The Cannes Film Festival was a rigorously hierarchical affair.
Stars of varying stature moved in distinct circles. Journalists wielded press passes denoting different levels of access. Even the timing of guests' red-carpet arrivals followed a strict pecking order.
As the most anticipated competition entry this year, the Pulp Fiction delegation arrived at the seaside Palais des Festivals near the end of the ceremony. Even then, staff hurried over to ask Simon's group to wait a moment.
They signed a few autographs for the screaming crowds lining the street. Only minutes later were they allowed to proceed.
In the 1980s the Cannes red carpet consisted solely of the short stretch atop the Palais's twenty-four "steps of glory." As Simon and the others stepped onto the press gauntlet leading from curb to stairs, photographers on both sides erupted.
Besides Simon and Janet, the Pulp Fiction contingent included Robert De Niro, John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Nicole Kidman, Madonna, Sean Penn, and Robert Redford—who had already walked once with The Milagro Beanfield War and now re-emerged for this group. More than half were bona fide A-listers.
Most opening-night guests had entered half an hour earlier. With the press lane now empty save for the Pulp Fiction team, they became the sole focus.
After obligingly striking various poses, Simon tried to move forward with Janet, only to be politely halted by staff for more photographs. Finally they ascended the glory steps for yet another round.
From the top, taking group shots, Simon spotted the competition jury arriving at the far end of the press lane. By tradition, the main jury always walked last. Clearly Pulp Fiction had been slotted second-to-last.
Inside the 2,000-plus-seat Lumière Hall, the opening ceremony began promptly.
Compared to the red-carpet frenzy, the indoor program felt decidedly lackluster.
This year's host was French actress Mathilda May—Simon recalled only that she had starred in the final film of Bigas Luna's "Iberian Trilogy."
The half-hour ritual was rigidly formulaic, lacking the Oscars' levity and wit. A solemn opening address, the host inviting the competition jury onstage to be seated and briefly introduced, an interlude of song and dance, a rundown of the nominated films—then it ended.
As Mathilda May in an aqua gown took her final bow, Janet leaned against Simon and whispered, "So boring. Simon, do we really have to stay for the opening film?"
He nodded. "If you don't want to, you can head back."
Janet rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm staying with you, of course."
Some guests traditionally left after the ceremony.
But once Simon saw the opening film's title, he decided to remain.
The Big Blue, directed by Luc Besson. In the original timeline it had been France's most successful film of the 1980s, playing theaters for over a year—proof enough of its excellence.
Simon had seen it in a past life—on pirated disc—and loved it. Given the chance to experience it on the big screen, he would not miss it.
Learning Simon intended to stay, the rest of the team grew interested and remained as well.
After a short break, the screening began.
The Big Blue followed two threads: the rivalry between top free divers played by Jean Reno and Jean-Marc Barr, and the romance between Barr's character and Rosanna Arquette's.
To Simon the heart of the story was Barr's Jacques—a man obsessed with the sea since childhood, who treated dolphins as family and could never fit into the world. In the end he heeded his inner call, abandoning everything to return to the ocean.
In the darkened hall Simon soon lost himself in the film's breathtaking seascapes. He did not notice how much time had passed until he realized Janet had unconsciously tightened her grip on his arm—an instinctive habit he usually ignored.
But midway through the 162-minute film, when the separated lovers spoke by phone and Jacques recounted his mermaid tale, Simon finally sensed something wrong.
"To meet a mermaid, you must dive to the bottom—where the sea is bluer, where the sky becomes memory. Lying in the silence, willing to die, only then will she appear. She comes to greet you, to test your love. If it is true enough, pure enough, she will accept you and take you away forever…"
The prophetic lines ended. A trembling voice reached Simon's ear: "Simon, I want to go home."
He turned. Janet—usually so carefree and a little mad—was crying silently.
Simon retrieved tissues from her clutch and gently wiped her face. "All right. Let's go."
Nicole Kidman, seated on Janet's other side, noticed and quietly made way. Simon led Janet—clinging tightly to his arm—out of the hall. Only in the car did he pat the small, catlike figure curled against him. "What's wrong?"
Janet lifted her tear-streaked face. Instead of answering, she asked, "Simon, you'll never leave me, right?"
"Of course not."
