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Authors: Connie Willis
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is Kimberly.”
“Which theater?” she said.
“Grauman’s Chinese,” I said, thinking, This is no time for a high entropy state.
“Which theater?”
I looked up at the marquee.
Benji IX
was showing in all three theaters, the huge main theater and the two smaller ones on either side. “They’re doing audience reaction surveys,” Kimberly said. “Each theater has a different ending.”
“Which one’s in the main theater?”
“I don’t know. I just work here part time to pay for my organic breathing lessons.”
“Do you have any dice?” I asked, and then realized I was going about this all wrong. This was quantum physics, not Newtonian. It didn’t matter which theater I chose or which seat I sat down in. This was a delayed choice experiment, and David was already in flight.
“The one with the happy ending,” I said.
“Center theater,” she said.
I walked past the stone lions and into the lobby. Rhonda Fleming and some Chinese wax figures were sitting inside a glass case next to the door to the restrooms. There was a huge painted screen behind the concession stand. I bought a box of Raisinets, a tub of popcorn, and a box of Jujubes and went inside the theater.
It was bigger than I had imagined. Rows and rows of empty red chairs curved between the huge pillars and up to the red curtains where the screen must be. The walls were covered with intricate drawings. I stood there, holding my Jujubes and Raisinets and popcorn, staring at the chandelier overhead. It was an elaborate gold sunburst surrounded by silver dragons. I had never imagined it was anything like this.
The lights went down and the red curtains opened, revealing an inner curtain like a veil across the screen. I went down the dark aisle and sat down in one of the seats. “Hi,” I said, and handed the Raisinets to David.
“Where have you been?” he said. “The movie’s about to start.”
“I know,” I said. I leaned across him and handed Darlene her popcorn and Dr. Gedanken his Jujubes. “I was working on the paradigm for quantum theory.”
“And?” Dr. Gedanken said, opening his jujubes.
“And you’re both wrong,” I said. “It isn’t Grauman’s Chinese. It isn’t movies, either, Dr. Gedanken.”
“Sid,” Dr. Gedanken said. “If we’re all going to be on the same research team, I think we should use first names.”
“If it isn’t Grauman’s Chinese or the movies, what is it?” Darlene asked, eating popcorn.
“It’s Hollywood.”
“Hollywood,” Dr. Gedanken said thoughtfully.
“Hollywood,” I said. “Stars in the sidewalk and buildings that look like stacks of LPs and hats, and radicchio and audience surveys and bra museums. And the movies. And Grauman’s Chinese.”
“And the Rialto,” David said.
“Especially the Rialto.”
“And the ICQP,” Dr. Gedanken said.
I thought about Dr. Lvov’s black and gray slides and the disappearing chaos seminar and Dr. Whedbee writing “meaning” or possibly “information” on the overhead projector. “And the ICQP,” I said.
“Did Dr. Takumi really hit Dr. Iverson over the head with a gavel?” Darlene asked.
“Shh,” David said. “I think the movie’s starting.” He took hold of my hand. Darlene settled back with her popcorn, and Dr. Gedanken put his feet up on the chair in front of him. The inner curtain opened, and the screen lit up.
Afterword for “At the Rialto”
I wrote “At the Rialto” after an SFWA Nebula Awards Banquet weekend which actually featured many of the elements depicted in the story. It was held at the Roosevelt Hotel, which was right across the street from Grauman’s Chinese Theatre; we
did
go to the Bra Museum at Frederick’s of Hollywood, which has Madonna’s gold cone-shaped bra and Ethel Merman’s girdle; the desk clerk
was
a model/actress; and there were definitely signs of quantum effects occurring at a macrocosmic level. We did not, however, see
Benji IX
at the theater. We saw
Willow
. And we didn’t
“Which theater?” she said.
“Grauman’s Chinese,” I said, thinking, This is no time for a high entropy state.
“Which theater?”
I looked up at the marquee.
Benji IX
was showing in all three theaters, the huge main theater and the two smaller ones on either side. “They’re doing audience reaction surveys,” Kimberly said. “Each theater has a different ending.”
“Which one’s in the main theater?”
“I don’t know. I just work here part time to pay for my organic breathing lessons.”
“Do you have any dice?” I asked, and then realized I was going about this all wrong. This was quantum physics, not Newtonian. It didn’t matter which theater I chose or which seat I sat down in. This was a delayed choice experiment, and David was already in flight.
“The one with the happy ending,” I said.
“Center theater,” she said.
I walked past the stone lions and into the lobby. Rhonda Fleming and some Chinese wax figures were sitting inside a glass case next to the door to the restrooms. There was a huge painted screen behind the concession stand. I bought a box of Raisinets, a tub of popcorn, and a box of Jujubes and went inside the theater.
It was bigger than I had imagined. Rows and rows of empty red chairs curved between the huge pillars and up to the red curtains where the screen must be. The walls were covered with intricate drawings. I stood there, holding my Jujubes and Raisinets and popcorn, staring at the chandelier overhead. It was an elaborate gold sunburst surrounded by silver dragons. I had never imagined it was anything like this.
The lights went down and the red curtains opened, revealing an inner curtain like a veil across the screen. I went down the dark aisle and sat down in one of the seats. “Hi,” I said, and handed the Raisinets to David.
“Where have you been?” he said. “The movie’s about to start.”
“I know,” I said. I leaned across him and handed Darlene her popcorn and Dr. Gedanken his Jujubes. “I was working on the paradigm for quantum theory.”
“And?” Dr. Gedanken said, opening his jujubes.
“And you’re both wrong,” I said. “It isn’t Grauman’s Chinese. It isn’t movies, either, Dr. Gedanken.”
“Sid,” Dr. Gedanken said. “If we’re all going to be on the same research team, I think we should use first names.”
“If it isn’t Grauman’s Chinese or the movies, what is it?” Darlene asked, eating popcorn.
“It’s Hollywood.”
“Hollywood,” Dr. Gedanken said thoughtfully.
“Hollywood,” I said. “Stars in the sidewalk and buildings that look like stacks of LPs and hats, and radicchio and audience surveys and bra museums. And the movies. And Grauman’s Chinese.”
“And the Rialto,” David said.
“Especially the Rialto.”
“And the ICQP,” Dr. Gedanken said.
I thought about Dr. Lvov’s black and gray slides and the disappearing chaos seminar and Dr. Whedbee writing “meaning” or possibly “information” on the overhead projector. “And the ICQP,” I said.
“Did Dr. Takumi really hit Dr. Iverson over the head with a gavel?” Darlene asked.
“Shh,” David said. “I think the movie’s starting.” He took hold of my hand. Darlene settled back with her popcorn, and Dr. Gedanken put his feet up on the chair in front of him. The inner curtain opened, and the screen lit up.
Afterword for “At the Rialto”
I wrote “At the Rialto” after an SFWA Nebula Awards Banquet weekend which actually featured many of the elements depicted in the story. It was held at the Roosevelt Hotel, which was right across the street from Grauman’s Chinese Theatre; we
did
go to the Bra Museum at Frederick’s of Hollywood, which has Madonna’s gold cone-shaped bra and Ethel Merman’s girdle; the desk clerk
was
a model/actress; and there were definitely signs of quantum effects occurring at a macrocosmic level. We did not, however, see
Benji IX
at the theater. We saw
Willow
. And we didn’t
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