Table by the Window - Part 8
For author's notes see Part 1
Considering the excesses of the evening I woke up early and surprisingly invigorated by the prospects of the day to come. Of course, I still was worried and uncertain about the possible outcome but it wasn’t the all-consuming fear I felt before - just a healthy worry one feels right before he steps on stage or before the camera, the kind that makes ones movement lighter, perception - keener and mind - clearer than they would normally be.
I had only one appointment - with the photographer dude from the yesterday’s party, set up for a late afternoon - to discuss the possibilities of the future photoshoot that I had already tentatively agreed for - as one of the necessary evils of my profession. Frankly, I had not much patience for these prolonged sessions with professional photographers at all, but there seemed quite a few of my movies to come out within the next half year, so I guess Ben’s claims that I should do one now were more than justified by the promotional needs.
Meanwhile, it was barely eleven and I was already riding my bike through the city streets with no other purpose, but that some site can give me an idea of where we could go together tomorrow, provided that my advances were taken favorably enough.
No, most definitely not into the central parts of the city, where I was bound to be recognized by some overzealous fan - I’d rather stay an ordinary Charlie for now, an actor, of course (there was no avoiding some questions about what I do for a living), but even if she knew already who I were, I’d prefer to wean her slowly to the possibility that every our meeting could be interrupted by the effects of my, so called, “fame”.
Nor would I want to invite her straight and only to a dinner - the setting there would be too close for the kind we could get in the same café - if any of us joins the other at his/her table, and despite the long awaited opportunity to converse - I wanted to see her lively and animated and amused - in short, would like to meet her at a less formal circumstances than sitting on the other side of a dinner table.
A sports game? I would have to check if there was any planned for the Saturday. Yet I didn’t know if she was a football, baseball or whatever sports fan.
A rock concert? There were bound to be a few, in fact I was acquainted with a pair of bands that played reasonably good music, and - that being a Saturday evening - some or other of them was likely to play some spot, yet again - I didn’t know the kind of music she preferred.
Of course, there was always a possibility of just taking a leisurely walk, or a bike ride, or if she didn’t fancy bike, we could use a car…
No, it was pointless - I’d have to just go with whatever she chooses, just - suggest an outing together and leave to her the choice of the place. And there still was the little question of where and when and how exactly I was going to approach her, the question that I preferred to jump over, skipping on to the more pleasant perspectives of what was to follow, if that part went without some major disaster on my side.
In the end - just as I was entering the photographer’s studio, I decided that it would be better if I just tried to recreate the circumstances of our “almost happened” chance meeting in the street, and as the midnight approached, I was skulking there in the shadows in the same side-street, where I had photographed with the fans a few days before, ready to come out and overtake her as soon as she crossed the corner, my nerves tied into a shivering knot, but my resolution to go through with it as firm and steady as it could only get.
Midnight actually was awful early a time to await her coming, I remembered only a pair of times when I would come at about one and she was already there. But what’s the use - I couldn’t sit at home - and to lose the chance through coming too late would have been just too damn silly - so I started my vigil fully aware that at the very best I was going to wait for one or two hours before she came.
Being aware of something and enduring the consequences you were aware of - are two vastly different things though. At quarter to two I have smoked about the same amount of ciggies that usually could last me a day, looked at my watch more times than I did in a week, and was feeling decidedly foolish standing there in the deserted street as a late night hooker really desperate to get a client.
The minutes ticked. There still was no sign of her. As usually when I waited for someone who came too late, I started doubting if I had the place and time right - these doubts only more validated for the fact that I actually only saw her coming down that street once and couldn’t be sure if she wouldn’t choose some other route for today. But come on, that was bullshit! There were no other crossings along this street from the one I was watching to that, the corner of which was taken by the café. And she did appear every day from this same direction, so even if she could reach this corner from three different sides, she could not get there any other way but so that I notice her. Unless of course, she took a car - in which case she could already be sitting there, while I stood shivering in the chilly night, waiting for her in vain.
The simplest way to make sure would be to get to the corner and check if her car was standing before the café, but I didn’t dare leave the shadows - what if she was just nearing the crossing, and my undue haste would spoil all my plans.
