And four hours later she knew Max was right. Gray Area had all the makings of a success. The elegantly dressed theater crowd, full of carefully selected journalists and popular, photogenic film stars, had reacted perfectly, tense at all the right places, intent on the story and nodding in agreement at the climax. The reviews weren't in yet, but the critics she'd recognized had looked relaxed and jovial-always a good sign-joking with Max and the movie's actors as they slowly wended their way up the carpeted aisle through the exuberant crowd of well-wishers.

She stepped out of the crowded theater lobby with its faint residual smell of buttered popcorn, into the night air. The glare of the television lights and strobe-like flashes from cameras were blinding. It was incredibly noisy, too, as dozens and dozens of electronic cameras clicked madly away like jungle crickets. On one side she was flanked by Colin Peabody and, on the other, Max, looking utterly urbane and handsome in his tux. He had his hand securely under her elbow. Colin's grip was less obvious. Colin Peabody was the film's producer-the same producer she and Max had sworn, years ago, they would never work for again. But Max's pragmatism had eventually ruled and here they all were, together once more. Colin Peabody might be an absolute mass of moral dilemmas, but he was a jewel of a producer. You just didn't want to get too close to him.

Margot took a deep breath. She knew the drill. She smiled brightly in the direction of the lights and the clicking cameras and let Max lead her slowly toward the waiting limousine gleaming like wet onyx under the artificial lights.

"You two darlings," Colin was saying, "you've done it again. I see a Max Skull film festival brewing in the future." He waved a hand in the air depicting, she supposed, "the future." The fans straining against the security tape screamed loudly in reply, thinking he was waving at them.

Of course, Margot thought, no one knew who the three of them were. The actors were the faces that got recognized. Still, simply walking out the lobby doors was enough to set off a tremendous cacophony of sound. Even if they didn't know who you were, you were obviously someone if you were here tonight.

She focused on Olivia Benton, the female star of Gray Area. Olivia looked other-worldly in an iridescent, blue-beaded creation that had probably taken several light years to create. Still Margot thought the woman photographed even better than she looked in person. The strong bone structure of her face had softened under the able techniques of Max's cinematographer into ethereal, classic beauty. Lucky Olivia.

Colin suddenly paused and Margot paused with him-with two people holding onto your arms, there was no way not to. A man with a pager and a phone unit in his ear hurried up to the producer. He began whispering something urgently in his ear. "Careful," she heard and then whatever else the man was going to say was lost in a wave of shouting coming from somewhere in the bleachers set up alongside the red carpet.

And what were those people shouting out? Margot looked back at the lobby doors but didn't see anyone exiting that she recognized. There weren't many people yelling, but they were all hollering the same refrain, over and over. She could almost make out the words.

"Uh oh," Colin said and taking her arm again started moving quickly to the limousine. "Protesters," he muttered. "Let's get out of here." Curious, Margot looked over to the center of the disturbance. A group of young men were standing up in the middle of a blur of faces. A few of them were holding cardboard signs. The signs were bending this way and that in the fresh night air. The most she could make out were some heavy black letters, FU--TH- STUDIO AS--OLES. Well, that was certainly clear enough.

She was holding her skirt, ready to duck into the limousine, the passenger door held open by an expressionless uniformed driver, when she heard Colin shout out. Turning, she saw in alarm that his stiff, starched dress shirt was dripping red.

"Colin," she cried.

"Shit," Max muttered.

As she watched in dismay, Colin hurriedly wiped at his shirt with his handkerchief and pulled off the remains of a very ripe tomato that dropped to the sidewalk with a noisy plop. But Margot felt nothing but relief. For a second, she'd thought he'd been shot.

Max pushed her unceremoniously into the limo's dark interior and she hurriedly made room for a furious Colin and a bemused-looking Max. The driver slammed the door and ran around to the front of the huge car. As he floored the gas pedal sending them all back into the plush seats, Margot looked out the rear window. There was a blur of activity. Uniformed security officers with two-way radios and flashlights were running toward the bleachers. There was a sudden commotion as everyone fled the stands, moving in different directions as though a bomb had dropped in their midst. The limousine made a wide, fast turn and the chaotic scene disappeared from view.

"What the hell was that all about?" Max growled as they settled back on the soft upholstery.

Colin was still moping at his jacket. "A protest, my dear Max, that's what that was. A protest against us-well, specifically the studio, I imagine. I like to think I'm not really of the studio, but I guess I am truly the establishment." He sighed deeply.

"Helluva noise," Max snarled.

Colin nodded. "It's always been like this between the haves and the have-nots, you know that. I suppose they were upset over the wonderful premier, the glamour, the incredible glitz. But you tell me, young Max, just how you put on a show without, well, putting on a show? They probably want us to dress in blue jeans and tennis shoes. But Hollywood does have its traditions and the tradition of a premier, after all we've gone through getting the film done, seems to me to be totally appropriate. We are celebrating, after all, and that reminds me, dears, Dan Sherwood said he heard that the reviews are raves, darlings, absolute raves."

Max smiled. Margot could feel him relaxing beside her. Raves. What a relief.

"So, Max, I should say we've got a real hit, and I'm not talking about that damned ripe tomato, either. Gray Area will open next Friday in thousands of theaters across the country, including Hawaii. We're aiming to be number one for a weekend and then, God willing, we'll stay in the top ten for another few weeks. We should recoup the costs and have something nice left over for the studio. Not like the old days, is it? Not much room for error, is there, dears? Well, don't worry."

The limousine slid to a stop in front of the apartment. Margot kissed Colin's fragrant cheek and Max helped her out into the cool night. She felt nearly dizzy from the night's events, all the tension, the glaring lights, the noise. The film was going to be a hit. Work was already starting on the new picture. People had hateful, vocal agendas against their business. She shook her head. It had been quite a premier. Don't worry, Colin had said. Right.