Back in the early 90s a remastered print of Citizen Kane (not this version) was playing at the highly overrated Mayan Theater in Denver, and the not-yet Drunkawife, still soppy with love for her "man" (me) and I went to a Wednesday matinee showing.
We paid for our tickets and entered through the right-side double doors. Close inside stood a tallish, largish, red-faced gentleman in blue blazer and red tie. The ticket-taker. Politely I held out our tickets. Politely he took them, then, apparently recollecting himself, handed them back. Leaning forward conspiratorially he whispered, "The ticket-taker's up there."
Then I recognized him. Ready? It was
Gary HartOkay, take a second to catch your breath. (And yes, I know it's not two famous people meeting, but Gary's fame is large and enduring enough for both of us.)
Of course, I kept an eye on Gary all movie. It was easy because even though the theater was nearly deserted, he and his (bald middle-aged male) aide sat seven or eight rows back, dead center. Gary didn't want anyone to think they were hiding in back to cuddle, was my guess. He was probably still a little paranoid after that "Follow me" business.
They seemed to enjoy themselves anyway, laughing heartily at several scenes, the aide always a smidge behind the senator. It was Citizen Kane. Who needs cuddling?
Update: Gary had a little blog.
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