At half past two I was starting to feel real nervous - by all means she should be already there by now. If not - I’d just have to think up another reason for approaching, that’s all, but to stand here any longer worrying quite unnecessary about whatever have held her - was stupid indeed. I walked around the corner - hurriedly looking into all directions, but the whole district seemed to be deserted at so unholy an hour - no people going anywhere, not even a passing car…
Her car wasn’t standing before the café either - I saw it long before I reached this lonely beacon of lighted windows, but kept telling myself that it didn’t mean anything - she could be somewhere else for business or fun, she could have approached from the other side altogether - so what if she never did it before - my rotten luck would just happily make this night an exception, just for the sake of an idiot, who was catching his death from cold, waiting for her in a wrong place…
She wasn’t in the café. I didn’t have even to look to make sure, but felt it in my bones when I opened the door. The clock over the bartender’s head showed half past three. She should have been here already. She never had come so late.
All my worries and fears resurfaced double force, as I numbly ordered a glass of mulled wine to warm my body a little, as my soul was quickly turning ice-cold with a feeling of dread. Gosh, it was night! It was Los Angeles! What, what, what if something had happened to her on the darkened streets? I was probably being ridiculous, look at me - I was gone for a fortnight and on coming back had already missed two nights here. But the fact was - that I had done it before - work or carousing holding me till it was too late to go anywhere but home. Yet every time I was here - she was here as well.
A wild thought occurred to me - a proof that my emotions were in such a turmoil I was clutching at straws even if those straws didn’t bode me well in the long run: what if she was really scared by my unwanted attention and only appeared yesterday when she saw that I was not there? But no, it was too dumb - it was not unusual for me to arrive at three, even four, so she couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t appear later, and today… from the inside I would have seen her approaching long before she could see me in my dark corner - nor could she notice my bike, safely parked at the side street.
There were so many “safe” reasons she could be absent: catching cold, going out of town, just visiting with a friend… But it was mind that suggested them, and my heart was going down and down and down with senseless fear. Only let her come - and I will shake the daylights out of her for scaring me so!.. What a way for approach!.. But well, at least, she will have no doubts that I do care…
Time was nearing five. If she hadn’t come yet, she wouldn’t now. My mulled wine had grown cold, and I wasn’t sure if I had taken a single sip - the glass looked still full to me. I paid for it anyway. Went out. Got on my bike. I was in no mood for speeding right now, but instead almost crawled in rounds through the neighboring streets, looking for… I don’t know what… the signs of disaster? A crash? An ambulance? If there had been some - they all were already gone. After spending maybe another hour in this mindless search, I turned toward the Beverly Hills, opened my silent home, crept into bed without undressing - too numb to care… and jumped back up as I realized that I have an overnight flight booked for the very next evening - no way, repeat, no way was I leaving without learning that she was alright!
Swearing loudly, I searched the telephone book for the number of the airport agency, listened for full two minutes for the advertisements and music before some clerk did lift the receiver and only breathed a sigh of relief when they said that there was still a seat on an early Sunday morning flight - second-class, but who cared about that?
I would still have to leave the café at half past four, even if I had my entire luggage in tow, but that should give her enough time to make an appearance… If she did appear… If not… I didn’t know… I guess I would have had to quit the project myself, so that it was me and not the movie that covered the breach of contract. Would be only fair - cause even if I did come, I was not at all sure that I would be good for anything - in that case.
I couldn’t sleep for a long while. It was full daylight already when exhaustion finally overcame me and I found some peace.
No wonder then that I woke late, tired, groggy and in that torturous state of restlessness that prompts you to wish to run somewhere, even if you know that running somewhere is pointless until the time is right.
Trying to fight it was futile, so instead I made a point of busying myself with the matters at hand.
I called Andy the director to inform him about a little change in my plans and asked him to leave the exact directions to the place where we’d be filming at the customer service of the airport, as more likely than not, I would have no time to go to the hotel. He was suspicious instantly, asked me again if everything was alright, and I wished I could sound more reassuring as I told - it was.
I called Andy the photographer then (Ben being still on his honeymoon I had to set appointments with him myself) and singled out two days about a week from when I was going to return from Philly for a photosession with him - a day for in-studio shooting, and another for some kind of location that he had in mind.
I gathered my things - which didn’t take all much time, as there wasn’t many, read the scenes that were going to be shot tomorrow to freshen them in my mind - though concentration was clearly on the down side as I did it - but then this basically easy task only took longer to complete, and today everything that took up my time and attention was only for the good.
As I came to disconnect the lap-top and put it away, I decided that another thing I could do was - check the e-mail - and true enough, among the ordinary crap there was a short note from Jane, informing me that she had arrived and settled, providing both new cellular and her mailing address and in postscript asking urgently how were the things going “with the matter that we discussed before I took my plane”.
