London in January was chilly, wet and buzzing with a type of energy unique to that city. Harry had spent the better part of the week holed up with Marsh, poring over reports about the expansion of Dream Theatre.
The news was positive—box office receipts were healthy, concessions were performing in line with expectations, and the expansion into Berlin was moving ahead. Marsh had bags under his eyes but he appeared pleased with his efforts.
On Friday evening, Harry stepped out of his black Mercedes onto the red carpet at Dream Theatre London.
This was the first time he had come to a premiere at his own theatre as both owner and guest. The lights on the marquee glowed above the drizzle, and the cameras were flashing away as actors and producers strolled down the carpet. The smell of wet asphalt mixed with perfume and champagne.
When he stepped inside, Harry loosened the knot on his scarf and took in the scene. His theatre had been dressed up for the night—there were velvet roped-off areas, floral arrangements befitting an event such as this, and waiters maneuvering carefully among the guests with trays filled with wine.
A small amount of pride swelled inside him.
He noticed, standing near the bar, a familiar face: Guy Ritchie. The director was most recognized at the time for Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. He had built a reputation but had not yet build the name he would have later.
Harry strolled over and gave a courteous nod. "Mr. Ritchie, I don't think we've met."
Guy turned, pint in hand, gave Harry a quick once over, then grinned, unevenly. "Call me Guy. You're Harry Jackson, then? The American lad who bought himself a theatres at London?"
Harry chuckled. "That is me! Glad I didn't come out here in vain-- sharp eyes they are."
"Sharp ears, more like," he said, still talking with some East End roughness. "People talk. But, very nice bar-- but a theatres is a interesting place for one, innit? What brings you to British premiere then? Are you shopping for scripts?"
Harry disagreed. "I believe in the Dream Theatre being a grand, rich man weekend destination. Just wanted to see how my theatre can hold up to the glitz tonight."
Guy laughed. "It's doing quite nicely. Better than most of the old places in Leicester Square. You're doing the right thing—keep the punters happy with good food and clean loos and nice bars, and they'll keep coming back, even for rubbish films."
Harry smiled. "I will take that into consideration."
Before Guy could say anything else, Harry's attention was caught by a face cut across the hall. Anne Hathaway.
She was standing near the concessions, talking excitedly with another young lady and waving her hands around. Harry shook Guy's hand quickly to excuse himself, and made his way toward her, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray on his way over.
"Stealing drinks from your own bar?" Marsh muttered quietly as Harry walked by, half-interested.
"Benefits of ownership," Harry said, not stopping his walk to her.
Anne appeared genuinely surprised when she noticed him. "Harry? You're here?"
Harry laughed. "I should be the one asking that. I own the theatre. Hard to have a premiere here when I'm not around."
Her eyes widened a Little, and the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're joking."
"I'm not joking about that," said Harry, smoothly. "How's your week going? Did you have any luck with any auditions?"
She gave a sigh of a response, pinning her hair back. "I had an audition for a supporting role in a BBC drama—my parents are happy about it, feeling lucky since both of them were stage actors, and Mom knows half the Casting Directors in London! But I doubt I'll get a call back. It seems they were looking for someone older, and more mature as well. I suspect I only got an audition because my dad called in a favor."
Harry tilted his head. "That's all part of the process. Getting in the door is due to who you know. Now you have to prove you can stick around due to your talent."
"Try telling that to the producers," Anne muttered before shaking her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't be complaining at a premiere."
Harry gave her a small smile. "You're allowed to complain. But you'll catch a break. You have the kind of persistence that pays off in this industry."
Just at that moment, a crew member tapped Harry on the shoulder, reminding him he needed to check on the VIP seating before the film started. He turned back to Anne. "I've got to scoot. Have a ton of fun."
As he departed, he turned back and saw Anne fumbling her drink, splashing a tiny bit on the carpet. Flustered, she mouthed a quick thank you for the help when he gestured to the attendant. He snickered to himself and continued on his way.
The film played, applause commenced, and the night wrapped up. After the final speeches, Marsh led Harry to a handful of gentlemen in suits on the side exit. Standing with them was Peter Safran, a man with well-defined features, and slicked back hair.
"Harry, this is Peter Safran." Marsh said. "He's doing some exciting things as a manager and producing. He handles clients like Sean Combs, has connections in London and Los Angeles."
Peter reached his hand out, a firm handshake. "Great to meet you. You're the one responsible for Providence, yes? I saw it in Toronto. It's quite an impressive first film. And that too for such a young man like you."
Harry grinned, shaking his head. "Thanks for that. And you—you seem to be building a healthy roster from what I've been hearing."
Peter gave a tiny shrug. "I'm trying to. It is still early days—I thus far have only launched The Safran Company. We will be doing some talent management and then some production. This business is so full of people you really have to have something to differentiate if you are to get a bite from either side of the equation."
Harry leaned in a little. "That's where people like me come in! I need people—producers—who are sharp and understand both the talent side and the business side. Willing to pay a risk here and there, but smart enough not to bet the whole house on every hand."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "And you think I am a risk?"
Harry smiled. "Let's just say I'm curious. You seem ambitious and are not at least yet completely tied to the old guard. So that is good."
Peter studied him for a moment and weighed his words. "Ambition is cheap in Hollywood. Everyone has it. What makes a difference is longevity. And to be long-lived, you need infrastructure—a company that will get behind more than one or two films."
Harry nodded slowly. "Agreed. Which is why I don't plan to stop at one or two. I've got capital, distribution partners, and—most importantly—the drive. You help me build, there's no ceiling."
Peter chuckled, sipping his drink. "You talk like an American mogul, even standing here in London."
Harry lifted his glass. "Guilty as charged."
Marsh cleared his throat, sensing the conversation drifting into business territory. "We'll follow up later," he said, but the look Peter and Harry exchanged promised that this was only the beginning.