Chapter 21: The Premiere

The premiere was at the Orpheum, the oldest theater on Broadway.

The marquee said SONIA RHODES in letters four feet tall.

Under it, a line of white T-shirts stretched around the block.

They had come out of habit, I think.

Penelope and I came in by the side door and took two seats in the last row of the balcony.

She wore a black dress.

I wore the gray suit, because it was the only one I had left that wasn't in evidence.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" she asked.

"No."

"We can leave."

"She sent me a ticket," I said. "I'd like to see what it was for."

The house lights were still up.

Two thousand seats were full, and they hummed with the noise of people who had paid for a night.

At eight, a deputy marshal walked onto the stage.

He stepped aside, and Sonia came out behind him in a red gown.

A thin cuff circled her wrist, chained under her sleeve to the deputy's belt.

Her lawyer had won her one evening out.

She had pleaded guilty to the tax charges that morning.

She would be sentenced in three weeks.

The crowd gave her a wave of applause, ragged and brief.

She took the microphone.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for coming. This film is the last thing I'll make for a while, and I wanted you to see it with me."

Her voice was low and steady.

"I'm not going to ask you to forgive me," she said. "I'm only going to ask you to watch."

Nobody clapped.

In the fifth row, a woman stood up.

She was in a gray tank top, and she held a folded Rhodies shirt in her hands.

She set it on her seat.

"I came for my mother," she said, to no one in particular. "She loved you. She died thinking you were good."

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