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ponytailed neighbour, as this magic name was uttered. He spun round like a dervish, grabbed the pale man with one hand and Lindsay with the other, spilling champagne down her dress.
    ‘He’s here? Did you say Tomas was here?’
    ‘No, I said maybe he was here.’ The pale man swayed. ‘I said Lulu said he’d be here. Look, d’you mind fucking letting go of me?’
    ‘Apologies, my friend.’ The ponytail stepped back half an inch, and with difficulty focused upon Lindsay.
    ‘And this is?’
    ‘I don’t know who this is,’ the pale man replied in an aggrieved tone. ‘She knows Lulu. She says she knows Lulu…’ He paused. ‘Whereas I’ve never fucking met Lulu. I’ve been here eight times and I’ve never met her yet’
    This surprising information seemed to forge an instant bond. The two men embraced.
    ‘Shake, pal.’ They shook. ‘I’m beginning to wonder, my friend,’ the ponytail remarked, in Jacobean tones, ‘whether Lulu exists.’
    ‘She says she does.’ The pale man turned accusingly to Lindsay. ‘Knows her intimately. Friends from way back…’
    Fixing her with his eyes, in so far as he was able, the ponytail demanded to know where, in that case, Lulu was. ‘Because,’ he said, swaying like a yachtsman, ‘I’ve been promised an introduction to Tomas. I spoke to a very very close aide of Lulu’s called Pat.’
    The two men eyed each other.
    ‘Pat? Pat?’ The pale man sighed. ‘That rings a bell. But there’s a lot of aides. Lulu has a confusing number of aides…’
    ‘True. An ear to the ground, however. On the inside of the inside. On the ball . That’s Lulu’s strength. Elusive, though, my friend. Cancels lunch dates…’
    ‘Doesn’t return calls. Can’t be fucking reached…’
    ‘Here tonight though. Definitely here—somewhere. I have assurances. Lulu’s here—and so is Tomas Court.’
    Lindsay, growing anxious to escape, attempted to edge away, but the group behind her pushed her back. Oblivious to her presence, an expression of demented reverence came upon the pale man’s face.
    ‘Tomas Court!’ he cried. ‘I worship that man. I bow down before him. I say—and I don’t fucking care who hears me say it—I say: that man is my god.’
    ‘A director of genius, my friend. No argument. Dead Heat ?’
    ‘Incandescent. I’ve seen it fifteen times. A masterpiece. I fucking wept.’
    ‘Pure film, my friend. In a class of its own. Except…’
    ‘The spider sequence?’
    ‘Cheap. I would have to say that. Edging towards the cheap.’
    ‘Vulgar?’
    ‘My friend, I’d have to agree. Seriously vulgar. Even jejune. You could say—a mistake.’
    ‘He makes mistakes!’ Here, the pale man became very animated. ‘OK, it’s heresy, but I’ll say it: Tomas Court makes mistakes, misjudgements. And Dead Heat is riddled with them…’
    ‘The end is lousy. Dead Heat has a lousy ending. Personally, I have my doubts about the beginning, as well…’
    ‘What’s your view on the editing?’
    ‘A fucking shambles.’
    ‘Dialogue?’
    ‘ Please . I could write better dialogue in my sleep.’
    ‘No heart, my friend.’ Ponytail sighed. ‘It’s all window dressing. Smart-ass movie graduate stuff. Post-modern posturing. Hommage . Quotes. Does Tomas Court even understand genre, my friend? That’s the question I ask myself…’
    ‘ Understand it? He couldn’t spell it.’
    ‘He’s sold out, in my view. He’s peaked, let’s face it. He peaked a while ago. He was a flash in the pan. He…’
    ‘Actually, he’s over there,’ said Lindsay, who had now decided that she disliked these two cabaret artists very much. ‘He’s over there by the door,’ she continued, giving them both the sweetest smile she possessed.
    ‘Don’t you see him? By the door, with Lulu.’
    She pointed across the room. There, in a thick cluster by the entrance, stood a tall and dramatically dressed woman of a certain age, who jutted up from the heaving crowd like a gaunt, weatherbeaten