Her eyes remained anxious. "You're a lot like Jacques— that complete detachment from the world. I'm terrified that one day you'll simply lose interest in everything here and vanish."
Simon smiled and shook his head. "Impossible. I've made all this money and don't even have an heir yet—how could I just disappear?"
Janet paused, then said, "A while ago… I saw some papers in your study."
"What papers?" Simon asked, puzzled. "I leave all kinds of things there."
"About…" She avoided his gaze, resting her head on his shoulder. "About your will. You've already made one, haven't you?"
"Lots of people do that—just in case." He did not deny it, nuzzling her soft blonde hair. "If I suddenly died, you'd become the richest little heiress in the world. Hey, let's plan ahead: you can date women if you want, but no pretty boys— I'd lose face."
Janet ignored the joke, voice rising with emotion. "I don't want your money."
Simon pulled her closer, patting her waist soothingly. "Janet, you're overthinking this. All right—maybe some of your guesses aren't wrong. But if you want a story too… my spaceship broke down. Earth tech can't fix it. So I'm stuck here forever."
Carrying far more than any young man his age should possess, living with clever Janet day after day, she had surely made countless guesses. He simply had not expected a film to trigger her tonight.
Her breathing steadied slightly at his words. Arms tight around his waist, she said, "Simon, I love you. No one in the world loves you more than I do."
"I know."
"But you don't believe in love."
"I do. I just never thought anyone would love me." He smiled. "Actually, I'm pretty selfish. There's that question: the person you love or the person who loves you—which would you spend your life with? I'd choose the latter. So as long as you don't run away, I'll cling to you forever."
Janet softened further, melting bonelessly against him. "You can visit Jennifer's room tonight. She likes you too."
"I know—that's why I keep her close. Pretty awful, huh?"
"Mmm." She nodded vigorously, arms tightening. "But promise you'll never leave me."
"I promise."
Janet hesitated, lips parting as if to speak, then closed them again.
Jennifer had not attended the opening. Back at the Le Cannet hilltop estate, the assistant sat alone in the vast, almost cavernous ground-floor hall, quietly organizing files.
Seeing Janet's state as they entered, Jennifer stood at once. "What happened?"
Janet remained silent. Simon smiled lightly. "Got too caught up in the movie—she cried."
Jennifer gave him a gentle eye-roll at his flippant tone, took Janet's arm, and settled her on the sofa. "Ms. Pascal just faxed some materials from New York about the reality shows. I've sorted them."
Simon nodded, picked up the neat stack Jennifer had prepared, and sat nearby. He chatted idly with the two women while scanning the pages.
The writers' strike continued, yet May upfronts arrived on schedule. This year's would be subdued, but the process remained.
While Simon traveled to Cannes, Amy had taken the four reality pilots—months in development—to New York. Despite the nine-hour time difference—past nine p.m. in Cannes, not yet four in New York—work continued there.
Originally Simon had planned to return to the U.S. after the opening and Pulp Fiction premiere.
The schedule, however, forbade it.
The festival opened May 11—today. Pulp Fiction's gala screening was set for May 15, the first weekend. That alone would allow a Monday departure, returning if the film won.
But on May 17 he was obliged to attend Redford's The Milagro Beanfield War Cannes premiere— a favor he could not refuse.
Then May 19 brought When Harry Met Sally's screening. Though overseas rights belonged to Disney, it was still a Daenerys production; washing hands entirely would be poor form.
After the 19th came another weekend—no one worked weekends here—so returning made little sense.
The closing ceremony was Monday, May 23. Simon ultimately decided to stay the duration. It was why he had bought the house; two weeks in a hotel would have been intolerable.
May 11 to 23, plus travel, consumed most of the month. Unable to return stateside, he left the reality-show pitches to Amy. He trusted her completely on business matters.
Besides, he had promised her five percent of annual net profits. If he micromanaged everything, that incentive would be wasted.
Scanning Amy's fax, the Big Four networks showed strong interest in two pilots: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and Survivor. No surprise—those had ignited the American reality boom in the 1990s.
The other two drew little enthusiasm. Simon had to admire network discernment; he had chosen them casually. One was Big Brother—far less successful in the original timeline. The other, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, had aired on cable; only that installment had truly caught fire.
Ultimately, Simon could not shake the instinct to hedge his bets.