You only got really good trailers at shows guaranteed to draw a crowd. If this bunch was any indication, the movie Miles and I were about to see was going to require the Hawthorne to fumigate afterward. We groaned and laughed our way through a dozen trailers. “Jeez, who green-lit that?” Miles said after one, and, “That director’s a jerk,” about another—the sort of insider talk that got me wondering. “You have something to do with this movie we’re seeing?” I asked. Not too deep down, I knew part of the reason I’d asked was so I could lean closer to him. “For better or worse,” was his answer. The way he said it made me extend the same courtesy he’d given me about the situation at home. I let it go, figuring I’d find out soon enough. I didn’t make a conscious decision to leave my head inclined toward his, and I wondered if he was just settling in a bit more when he shifted down into his seat, bringing his head closer to mine. We still had the armrest between us.