Unfortunately, I had nothing good to write back. Instead I wrote at length about everything and anything - from the weather here to Ben&Pen’s wedding, curious pictures I saw at the photographer’s studio, my pending return to Philly and what not. I knew without doubt that the sheer lack of answer to the question that she specifically asked, and that - as she was aware, was foremost on my mind, would tell her loads. But it wasn’t that I was trying to keep it from her - I just had no ability or desire to put my unformulated fears in written words.
This last chore finished, I disconnected the computer, put it into the traveling bag, loaded the luggage into my car, and that was that - I was all packed and ready, and it wasn’t even 8 p.m. yet.
Finally, I decided to put away some more sleep before I went - I still felt tired, was unsure that my insomnia wouldn’t return as soon as I land in Philly, and if anything - I didn’t want to come there earlier tonight. If she was going to appear at all - let her come - another night of fruitless waiting was not a thing I could bear. So I set the alarm at one past midnight and succumbed to uneasy slumber, right as I was, in my traveling clothes, not bothering to undress or get under the cover.
I overslept by an hour, my heart beating in time with the trees and houses that flashed beyond the car windows as I sped down the Hills and wound my way to the familiar corner - all the time praying for no policemen looking my way - last thing I needed right now was a lengthy conversation about the speed limits inside the city.
I lowered the speed as I was nearing the café, though, sliding to a quiet halt opposite its lighted windows, and sat there for a few minutes, smoking, not daring to look there - until my breath steadied - my goodness, it felt as if I was running - not driving the car.
At last I opened the door, got out, turned… and there she was…
The sense of relief I felt made my knees wobbly, and my breath caught once again somewhere in the throat… so… no catastrophes, no disasters… I didn’t know what made me imagine all that yesterday in the first place, maybe just some perverted feeling that all couldn’t be just nice and easy in my life… but God was I glad she was alright!
I slid back behind the wheel, searching blindly for another cigarette without taking my eyes from her face. She didn’t notice me, and there wasn’t any sense in approaching her now, not even - to go into the café - with one hour only left before I needed to drive to the airport.
But it didn’t matter - my hands were still shaking, but deep down I felt unbelievably calm - nothing mattered beyond the fact that we both were alive and kicking… So I would be gone for a fortnight, maybe less if we do it quickly, and I felt that there wouldn’t be any problem to introduce myself to her upon return, as if the silly insecurities had been burnt away by the agony of imaginary but much too real a worry. I would introduce myself, and there would be all the time in the world for dining and talking, for football games and rock concerts, and walks and rides. And if she wasn’t interested in me at once - I would do my damnedest to awaken her interest, to charm and woe her, and prove to her that what I felt was not just a passing whimsy but something real and true.
So that’s how I spent that final hour - sitting in the car, watching her unawares through the double glass of two windows, memorizing again every little trait, every little gesture she made - to last me for the fourteen days that I would be gone. And when I bordered the plane, I slept like a child as soon as we were airborne till the attendant woke me to fasten the belt… and probably smiled in my sleep.
In view of what was to follow my second “filming in Philly” was a blast, a kind of a charmed moment, as if the fate had decided to grant me a short respite - to gather my strength and prepare, or maybe, just to lull me with its fake promises, so that the soap bubble of wellbeing hurt even more when it’s busted. Depends on one’s view on fate.
But - whatever the cosmic reasoning - the filming was a hoot: I slept well, felt well, acted… well, at least, my acting seemed to satisfy the director, judging that it took only three to five takes to get every scene right, where before I left - we often did as much as twenty till he grudgingly called it cut. With all the extra time that we had, and the earlier set not yet being dismantled - we even made a couple of much needed re-shoots (I secretly donated some money to cover the material expenses, cause I wouldn’t want anyone to see those scenes - enough it to say that my acting didn’t suck quite as much even when I had been first learning my craft as a teenage kid). The actors were understanding, the director only too willing to do it right. In the end it was his movie that benefited from this “correction of mistakes” that I prompted.
Even with the re-shoots we finished two days ahead of schedule and the general mood when we gathered at the hotel restaurant for a farewell party was one of unabashed celebration, with jokes and laughing and good natured puns exchanged between the crew and cast. Halfway through the evening, someone of the younger actors suggested the game of “sketches”, that was popular at his acting school, where everyone would come up with a theme, and then the participants performed the impromptu “sketches” - short and, at times, hilariously funny improvisations on the suggested topic. By the time it was my turn to provide the theme, I was a little drunk, light-hearted and thoroughly caught up in the game, otherwise I do not know how I would have dared to describe for them my own situation, of course, severely edited - just a moment, when a man introduces himself to a woman sitting at the other table in the same café. Or maybe - there was an ultimate reason for my suggestion - maybe I wanted to use the game as an opportunity to step aside and look at it from this new perspective.
