway was about to ask her the Question.

He took a sip of beer and asked, "So. Hey. You want to get a pizza or something?"

The Pizza version of the Question. A pretty common one.

"I'm really beat tonight…"