"I never forgot, Marcus," she smiled. "I just waited for them to catch up."
"Two minutes, Ms. Vance," a production assistant whispered, not looking up from his tablet. He was young enough to be her son, part of a generation that viewed "mature" as a genre rather than a stage of life.
She glanced at her co-star, Marcus, who was leaning against a gear crate. He was sixty, silver-haired, and had never been called a "comeback." He caught her eye and winked. "Ready to remind them who owns the room?"