While Simon and the others were busily discussing follow-up strategies, on the East Coast, it was already nearing evening.
Though graduation was approaching and she'd been incredibly busy lately, Jennifer Rebould still hurried back to New York by car.
Yale was in New Haven, Connecticut, just over a hundred kiloters from New York, and Jennifer's ho was there too. But the girl didn't head to her own place on the Upper East Side—instead, she drove to an apartnt on the Upper West Side, across Central Park.
This was where a friend of her father's lived: Robert Iger, currently vice president of production at ABC Television Network.
Parking on the street, Jennifer gripped the steering wheel, reorganizing her thoughts. Her mind couldn't help replaying the events of the past week.
Those awful newspapers—how could they judge him like that?
Though she hadn't been part of Run Lola Run's production, just that fleeting glimpse during her visit to his Montana ho had shown her how professionally prepared he'd been for his film.
And from their first eting to the last at Sundance, so many details from their interactions proved his talent.
Run Lola Run was absolutely his own work.
But those people refused to seek the real truth, content to speculate and accuse him baselessly.
What a bunch of incompetents.
On Wednesday, she'd mustered the courage to call him, offering her support and trust.
But the whole affair showed no sign of cooling; she sensed the conspiracy behind it and wanted to help even more.
Her parents, like her uncle, were prominent New York lawyers—if he wanted to sue those slandering him, she could assist. But she knew he didn't need her help there.
As for anything else, she couldn't do much—a plain girl like her, what could she offer?
Then, this morning, seeing an article doubting he'd composed Run Lola Run's score without formal training, she suddenly rembered the videotape she'd recorded during their first encounter at Venice Beach.
She'd dug it out quickly, and a plan ford in her mind.
Taking another deep breath, she grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat and got out. In a few steps, she climbed the stairs to a curbside apartnt and rang the bell.
A woman in her thirties opened the door, surprised to see her but smiling as she ushered her in. "Jenny, what brings you here all of a sudden?"
"Sorry to bother you at this hour, Susan," Jennifer hugged the woman nad Susan. "But I spoke with Bob on the phone— it'll just take a mont."
Susan Iger shook her head unconcerned, leading Jennifer into the living room. She called her two daughters, Kathleen and Amanda, who were watching TV, to greet her, then explained, "Bob just got back and is changing. Wait a sec. Oh, I just brewed coffee—want so?"
"Thanks, Susan."
Jennifer nodded, watching Susan walk away before smiling and chatting with the two eleven- or twelve-year-old girls. With their parents close friends, everyone knew each other.
After waiting patiently a bit, as Jennifer sipped coffee and talked with Susan, an elegant black-haired man in his thirties ca downstairs: Robert Iger.
Seeing Jennifer, Robert Iger smiled and stepped forward for a light hug as she stood. "Jenny, what's up that you called? And coming back this late—did you tell your parents?"
"I'll head ho after," Jennifer said, a bit sheepish at his follow-up question, but continued, "Bob, I was hoping you could help with sothing."
As she spoke, Jennifer pulled a videotape from her backpack.
The Iger family eyed her action puzzledly, waiting for her to explain.
Jennifer waved the tape, thought a mont, and asked, "Bob, do you have a VCR in your study?"
Robert Iger shook his head in confusion.
Susan Iger, sensing the situation, guessed what it might be and offered, "Jenny, we have one in the bedroom— we can watch there."
Hearing Susan's tone, Jennifer realized she must think the tape held so scandalous secret or the like. She shook her head quickly and pointed to the living room VCR with a smile. "Playing it here is fine too."
Robert Iger's younger daughter, Amanda, perked up at the ntion of video and snatched the tape from Jennifer. "I'll do it, I'll do it."
The Igers knew Jennifer was a sensible girl; seeing her not stop their daughter, they settled on the sofa, smiling as they waited to see the tape's contents.
A mont later, Amanda hit play and stepped back.
The TV screen first showed a stall selling various trinkets, the shot casual, with faint chatter nearby mixed with scattered guitar strums like tuning.
Then, as a male voice said, "Flight of the Bumblebee, for Jenny," lively and rapid guitar notes flowed from the Igers' excellent ho theater system.
Since everyone around had fallen silent in that original mont, the guitar now sounded pure and clear, with a mysterious allure.
Though she'd rewatched it countless tis, Jennifer still wore a faint, satisfied smile at the lody. Robert Iger raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised with a hint of confusion as he glanced at Jennifer.
Susan Iger asked outright, "That's amazing—who is it, Jenny?"
Before Jennifer could reply, the on-screen cara turned, soon focusing on a big boy with an acoustic guitar.
The Super 8 film quality was decent, so when the figure appeared, Susan Iger and the girls were still puzzled—but Robert Iger's eyes narrowed instantly.
Jennifer pulled her attention from the screen, glancing at Robert Iger. Noting his expression shift, she felt more confident.
The tape was short, just about five minutes.
But when the frantic playing ended on-screen, Robert Iger's younger daughter Amanda snapped from her awe and squealed, "That was so cool! Dad, I want to learn guitar too. And Jenny, is that your boyfriend? Can he teach ?"
As Amanda said this, Robert's older daughter Kathleen turned hopefully to her parents.
Susan Iger had finally pieced it together but still found it hard to believe. "That boy—he looks like, probably is—that Simon Westeros, right?"
Jennifer smiled and nodded.
But Robert Iger had sunk into thought.
Over the past week, why had so much dia chased Simon Westeros's story like mad? Simple: He commanded massive public attention, boosting newspaper sales and TV ratings.
Yet, as the eye of the storm, Simon Westeros had never directly addressed the dia frenzy—a regrettable omission.
Accordingly, whether fans of Run Lola Run or casual viewers, due to his dia avoidance, they'd be intensely interested in any personal info on him.
In this context, suddenly surfacing a tape showcasing Simon Westeros's stunning guitar skills—and one that directly countered much of the recent dia doubts about him.
So, if aired on network TV, what effect would it have?
After pondering a mont, Robert Iger stood, personally retrieving the tape from the VCR and weighing it in his hand before turning. "Jenny, what do you want to do?"
Jennifer rose too, facing Robert with rare determination in her eyes. "Tomorrow—Good Morning Arica."
Ko-fi/GodOfReader
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