''Old,'' she said.

She was a few inches under 5 feet tall, and she stood shakily with a metal cane that had four legs at the base. We both had on New Balance sneakers.

She has Parkinson's, which makes her shake a little bit and leaves her unsteady. She told me she had been in the hospital with meningitis during the week after we spoke on the telephone, which explained her forgetting who Bill Murray was. She told me I would have to hold her hand and help her get around, and I told her that would be just fine. On the way to the theater she told me she'd invited her friend Dorothy to join us. ''I would've gotten a group together, but I didn't want to have too many people, in case the movie isn't any good.'' I nodded and pulled into the driveway next to the theater. There was a small-town police station there, and I stopped in front of it.

''You can't park here, Wes.''

''Oh, I think we'll be O.K.''

She shook her head. She said that this was proof I was a movie director. No one else would think they could double-park in front of a police station.

We went into the lobby and she introduced me to Dorothy. ''This is Wes Anderson. He's responsible for whatever it is we're about to see.'' Then Ms. Kael told me I should change my name. ''Wes Anderson is a terrible name for a movie director.'' Dorothy agreed.

I ran out to move the car, and then found Ms. Kael and Dorothy sitting near the back of the theater. Ms. Kael explained, ''I like to see the whole screen.'' I offered them some cookies, and Ms. Kael immediately started eating one. ''These don't have butter in them, do they?''

''My guess is they probably do,'' I said.

''I'm not supposed to eat butter,'' she said, but she kept eating. Ms. Kael and Dorothy watched for an hour in total silence. Then Dorothy, who is a real estate agent, got paged and walked out, and that was the last I saw of her. Finally, the movie ended, and I took Ms. Kael's hand and walked with her out of the theater.