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a night at the pictures


I watched her from my booth and wondered who she was. I wanted her to come closer so I could sample her perfume and make careful note of the way she had pinned her hair into a pristine mess. But, no, she would not be one to come over with notes in hand and purchase her own ticket. The boy, barely with facial hair, and holding on to her gloved arm like an eager puppet, would do that for her. Instead she stood like an ornament, inviting attention, in the centre of the foyer, the diamonds around her neck glinting as though she were an extension of the chandelier raised above her head like a crown. When she laughed she turned her knees a little way inwards and moved her martini glass into her chest and then out to her side. How coy. It was a delicate gesture, practised, and she did not spill. She was gorgeous. Glamorous. She could have been a movie star. And yet there she was in Brisbane’s Regent Theatre, so utterly in place.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday outing.

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