The Devil's Due by Monique Martin

first.
    Elizabeth had only read about theaters like this. The Egyptian theater was the very definition of a movie palace. Everything about it was elegant and opulent. From the plush carpet to the dazzling chandeliers, magnificent grand staircases to smartly-uniformed and attentive staff, every nuance was designed to make every patron feel like they were someone special, as if they were experiencing something magical. Egyptian motifs were everywhere. More hieroglyphics, these outlined in gold, ringed the high ceiling. Elizabeth tried not to giggle when she saw huge statues of the god of the underworld, Osiris, guarding the entrance to the ladies' bathroom.
    Next to her, Simon snorted. “Ridiculous.”
    The three of them had barely taken more than two or three steps inside when a portly man in a broad-shouldered suit hurried over to them. He mopped his brow and stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket. He stuck out a meaty paw and Alan politely shook it.
    “Mr. Grant,” he said, almost panting for breath. “It's an honor to have you here.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Your picture's showin'. Right in there! Right now!”
    Alan's mock surprise was priceless. “Is it really?” he turned and winked at Elizabeth.
    “It is,” the man said, his head bobbing in excitement. He glanced at his watch. “It should be letting out—”
    The rest of his sentence wasn't necessary as four sets of double doors to the theater opened at once and a trickle of moviegoers soon became a mass. It only took a few seconds for one of them to recognize Alan Grant.
    Two women called out Alan's name in unison, soon a few more followed and the rush was on.
    “Stay close,” Alan said in a hushed voice. “Sometimes I think they'd love me to death if they could.”
    Simon gripped Elizabeth's arm and leaned toward her. “We should get him out of here.”
    “I don't think we can.”
    In less than a minute, they were surrounded by Alan's adoring fans. He was gracious to each, signing autographs, shaking hands and being utterly surprised and delighted that they enjoyed his pictures.
    Someone tapped Elizabeth on the shoulder and she turned to find a rosy-cheeked teenage girl, autograph book in hand. “Are you somebody?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Somebody?” Alan said with a booming laugh as he edged over to them. “My dear child, this…” he said loudly, sure to get everyone else's attention, and with a dramatic pause for effect, “…is Elizabeth Cross!”
    The crowd ooh'd and aww'd as though they recognized the name. Before she could protest, programs and autograph books were being shoved toward her. She started to glare at Alan, but remembered his advice. It was definitely more fun if she played along. Alan took a moment and gave her a wicked and pleased grin before going back to signing autographs. Elizabeth shook her head. He was going to be trouble.
    A young man asked Simon who he was, and Elizabeth prepared for a storm of poison arrows, but Simon just sighed, crossed his arms and said. “Her husband.”
    “Oh, he's nobody,” the young man announced to the crowd. “Just her husband.”
    Elizabeth laughed at Simon's offended expression. “You're a somebody to me,” she assured him.
    Whatever tart reply he offered was lost as she was pulled around by yet another adoring, and instant fan.
    After a few more whirlwind minutes, Alan made an abrupt, grand exit and they were safely back in the car. Elizabeth tried to catch her breath. The experience had been bizarre and exhilarating. Alan lounged in his seat and reached for an already prepared glass of whisky. Fans followed them out and rapped on the windows. Elizabeth looked over at Simon who plucked a slip of paper from the shoulder strap of her dress and arched an eyebrow. A phone number. When had someone done that? She smiled and shrugged. Simon merely shook his head and sighed.
    Alan rapped on the partition and the car eased away from the crowd. He took a sip of his drink and grinned. “Now, that