do you wear to bed?»
«What?» Julia Robert’s smile flashed across my face.
«What do you wear to bed? I’m curious.»
«Boxers, a T-shirt, sometimes a hat.»
«Boxers? A hat?»
«Yeah, they’ve got comics on them, and it’s a red hunting hat, like Holden Caulfield’s.»
David’s face split into a winning smile.
«Why do you ask?»
«Just wanted to change the subject.»
«Well, you succeeded.»
Crossroads of the World came into view.
«Could you stop there? I’ll walk the rest of the way.»
«Sure.»
«Thanks so much.»
«See you around!»
On the way back, I stopped by «Caioti Pizza Café.» The chef there had turned pizza into an art form. Your mouth starts watering the second you look at the menu. I ordered something like a New York-style pizza. The main thing, y’all, is more cheese! The first thing I thought after ordering was that I had to bring David and Lee here. They’d love it.
You know the moment when you sit waiting for your order and you remember something? One time on vacation, I stayed in a little cottage and sat for hours by the ocean. Every early morning and late in the evening, cleaners walked along the beach and swept up the mess left by a guest named Seaweed. I remembered one of them extremely well: he wore a white hat, a white T-shirt and shorts, and he had dark and lonely gaze. I was dying to make a face so he’d smile. And he did, just not from my expressions, but from the music in his ear buds, or maybe a memory.
Another memory. One time, sitting on a bench, my gaze fell on a young man in shabby clothes who was filling holes in a wall with cement. I suddenly pictured him as a futuristic builder in space, saving the Universe from an attack of black holes. He stopped for a second, leaned on the wall and began looking at all of the cars parked in that wealthy neighborhood. I mentally wished that one day he’d get a Bugatti Veyron.
Wonder what they’re up to now…
I abruptly snapped out of my thoughts when I smelled my pizza, which the waiter was bringing over. Pizza… it felt like it had been forever since the last one!
I often spent my nights on the balcony, gazing at the lights of Los Angeles. Music played softly.
«I love You. I believe in You. Thank You. Amen.»
On one of those lonely nights, I decided on a whim to go to the grocery story. I glanced at myself in the mirror and convinced myself that pajamas and the tufts of hair sticking out of the bun on my head weren’t all that visible at night. As it turned out, I also forgot to put on shoes: I drove off in blue house slippers.
Now I just had to locate a 24-hour grocery store. Found it. Let’s get: yogurt, muesli, apples, fresh mint, a lemon, my favorite broccoli, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, asparagus, arugula, mozzarella, and salad dressings. And another cheese, my absolute favorite – which is surprising, given that I suffer from trypophobia – mouse cheese. Well, that’s what I call it, because of all the big holes in it.
As it turned out, the idea that not many people would get it into their head to buy groceries at this hour… was false. I walked up to the cash register and froze: in front of me stood five people in nearly identical plaid pajamas. My only distinctive feature was the snazzy blue slippers that kept falling off my feet.
A young man walked up to the cash register. I assumed he was one more weirdo till I realized that he wasn’t wearing pajamas. I could sense him looking at me, so I turned around and, I guess, stared coldly into his unbelievably blue eyes. A good-natured smile spread across his face.
Having paid, I rolled my cart to the car. A beautiful BMW sport bike was parked beside it. The blue-eyed young man came out just after I did.
«Excuse me!»
I looked around.
«You, uh…» his smile wavered only slightly, «didn’t happen to see any keys on a Jack Daniels keychain, did you?»
I was surprised by the question.
«No, I didn’t.» I unlocked the car and quickly tossed the bags inside.
«Alright then. Sorry. Oh and – nice slippers!»
My gaze met the stranger’s:
«Same color as your eyes.»
He laughed charismatically and went back into the store. I got into my car and immediately hit the road. There really was something sketchy about him…
The next day, I swung by college just to get some books from my locker.
«Connie!» Mr. BB called from the entrance.
«Hello, Mr. Bern.»
«Isn’t today your day off?»
«I came by to get my stuff.»
Mr. BB took the first pages of my screenplay from my hands.
«It’s not ready yet,» I said.
He rapidly skimmed the first two pages and gave them back to me.
«Do you think I liked it?» he asked, and smiled. «Think hard and tell me.»
«To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about whether you liked it or not.»
«Hmmm. Can’t quite figure you out, Mystery Woman. What are you looking for in the filmmaking profession?»
«Definitely not disappointment.»
«Well, it’ll come. Without a doubt. Especially when it hits you that many people get Oscars for pure crap, while your screenplay gets torn apart in online forums by trolls whose opinions you don’t give a rat’s ass about. Whose opinion will be more important to you then?»
«People who believe in me.»
«In you, or in your screenplay?»
«Mr. Bern, is there something you don’t like about my screenplay?»
He laughed in an approving, fatherly way and said:
«Don’t ever let yourself doubt your screenplays. They’re a huge part of your heart, and it knows best.»
I sighed deeply: something about our conversation had irritated me. We left the university together. Our cars were the only ones in the parking lot.
«So you’re a fan of classic American cars!» Mr. BB remarked.
«I certainly am.»
«Is it back to Neverland after college?» he asked, spotting a Peter Pan sticker on my car door.
«Most likely the opposite, sir.»
Mr.
