Barefoot In The City Of Broken Dreams Part 16

I unwrapped it. It was a paperback copy of The Gla.s.s Menagerie, really old. I opened the cover. It was signed by Tennessee Williams.

"Mr. Brander!" I said. "You can't give me this!"

"Of course I can. Tennessee gave it to me, and I'm giving it to you."

"But-"

"Russel, please. It would make me very happy for you to have it."

"Well, thank you," I said, genuinely touched. "I mean it. Thanks a lot."

"No, thank you. I meant what I said before: good writers don't get nearly the attention they deserve."

This wasn't exactly what he'd said before, but it was close enough. I glanced at Kevin, who smiled at me. Suddenly I felt stupid for feeling so uneasy about the dinner, and Kevin, and the whole movie project.

"But my real gift to you," Mr. Brander said to me, "is the news I have to share. I hope you'll forgive me for waiting this long to tell you."

"Really?" I made a mock-impatient face. "Yes, yes, I forgive you, now what the h.e.l.l is it!?"

Mr. Brander laughed. "Well, what do you think of Shirley MacLaine as the grandmother?"

At that exact moment, I couldn't think of any specific Shirley MacLaine movies. (Now I can: The Apartment. Terms of Endearment. And Steel Magnolias.) But even then, I knew she had once been a really big movie star.

"Why?" I said, a little confused.

Mr. Brander beamed. "Because I sent her the script, and she loved it, and she wants to do it!"

"She wants to do A Cup of Joe?"

"She wants to do A Cup of Joe!"

I didn't know what to say. A famous movie star was going to perform words I'd written? Better still, having Shirley MacLaine on board had to mean that the movie was far more likely to get made - that she would legitimize the project and attract investors and other stars.

"I don't know what to say," I said. "I'm stunned. That's fantastic!"

"It's not official yet," Mr. Brander said. "But she loved the script. We still need to hammer out the details. Just think of it: Sally Field in our little movie!"

Kevin and I didn't say anything. A thread of wax from one of the candles slid down onto the tablecloth. The candles had burned more than halfway. The one that had dripped was also smoking.

In the awkward silence that followed, Lewis stood up and started clearing the dessert dishes.

"Sally Field?" Kevin said at last.

"Yes," Mr. Brander said smugly. "She's won two Oscars, you know."

"Before you said Shirley MacLaine."

Mr. Brander stared at him for a second. "What?"

"You said it was Shirley MacLaine as the grandmother, then you said it was Sally Field."

Mr. Brander's forehead wrinkled. "No. Did I? I'm sorry. It's Sally Field. I worked with her before, you know. What was the movie? Lewis? What was the movie I did with Sally Field?"

But Lewis was gone. He'd carried that first load of dishes into the kitchen.

"Well," I said, suddenly standing. "This has been great - really great - but Kevin and I should probably get moving."

"Oh?" Mr. Brander said, palpably disappointed. "Very well. But we'll be doing this again very soon, of course."

Kevin followed my lead and stood up too.

"Russel, my boy," Mr. Brander said. He pointed to the table. "Don't forget your book."

"Oh, right," I said, taking the book and quickly turning for the exit.

Once in the car, we drove in silence for at least five minutes. I knew what Kevin was thinking - about Mr. Brander's confusing Sally Field with Shirley MacLaine. I also knew he was going to make a big deal about it, and it really hadn't been anything at all.

So I said, "What do you want to do tomorrow? We haven't been up the coast yet."

"Sure."

Kevin drove in silence a few seconds longer.

"Did you think-?" he started to say.

"It was nothing," I said. "He just got confused."

"What did you think I was going to say?"

"Something about how he confused Shirley MacLaine with Sally Field. But it was a simple mistake. He talked about Sally Field before. That's who it was all along."

"When?"

"What?"

"When before?"

"The first meeting," I said. "Or maybe the second one, I don't remember. But I know he told me he was really good friends with her. He just gets a little confused sometimes."

"Confused how?"

"Well, I mean, he's eighty-thousand years old. But it's fine. It's all good, like you always say."

Kevin didn't respond, and we drove on.

I faked a laugh. "That's quite a house, isn't it? Going over to Mr. Brander's feels a little like being invited to the estate of a billionaire, like he's offering us a million dollars to spend the night in a haunted mansion."

Unlike the producers that one time, Kevin didn't laugh. He just kept staring out at the road in front of us.

"And what's the deal with Lewis?" I said, fake-laughing again. "I mean, are they a couple or what?"

Kevin smiled, but only a little.

We stopped at a traffic light. Kevin sat stiffly at the wheel.

"What?" I said, a little exasperated.

Kevin looked over at me, confused.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I said.

"I'm not thinking anything."

"You're obviously thinking something."

He thought for a second. Then he said, "How confused?"

"Who?" I said. "Mr. Brander? It's nothing. He sometimes has a problem with names. It's hardly noticeable."

"Is that why no one else showed up tonight? Because Mr. Brander screwed something up?"

"What? No! That was my fault. I got that wrong."

"It feels like there's something off."

I tried to laugh, but it came out like more of a cough. "There's nothing off."

"Has he paid you yet?"

"What?"

"The option money," Kevin said. "Have you got the check yet?"

"I don't know, that would go to Fiona. But it doesn't matter. Otto says that in Hollywood, everything always takes three times longer than you think it will."

"But-"

Something snapped in me. "Stop it! Why do you have to be so d.a.m.n negative all the time?"

"I'm not-"

"That was really special tonight, Mr. Brander toasting me and my movie, and later giving me that book. Can't you just let me appreciate it for five minutes? Do you really have to c.r.a.p all over it right now?"

The light changed to green, and Kevin started forward again.

"I'm sorry," Kevin said.

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "I overreacted."

"No, but you're right. This was your evening. I was being stupid."

"It's okay."

It's not like we rode the rest of the way home in silence. We went on talking, and I did my best to act like I'd forgiven Kevin. But the fact is, when someone says the one thing you really don't want to hear, it's hard to forgive them, at least right away.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

The next morning, Sunday, Kevin was waiting for me when I woke me up.

"Take a shower and get dressed," he said.

"Huh?" I said, groggy.

"Come on. There's something I wanna show you."

So I took a shower, got dressed, had a quick breakfast, and then got into the car with Kevin, who drove us through the city out to the coast.

We chatted, and everything was casual, but the truth is, I was still a little miffed about the night before, about what Kevin had said about Mr. Brander. But I was trying not to be.

Kevin drove us up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu. It was Sunday, and traffic was slightly less horrible than usual. We pa.s.sed Cher's villa, which is partially visible from the street, but I didn't say anything about it to Kevin.

Finally, we pulled into a park right along the water called Westward Beach (near Zuma Beach). Kevin climbed out of the car, but I stared out at the water for a second. The beach was long and sandy, with occasional lifeguard stations. It was a Sunday afternoon in early November, and the weather was good but not great, so it was crowded but not insane.

"Come on," Kevin said.

"Where are we going?" I said. I admit I was curious.

"You'll see."

So he led me down to the beach, then south along the water.

Eventually we reached a rocky promontory jutting out into the ocean, steep and sharp, like the fin of a shark. There was a jumble of boulders at the base, and the water washed against them.

"We need to climb around the point," Kevin said.

"Why?" I said.

"Trust me," he said. "Okay?"

I confess now I was incredibly curious. Where was Kevin taking me? He'd never done anything like this before.