The Shadow Cinema

•1979

ＬＯＳ ＡＮＧＥＬＥＳ, ＯＣＴＯＢＥＲ １９７９

People think the worst part of fame is that everyone recognizes you.

It isn't.

The worst part is that, after a while, you stop recognizing yourself.

"Michael?"

I looked up.
Bill Bray was leaning against the dressing room door, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"You ready?"

I nodded.

"In a minute."

He didn't leave.
He never rushed.
He just stood there, studying me with that calm look of his—the one that always made me uneasy.

"Something's wrong."

I smiled.

"You say that every time."

A quiet laugh escaped me.

Bill smiled too.

He wasn't just my bodyguard.
He was one of the few people who wasn't afraid to tell me the truth.

Maybe the only one I trusted enough that I didn't have to keep smiling around him.

"I'm just tired."

Bill nodded slowly.

"That's the answer you'd give the press."

He paused.

"Now try the real one."

I looked at myself in the mirror.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then I let out a sigh.

"You know..."

I ran my fingers along the edge of the sink.

"Lately, it feels like my whole life exists between four places."

"Which ones?"

"The stage."

"The studio."

"The car."

"Home."

I gave a short laugh.

"And sometimes I'm not even sure that last one still exists."

Bill didn't say anything.
He never felt the need to fill the silence.
Maybe that's why I could always talk to him.

"Come on," he said after a moment.

"Leave those thoughts for tomorrow."

"I wish it were that easy."

An hour later, we were driving through the streets of Los Angeles at night.
I liked these moments sitting in the back seat while nobody expected anything from me.

No questions. No autographs. No cameras.
Just the city beyond the window.

"Home?"

"Yeah."

The car pulled away in silence.
I rested my head against the cool glass.
Neon lights reflected across the window like strokes of paint.
The sidewalks were still crowded.

Some people were heading home from work.
Others were on their way to restaurants.
They laughed.
Held hands.
Talked about ordinary things.

I found myself wondering when the last time was that I'd simply walked down a street.
Without security. Without disguises.
Without someone turning around to stare.

I couldn't remember.

The car stopped at a red light.
I barely looked up.

Until something in the corner of my eye caught my attention.
An old neon sign.
Several letters had gone dark.
Even so, I could still read it.

                            THE SHADOW CINEMA

I frowned.

"Bill."

"Hm?"

I pointed out the window.

"Do you see that?"

He leaned forward.

"The theater?"

I nodded.

"Has it always been there?"

Bill thought for a moment.

"I don't know."

He looked again.

"We've been driving this route for months."

He paused.

"And I could've sworn I've never noticed it before."

Exactly what I was thinking.
It looked old.
Maybe fifty years old.
The neon flickered.
Above the entrance hung a single black sign.
There was no movie poster.
No actors' names.

Just three short lines.

                                            TONIGHT

                                        ONE MEMORY

                                              8:00 PM

"That's strange," Bill muttered.

"What kind of theater doesn't tell you what's playing?"

I didn't know.
But I couldn't take my eyes off it.
I had the strange feeling...
that I wasn't looking at a building.

I was looking at something that had been waiting for me.
Just then, the light turned green.
The driver pulled away.
I turned to watch the theater for as long as I could, until it disappeared around the corner.

"Michael."

Bill's voice was quiet.

"Yeah?"

"You're smiling."

Surprised, I touched the corners of my mouth.
He was right.
I hadn't even realized I was smiling.
Bill gave me a faint smile.

"I haven't seen that smile on you in a long time."

I didn't answer.
I just looked back one last time.

But the theater was gone.

As if it had...

...never been there at all.