Situated between the white marble foyer and the main restaurant, the room was reminiscent of the Belle Époque in its opulence and view of the outside terrace. He settled himself in a chair and, when the waiter arrived, ordered a vodka martini. The place was bustling, populated by those who wished to conquer the world of movies. The French and American contingent were clearly distinguishable, mainly for their style or lack of it. Young men, carrying the bags issued with the delegate pass, had their ears perpetually glued to mobiles or their gazes fixed on interactive tablet screens. He eventually spotted the guy he’d seen manning the small office for Black Pearl Productions close to Gramesci’s room on the third floor. The sign on the desk had said ‘Producer’. The money man, according to Camille. Tall, pudgy, wearing long shorts and a T-shirt with the words ‘The Black Pearl – A Movie to Die For’ emblazoned across the front, he entered the bar, took a swift look round, then went out on to the terrace.
What do You think about The Case Of The Black Pearl?