The first group to present on it made a go into grotesque: in a witty and somewhat cruel a scene they depicted “Mister Mighty Superstar’s” (a pun unmistakably aimed on me) introduction to a mother of two teenage daughters, all three females fighting for his attention with inventiveness worth of Signora Bordgia & Co.
They would have been, I suppose, greatly surprised, if they knew that I found the second pair’s attempt much closer to a situation I could imagine myself being a part of: the man there feeling painfully uneasy, shuffling his feet, mumbling something incoherent and generally looking as if he was ready to bolt away.
There was also something very familiar in the depiction of the woman, portrayed by no one else, but Liz, my female interest in the movie - the very same whose eye-color I failed to come up with when answering to Jane’s “pop-quiz” test (now I knew - it was greenish with speckles of brown). Her “woman” sat throughout the introduction completely listless, head bowed and the cheeks slightly flushed, and only her hands were lifting and dropping the tee-spoon, the lighter, the ciggy-pack, lifting and lying them down again as if she didn’t know how they come to be there in the first place.
And still, as during the very real moment two weeks before - I couldn’t figure whether her actions spoke of shyness before the man that she fancied or just a discomfort caused by an unwanted attention.
Some time later, when the game was long finished and most of the crew wandered off to their rooms to prepare for the tomorrow departure, I found out that both I and Liz remained at the bar as a part of a smaller company, reluctant to quit the easy camaraderie of the on-set life.
- Lizzie, - I asked softly, when there was no one around to overhear. - What were the emotions you tried to convey in the sketch you did to my topic? Was she willing? Or was she mad?
- Shit, so I fucked up, it didn’t come through? - She mistakenly took my question as a friendly admonition of an older actor, and I hurried to correct her mistake:
- No, no… I thought it all very natural… - I hesitated, but then decided to tell the truth, - in fact I saw a woman behave in this very fashion, and I… I guess I’m not very good at reading the female mind…
- Shit, are you kidding? With all these women falling at your feet every time you step outside?
- No, Lizzie, I’m not… I mean I’m not about these women… - I felt I was blushing furiously, the dim lighting in the bar my only salvation from the eyes of a casual onlooker.
She studied my face for a while, her brow creased by a puzzled frown.
- No, I guess, you’re not… You are such a darling, y’know? Of all the people… I mean, males - that I know, no one - repeat, no one - would ever admit he doesn’t know e-ve-ry-thing about women, - she informed me with all the authority of her twenty-something years.
- Liz! - I pleaded. - I’d rather…
- I know, I know… Not a person will hear a word about it! Can’t spoil their fantasy that being a superstar is the end of all problems we, humans, have, - she winked at me, laughed, then caught herself and grew serious once again, - OK, about the scene… when we discussed it with Robin, we decided that they both basically like each other, just are way too shy to express themselves. And - the man taking the active part in the introduction - it is all the more difficult for the woman to… eh, not to make a fool of herself by showing all the eagerness that she feels…
She looked at me to see whether her words did make sense before continuing.
- If the attention she was getting were unwanted… that’s what you wanted to know, right?.. it would not discomfiture or unnerve her quarter as much. Unless, of course, he was way stoned or a complete ogre, but that, I suppose, was not so in your case… She could be contemplative - an unwanted attention is sometimes better than no attention at all… - she sat still, paying me a sideways estimating glance, her hands aligning the cup on the saucer in a businesslike manner, and I recognized she was showing me the probable behavioral pattern, which was in a way far better than if she just tried to describe it with words. - …or she could be dreading the need to tell him down… - she sighed, her face acquiring a strained and miserable expression, while her hand idly played with the used napkin… then she again turned to me with a mischievous smile, - or she could be mad, as you said - I guess I don’t need to show you that? But nervous? No way. Women keep much more composure when they are about to say “no”, than when they are about to say “yes”… Was it helpful?
- Helpful? - I repeated, taking her face in my hands and giving her a smacking kiss on the nose. - Helpful?! - I repeated once again, involuntarily breaking into a wide grin. - Girl, you just about made me the happiest man in the big bright world.
- Pity it’s not really myself that makes you thus, - but she wasn’t jealous, her eyes twinkling as she answered me with a wide grin of her own. - Good luck with further advances, dude. Hope she’s able to see what a darling you are. Working with you was sure a pleasure. - She rose to her feet and went to join other actors her own age, who were heading outside for the farewell stroll around the city. I didn’t go - most of them were leaving on the afternoon flights, whereas I had booked the earliest there was in the morning - couldn’t wait to get home - which didn’t mean exactly and only - to my house.
