“Yeah,” she said. “You know? A shooter? My bar had some Patron in it.”
Understanding washed over him. “A shooter?” he asked, appalled. “I’m sorry. I do not do ‘shooters’ like a kid in a public high school raiding his father’s bar.”
“Don’t be a prude,” she said, walking over to the bar. “Patron is the good shit.” She looked the shelves over until she found a squat bottle of clear liquid. She pulled it down and set it on the bar. “Here we go. One for the road, Greggie. Let’s do it.”
“I think not,” he said.
“I’m not going downstairs until you do a shot with me,” she warned. “You might as well get it over with.”
He sighed. He suspected she was not being serious, but it seemed the path of least resistance was to just do what she wanted. “Very well,” he said. “Set us up—I believe that is the proper terminology, right?”
“Right,” she said, smiling at him. She pulled two shot glasses out of the holder and set them on the bar. She then opened the Patron bottle and poured both of them full. “You’re going to like this shit. You don’t even need salt or a lime to go with it.”
“Wonderful,” he said. He walked over and picked up the shot glass closest to him. It was so full that a little of the liquid dribbled down onto his finger. He raised the glass in a salute. “To Us and Them,” he toasted.
“Us and Them,” she repeated. She put the glass to her lips and made the liquid disappear.
Greg drank down the shot. It was not as bad as he had been expecting. Patron was tequila, he discovered, but it was smooth tequila, not raunchy-tasting like what he had had in the past. The shot warmed him all the way down and he felt it going almost immediately to his head.
“Not bad, huh?” Mindy asked.
“Not bad at all,” he had to agree. “Though the ritual is a bit adolescent, wouldn’t you say?”
She reached up and caressed his cheek for a moment, her smile widening. “Sometimes adolescents have the right idea,” she told him. “Come on. Let’s get down there.”
“Right,” he said, feeling himself flush a little at her touch. “The limo should be here any time.”
They rode downstairs together in the elevator. In the lobby, they found the group they would be riding to the premier with: Jerry Lancing, the producer of Us and Them; Frank Graham, the head of production for Merrimack Studios; and Georgie Fletcher, the director. All were wearing custom-fit tuxedos and in a festive mood.
The five of them climbed into their limousine, settling into the comfortable seats.
“Drinks!” Mindy yelled before they even left the valet area. “Let’s get some booze flowing here!”
Nobody was in disagreement with this suggestion, so Greg opened a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt scotch. He poured everyone a healthy shot in the glasses provided by the limo service and passed them around. “To Us and Them!” he toasted for the second time that night.
“Us and Them!” everyone repeated.
They put away two glasses of Glenfiddich apiece on the trip to the 1930s era theater in old Chicago. There, they emerged into the sea of flashbulbs and video camera lights as the media and the paparazzi captured their images. Surrounding the media and the paparazzi were more than the usual amount of uniformed Chicago police officers. Many were providing security for the event; but some were invited guests. The project, after all, was about them and had been filmed with their cooperation and input. It would have been quite rude not to invite some of them to the premier that took place in their own city.
Greg and Mindy made their way inside the spacious lobby of the Roughhouse Theatre. The obligatory velvet ropes led inside and then ended. Three bars had been set up and the tuxedoed bartenders were already on standby. Champagne girls in short skirts were starting to circulate with trays of Dom Perignon in crystal glasses. The appetizer tables were all set up with steaming trays of hors d’oeuvres and other snacks. The two starring actors were supposed to set up at the end of the velvet ropes and greet each guest as he and/or she entered. But first, Mindy dragged Greg over to the nearest bar so they could get another drink.
“I think I’d better slow down on the alcohol a bit,” Greg whispered to her. “I’m starting to feel kind of drunk.”
“Isn’t that the point of drinking?” she asked him.
“Well ... yes, but this is a very public event. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.”
“You’re an actor,” she told him. “Just act sober.”
He thought this over for a moment and decided it made sense.
The other members of the cast and crew of the project entered the building, coming in between the velvet ropes in pairs, triples, a few foursomes. Greg and Mindy greeted each of them by name, shaking hands or sharing hugs with each and every one. And then the other special guests began to filter in. The Superintendent of Police of Chicago PD and his wife were the first, followed by Mayor Daley and his wife Maggie. Two of the deputy superintendents followed them and then Captain Miles Blinker, who commanded the 4th District, where much of the filming had taken place. And then came some of the rank and files who had been particularly helpful with the project: Sergeant Mackle and his wife, who had graciously allowed the studio to use their home for filming Frank Haverty’s domestic scenes; Rick Brentfield and Robby Downs, the patrol team that had allowed Greg to ride along with them for two weeks as part of his preparation for the role; and a plethora of other 4th District patrol officers and civilian staff that had ferried the crews around and provided security during the filming. All of the police officers were dressed in their class A ceremonial uniforms for the event, which meant, unfortunately for them, that they could not drink alcohol. Greg and Mindy commiserated with each of them on this while continuing to sip their own drinks.
Following the official guests, the entertainment media and local media crews entered next. Greg and Mindy did not bother greeting them as they entered. Instead, they let Fletch and Jerry Lancing deal with them. The two of them headed into the lobby to mingle a bit. Greg headed for the food tables. He had been drinking on an empty stomach and thought it might be a good idea to change that equation a bit. Mindy, instead of heading off on her own, stayed at his side. She was giggly and a bit uncoordinated from her own alcohol intake. Several times she had to grab Greg’s shoulder to keep from falling down. When they finally got their plates filled with a variety of snacks from the tables, they stood near one of the bars to eat. As they did so, Mindy kept close to Greg’s side, close enough that he could feel one of her breasts pushing into his arm whenever she turned to talk to someone. It was not really an unpleasant sensation, but he could not help but wonder if it was deliberate—and if it was, to what purpose?
They were able to consume two glasses of Dom Perignon before it was time to enter the theatre for the screening. Greg was feeling pretty drunk as he sat down in one of the chairs in the back row—the kind of drunk that he got when he was hanging out with Jake Kingsley. Mindy sat next to him on his left side. Fletch sat on his right side. The aisle seat on the other side of Fletch remained empty for the moment.
Once everyone was seated, Jerry Lancing, the producer, stood up at the front of the room in front of the red curtain that covered the screen. He gave a brief speech, thanking the City of Chicago, the mayor’s office, and particularly the Chicago Police Department for their cooperation and assistance in making the film a reality. He thanked several people by name, including the mayor himself, the superintendent, Captain Blinker, and Sergeant Mackle and his family.