I’m in Cannes, the day is almost finished and I get into the Palais Stéphanie. I hear people saying they’re waiting for Francis Ford Coppola on the terrace for a conference.So I take the lift, which is impressively large and quiet full of people.
A plunging neckline on the opposite side of the entrance drags my attention.Nobody talks.
All of a sudden I realize they must have seen my glance, maybe too insistent, because they all watch down and try to hide their laughs.
I look somewhere else and I find out that in front of me, a kiss distance, there’s a tall and slim guy without the badge, who looks like a geek and seems familiar to me.
A year ago I was at the première of his film, where the guests of honor were him (the Director) and Gwyneth Paltrow.
So I exclaim:
- Hey, I think I know you!
All start laughing, because they think I was fixing him and were waiting for my reaction.
- Your film, last year. Good.
- Thanks for not saying it was even bad.
And we get out.
P.S.: The neckline in the lift was of his wife.
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