Continued in - Part 9
Considering the excesses of the evening I woke up early and surprisingly invigorated by the prospects of the day to come. Of course, I still was worried and uncertain about the possible outcome but it wasn’t the all-consuming fear I felt before - just a healthy worry one feels right before he steps on stage or before the camera, the kind that makes ones movement lighter, perception - keener and mind - clearer than they would normally be.
I had only one appointment - with the photographer dude from the yesterday’s party, set up for a late afternoon - to discuss the possibilities of the future photoshoot that I had already tentatively agreed for - as one of the necessary evils of my profession. Frankly, I had not much patience for these prolonged sessions with professional photographers at all, but there seemed quite a few of my movies to come out within the next half year, so I guess Ben’s claims that I should do one now were more than justified by the promotional needs.
Meanwhile, it was barely eleven and I was already riding my bike through the city streets with no other purpose, but that some site can give me an idea of where we could go together tomorrow, provided that my advances were taken favorably enough.
No, most definitely not into the central parts of the city, where I was bound to be recognized by some overzealous fan - I’d rather stay an ordinary Charlie for now, an actor, of course (there was no avoiding some questions about what I do for a living), but even if she knew already who I were, I’d prefer to wean her slowly to the possibility that every our meeting could be interrupted by the effects of my, so called, “fame”.
Nor would I want to invite her straight and only to a dinner - the setting there would be too close for the kind we could get in the same café - if any of us joins the other at his/her table, and despite the long awaited opportunity to converse - I wanted to see her lively and animated and amused - in short, would like to meet her at a less formal circumstances than sitting on the other side of a dinner table.
A sports game? I would have to check if there was any planned for the Saturday. Yet I didn’t know if she was a football, baseball or whatever sports fan.
A rock concert? There were bound to be a few, in fact I was acquainted with a pair of bands that played reasonably good music, and - that being a Saturday evening - some or other of them was likely to play some spot, yet again - I didn’t know the kind of music she preferred.
Of course, there was always a possibility of just taking a leisurely walk, or a bike ride, or if she didn’t fancy bike, we could use a car…
No, it was pointless - I’d have to just go with whatever she chooses, just - suggest an outing together and leave to her the choice of the place. And there still was the little question of where and when and how exactly I was going to approach her, the question that I preferred to jump over, skipping on to the more pleasant perspectives of what was to follow, if that part went without some major disaster on my side.
In the end - just as I was entering the photographer’s studio, I decided that it would be better if I just tried to recreate the circumstances of our “almost happened” chance meeting in the street, and as the midnight approached, I was skulking there in the shadows in the same side-street, where I had photographed with the fans a few days before, ready to come out and overtake her as soon as she crossed the corner, my nerves tied into a shivering knot, but my resolution to go through with it as firm and steady as it could only get.
Midnight actually was awful early a time to await her coming, I remembered only a pair of times when I would come at about one and she was already there. But what’s the use - I couldn’t sit at home - and to lose the chance through coming too late would have been just too damn silly - so I started my vigil fully aware that at the very best I was going to wait for one or two hours before she came.
Being aware of something and enduring the consequences you were aware of - are two vastly different things though. At quarter to two I have smoked about the same amount of ciggies that usually could last me a day, looked at my watch more times than I did in a week, and was feeling decidedly foolish standing there in the deserted street as a late night hooker really desperate to get a client.
The minutes ticked. There still was no sign of her. As usually when I waited for someone who came too late, I started doubting if I had the place and time right - these doubts only more validated for the fact that I actually only saw her coming down that street once and couldn’t be sure if she wouldn’t choose some other route for today. But come on, that was bullshit! There were no other crossings along this street from the one I was watching to that, the corner of which was taken by the café. And she did appear every day from this same direction, so even if she could reach this corner from three different sides, she could not get there any other way but so that I notice her. Unless of course, she took a car - in which case she could already be sitting there, while I stood shivering in the chilly night, waiting for her in vain.
The simplest way to make sure would be to get to the corner and check if her car was standing before the café, but I didn’t dare leave the shadows - what if she was just nearing the crossing, and my undue haste would spoil all my plans.
At half past two I was starting to feel real nervous - by all means she should be already there by now. If not - I’d just have to think up another reason for approaching, that’s all, but to stand here any longer worrying quite unnecessary about whatever have held her - was stupid indeed. I walked around the corner - hurriedly looking into all directions, but the whole district seemed to be deserted at so unholy an hour - no people going anywhere, not even a passing car…
Her car wasn’t standing before the café either - I saw it long before I reached this lonely beacon of lighted windows, but kept telling myself that it didn’t mean anything - she could be somewhere else for business or fun, she could have approached from the other side altogether - so what if she never did it before - my rotten luck would just happily make this night an exception, just for the sake of an idiot, who was catching his death from cold, waiting for her in a wrong place…
She wasn’t in the café. I didn’t have even to look to make sure, but felt it in my bones when I opened the door. The clock over the bartender’s head showed half past three. She should have been here already. She never had come so late.
