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I quickly forgot that David A. Dawson is one of the best-looking young actors in Hollywood. That was something he seemed to play up in his last two films, Star Academy and The Secret Circle, but not here. In The Royal Palm, he plays the real-life Sir Richard Jackson, and he quickly draws you in with a gripping performance. While he always has the potential to be a scene-stealer with his likable personality, he can also be dark and brooding. I have to say that this is by far his best performance.

Dawson speaks in a deep, low, deliberate, stud growl—a voice with real music in it, though one rich in sexual tension. While his actual singing is somewhat suspect, he pulled it off with his usual casual aplomb. It was almost like he’d been doing it for years, but we were told it was sprung on him at the last minute to make it look more realistic.

I understand that he wasn’t the one director Laurent Vance wanted to play the role. All I can say is I can’t imagine anyone else playing it nearly as well.

Rita looked up, and I glanced around the table. No one said anything.

“That sounded good to me,” I said.

That broke the logjam. Not that I was fishing for compliments.

“I’ve heard that the film may be released to more theaters if it does well this weekend. They typically don’t do that, but you might have a hit on your hands,” Saul said, then smiled. “I have some scripts I want you to look at.”

“When would I have time to do anything else? I’m booked through this time next year,” I complained.

“You could skip that whole school bit. We could get you tutors or get you your GED without a problem …” he said and then trailed off when he glanced over at my mom.

Everyone chuckled when they saw how close he’d just come to having his life snuffed out.

“Just trying to do my job,” he offered and then shut up.

◊◊◊

The premiere was at the Microsoft Theater. It was new and shiny, with everything you could want for an event like this. Brook and I did the whole red-carpet bit. She seemed irritated when the paparazzi wanted to know if she’d replaced Halle. I told her to ignore them because they wanted to stir the pot and create a story.

I was partly to blame because I’d taken Halle to the ESPYs to help her create a buzz for her new movie. We’d also been seen together when the accident had happened. Oh, and I might have let us be photographed when we’d gone to see Birthrite play. Maybe I was entirely to blame and would have to make it up to Brook. That put me in a good mood.

After the interview, I took Brook around and introduced her to everyone who worked on the movie. We had to hustle to our seats because some of them wouldn’t stop talking—or that was what Brook said.

As I watched the movie for the third time, I was able to step back and evaluate the performances, mine in particular. I started to recognize how Laurent had gotten a better performance out of me. At the time, I was confused as to what he wanted. I think that was part of his genius. He got me out of my head, and I just did the scenes. It looked more natural than the later scenes that Kitty filmed. Technically, he was a better director, but I would work for her again anytime.

When the movie ended, we walked a block to the Ritz-Carlton to one of their ballrooms for the after-party. I’d gone up to the bar to get drinks for Brook and me when I was stopped by an older gentleman.

“David, I don’t think we’ve met in person. I’m Gabe Francis,” he said, shaking my hand.

Gabe was the head of the studio that had filmed our movie. We’d talked on the phone about Laurent when I was in Cuba. Because of the issues involved, he’d sent Bob Trimble to get Laurent back in line.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” I said.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I realize you have people to see, and I can’t stay. But I wanted to tell you that I’m glad we picked you for the movie. When it comes time for us to put forth names for awards, I think yours will be on the list.”

“Thank you, sir. I would be honored.”