All my worries and fears resurfaced double force, as I numbly ordered a glass of mulled wine to warm my body a little, as my soul was quickly turning ice-cold with a feeling of dread. Gosh, it was night! It was Los Angeles! What, what, what if something had happened to her on the darkened streets? I was probably being ridiculous, look at me - I was gone for a fortnight and on coming back had already missed two nights here. But the fact was - that I had done it before - work or carousing holding me till it was too late to go anywhere but home. Yet every time I was here - she was here as well.
A wild thought occurred to me - a proof that my emotions were in such a turmoil I was clutching at straws even if those straws didn’t bode me well in the long run: what if she was really scared by my unwanted attention and only appeared yesterday when she saw that I was not there? But no, it was too dumb - it was not unusual for me to arrive at three, even four, so she couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t appear later, and today… from the inside I would have seen her approaching long before she could see me in my dark corner - nor could she notice my bike, safely parked at the side street.
There were so many “safe” reasons she could be absent: catching cold, going out of town, just visiting with a friend… But it was mind that suggested them, and my heart was going down and down and down with senseless fear. Only let her come - and I will shake the daylights out of her for scaring me so!.. What a way for approach!.. But well, at least, she will have no doubts that I do care…
Time was nearing five. If she hadn’t come yet, she wouldn’t now. My mulled wine had grown cold, and I wasn’t sure if I had taken a single sip - the glass looked still full to me. I paid for it anyway. Went out. Got on my bike. I was in no mood for speeding right now, but instead almost crawled in rounds through the neighboring streets, looking for… I don’t know what… the signs of disaster? A crash? An ambulance? If there had been some - they all were already gone. After spending maybe another hour in this mindless search, I turned toward the Beverly Hills, opened my silent home, crept into bed without undressing - too numb to care… and jumped back up as I realized that I have an overnight flight booked for the very next evening - no way, repeat, no way was I leaving without learning that she was alright!
Swearing loudly, I searched the telephone book for the number of the airport agency, listened for full two minutes for the advertisements and music before some clerk did lift the receiver and only breathed a sigh of relief when they said that there was still a seat on an early Sunday morning flight - second-class, but who cared about that?
I would still have to leave the café at half past four, even if I had my entire luggage in tow, but that should give her enough time to make an appearance… If she did appear… If not… I didn’t know… I guess I would have had to quit the project myself, so that it was me and not the movie that covered the breach of contract. Would be only fair - cause even if I did come, I was not at all sure that I would be good for anything - in that case.
I couldn’t sleep for a long while. It was full daylight already when exhaustion finally overcame me and I found some peace.
No wonder then that I woke late, tired, groggy and in that torturous state of restlessness that prompts you to wish to run somewhere, even if you know that running somewhere is pointless until the time is right.
Trying to fight it was futile, so instead I made a point of busying myself with the matters at hand.
I called Andy the director to inform him about a little change in my plans and asked him to leave the exact directions to the place where we’d be filming at the customer service of the airport, as more likely than not, I would have no time to go to the hotel. He was suspicious instantly, asked me again if everything was alright, and I wished I could sound more reassuring as I told - it was.
I called Andy the photographer then (Ben being still on his honeymoon I had to set appointments with him myself) and singled out two days about a week from when I was going to return from Philly for a photosession with him - a day for in-studio shooting, and another for some kind of location that he had in mind.
I gathered my things - which didn’t take all much time, as there wasn’t many, read the scenes that were going to be shot tomorrow to freshen them in my mind - though concentration was clearly on the down side as I did it - but then this basically easy task only took longer to complete, and today everything that took up my time and attention was only for the good.
As I came to disconnect the lap-top and put it away, I decided that another thing I could do was - check the e-mail - and true enough, among the ordinary crap there was a short note from Jane, informing me that she had arrived and settled, providing both new cellular and her mailing address and in postscript asking urgently how were the things going “with the matter that we discussed before I took my plane”.
Unfortunately, I had nothing good to write back. Instead I wrote at length about everything and anything - from the weather here to Ben&Pen’s wedding, curious pictures I saw at the photographer’s studio, my pending return to Philly and what not. I knew without doubt that the sheer lack of answer to the question that she specifically asked, and that - as she was aware, was foremost on my mind, would tell her loads. But it wasn’t that I was trying to keep it from her - I just had no ability or desire to put my unformulated fears in written words.
This last chore finished, I disconnected the computer, put it into the traveling bag, loaded the luggage into my car, and that was that - I was all packed and ready, and it wasn’t even 8 p.m. yet.
Finally, I decided to put away some more sleep before I went - I still felt tired, was unsure that my insomnia wouldn’t return as soon as I land in Philly, and if anything - I didn’t want to come there earlier tonight. If she was going to appear at all - let her come - another night of fruitless waiting was not a thing I could bear. So I set the alarm at one past midnight and succumbed to uneasy slumber, right as I was, in my traveling clothes, not bothering to undress or get under the cover.
I overslept by an hour, my heart beating in time with the trees and houses that flashed beyond the car windows as I sped down the Hills and wound my way to the familiar corner - all the time praying for no policemen looking my way - last thing I needed right now was a lengthy conversation about the speed limits inside the city.
I lowered the speed as I was nearing the café, though, sliding to a quiet halt opposite its lighted windows, and sat there for a few minutes, smoking, not daring to look there - until my breath steadied - my goodness, it felt as if I was running - not driving the car.
At last I opened the door, got out, turned… and there she was…
The sense of relief I felt made my knees wobbly, and my breath caught once again somewhere in the throat… so… no catastrophes, no disasters… I didn’t know what made me imagine all that yesterday in the first place, maybe just some perverted feeling that all couldn’t be just nice and easy in my life… but God was I glad she was alright!
I slid back behind the wheel, searching blindly for another cigarette without taking my eyes from her face. She didn’t notice me, and there wasn’t any sense in approaching her now, not even - to go into the café - with one hour only left before I needed to drive to the airport.
But it didn’t matter - my hands were still shaking, but deep down I felt unbelievably calm - nothing mattered beyond the fact that we both were alive and kicking… So I would be gone for a fortnight, maybe less if we do it quickly, and I felt that there wouldn’t be any problem to introduce myself to her upon return, as if the silly insecurities had been burnt away by the agony of imaginary but much too real a worry. I would introduce myself, and there would be all the time in the world for dining and talking, for football games and rock concerts, and walks and rides. And if she wasn’t interested in me at once - I would do my damnedest to awaken her interest, to charm and woe her, and prove to her that what I felt was not just a passing whimsy but something real and true.
So that’s how I spent that final hour - sitting in the car, watching her unawares through the double glass of two windows, memorizing again every little trait, every little gesture she made - to last me for the fourteen days that I would be gone. And when I bordered the plane, I slept like a child as soon as we were airborne till the attendant woke me to fasten the belt… and probably smiled in my sleep.
In view of what was to follow my second “filming in Philly” was a blast, a kind of a charmed moment, as if the fate had decided to grant me a short respite - to gather my strength and prepare, or maybe, just to lull me with its fake promises, so that the soap bubble of wellbeing hurt even more when it’s busted. Depends on one’s view on fate.
But - whatever the cosmic reasoning - the filming was a hoot: I slept well, felt well, acted… well, at least, my acting seemed to satisfy the director, judging that it took only three to five takes to get every scene right, where before I left - we often did as much as twenty till he grudgingly called it cut. With all the extra time that we had, and the earlier set not yet being dismantled - we even made a couple of much needed re-shoots (I secretly donated some money to cover the material expenses, cause I wouldn’t want anyone to see those scenes - enough it to say that my acting didn’t suck quite as much even when I had been first learning my craft as a teenage kid). The actors were understanding, the director only too willing to do it right. In the end it was his movie that benefited from this “correction of mistakes” that I prompted.
Even with the re-shoots we finished two days ahead of schedule and the general mood when we gathered at the hotel restaurant for a farewell party was one of unabashed celebration, with jokes and laughing and good natured puns exchanged between the crew and cast. Halfway through the evening, someone of the younger actors suggested the game of “sketches”, that was popular at his acting school, where everyone would come up with a theme, and then the participants performed the impromptu “sketches” - short and, at times, hilariously funny improvisations on the suggested topic. By the time it was my turn to provide the theme, I was a little drunk, light-hearted and thoroughly caught up in the game, otherwise I do not know how I would have dared to describe for them my own situation, of course, severely edited - just a moment, when a man introduces himself to a woman sitting at the other table in the same café. Or maybe - there was an ultimate reason for my suggestion - maybe I wanted to use the game as an opportunity to step aside and look at it from this new perspective.
The first group to present on it made a go into grotesque: in a witty and somewhat cruel a scene they depicted “Mister Mighty Superstar’s” (a pun unmistakably aimed on me) introduction to a mother of two teenage daughters, all three females fighting for his attention with inventiveness worth of Signora Bordgia & Co.
They would have been, I suppose, greatly surprised, if they knew that I found the second pair’s attempt much closer to a situation I could imagine myself being a part of: the man there feeling painfully uneasy, shuffling his feet, mumbling something incoherent and generally looking as if he was ready to bolt away.
There was also something very familiar in the depiction of the woman, portrayed by no one else, but Liz, my female interest in the movie - the very same whose eye-color I failed to come up with when answering to Jane’s “pop-quiz” test (now I knew - it was greenish with speckles of brown). Her “woman” sat throughout the introduction completely listless, head bowed and the cheeks slightly flushed, and only her hands were lifting and dropping the tee-spoon, the lighter, the ciggy-pack, lifting and lying them down again as if she didn’t know how they come to be there in the first place.
And still, as during the very real moment two weeks before - I couldn’t figure whether her actions spoke of shyness before the man that she fancied or just a discomfort caused by an unwanted attention.
Some time later, when the game was long finished and most of the crew wandered off to their rooms to prepare for the tomorrow departure, I found out that both I and Liz remained at the bar as a part of a smaller company, reluctant to quit the easy camaraderie of the on-set life.
- Lizzie, - I asked softly, when there was no one around to overhear. - What were the emotions you tried to convey in the sketch you did to my topic? Was she willing? Or was she mad?
- Shit, so I fucked up, it didn’t come through? - She mistakenly took my question as a friendly admonition of an older actor, and I hurried to correct her mistake:
- No, no… I thought it all very natural… - I hesitated, but then decided to tell the truth, - in fact I saw a woman behave in this very fashion, and I… I guess I’m not very good at reading the female mind…
- Shit, are you kidding? With all these women falling at your feet every time you step outside?
- No, Lizzie, I’m not… I mean I’m not about these women… - I felt I was blushing furiously, the dim lighting in the bar my only salvation from the eyes of a casual onlooker.
She studied my face for a while, her brow creased by a puzzled frown.
- No, I guess, you’re not… You are such a darling, y’know? Of all the people… I mean, males - that I know, no one - repeat, no one - would ever admit he doesn’t know e-ve-ry-thing about women, - she informed me with all the authority of her twenty-something years.
- Liz! - I pleaded. - I’d rather…
- I know, I know… Not a person will hear a word about it! Can’t spoil their fantasy that being a superstar is the end of all problems we, humans, have, - she winked at me, laughed, then caught herself and grew serious once again, - OK, about the scene… when we discussed it with Robin, we decided that they both basically like each other, just are way too shy to express themselves. And - the man taking the active part in the introduction - it is all the more difficult for the woman to… eh, not to make a fool of herself by showing all the eagerness that she feels…
She looked at me to see whether her words did make sense before continuing.
- If the attention she was getting were unwanted… that’s what you wanted to know, right?.. it would not discomfiture or unnerve her quarter as much. Unless, of course, he was way stoned or a complete ogre, but that, I suppose, was not so in your case… She could be contemplative - an unwanted attention is sometimes better than no attention at all… - she sat still, paying me a sideways estimating glance, her hands aligning the cup on the saucer in a businesslike manner, and I recognized she was showing me the probable behavioral pattern, which was in a way far better than if she just tried to describe it with words. - …or she could be dreading the need to tell him down… - she sighed, her face acquiring a strained and miserable expression, while her hand idly played with the used napkin… then she again turned to me with a mischievous smile, - or she could be mad, as you said - I guess I don’t need to show you that? But nervous? No way. Women keep much more composure when they are about to say “no”, than when they are about to say “yes”… Was it helpful?
- Helpful? - I repeated, taking her face in my hands and giving her a smacking kiss on the nose. - Helpful?! - I repeated once again, involuntarily breaking into a wide grin. - Girl, you just about made me the happiest man in the big bright world.
- Pity it’s not really myself that makes you thus, - but she wasn’t jealous, her eyes twinkling as she answered me with a wide grin of her own. - Good luck with further advances, dude. Hope she’s able to see what a darling you are. Working with you was sure a pleasure. - She rose to her feet and went to join other actors her own age, who were heading outside for the farewell stroll around the city. I didn’t go - most of them were leaving on the afternoon flights, whereas I had booked the earliest there was in the morning - couldn’t wait to get home - which didn’t mean exactly and only - to my house.
Continued in - Part 9