The Flowers

The scrape of a folding chair leg on the tile floor snaps me back. I was drifting as the auditorium slowly filled and conversations fell into a mass murmur. Now the room is nearly full. People are still standing in the aisles and around the edges, but many have already started taking their seats.
I try to avoid looking at the flowers next to the sound board by checking the levels again, but my nerves won't let me.
I look down at the board and start flipping through my notes.

Scene three --
Opening ... mic. 2 up to 10. Mic. 3 and 4 up to 8.
Fade down to 0
Solo... mic. 4 up to 10. Remote mic. 10.
Scene four --
Opening...

Two hands slap down next to my notebook and begin drumming out a bass line.
"So, who is she?"
I look up to see the electric grin of my best friend Eric. He nods at the flowers.
"Nancy," I say.
"Hmm ... The violin player?"
"Umm hmm."
"Hmmm ... You got her roses?"
"Yeah. I wrote a note too," I say, pointing at a small envelope.
Eric nods and looks at me.
A door opens at the front of the auditorium and the orchestra starts filing in. They walk, single file, to their spots at the side of the stage.
Nancy opens the music on her stand and flips through it as she sits down. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders and she pushes it back with one hand, still intent on her music.
"You gonna go out with her?"
"I don't know ... guess I'll find out tonight," I say, looking down at the roses.
"Oh..." says Eric, looking down too.
"I guess I've gotta ... you know..." I look back to the orchestra.
"Yeah."
"How much time do think we have?"
"Before it starts?"
"Yeah."
Eric looks around for a clock. There isn't one. The orchestra had been tuning. The lights blink once as the musicians finish.
"Not very long," says Eric.
I look across the room at Nancy. She's a million miles away.
"What if she doesn't..." I say, looking over at Eric.
"She will."
"But what if she doesn't?"
"She will."
I look at my friend. His confidence takes some of the edge off, but I'm still trapped in a mass of nerves. If only I had some of that confidence.
"Could you..."
"Yeah, no problem," he says, grabbing the flowers and note. "Asta."
I watch him weave up the center aisle, the flowers held high. Sweat forms on my palms and I can't make it stop. My stomach tightens as he makes his way along the front of the stage, smiling as he goes.
His lips are moving. It isn't hard to imagine the words.
"Excuse me. Excuse me. Special delivery. Coming through."
I feel the heat in my cheeks and I focus all my energy on not sinking into my chair when Eric finally makes it to the front of the orchestra. It's going to be a spectacle, I know it.
With a flourish, he stops in front of Nancy. People turn their heads to watch as she takes the flowers. My world condenses into the note she's about to open. A few lines on a small card are everything.
Time crawls as she slowly slides it out of the envelope.
What will she say?
The world nearly ticks to a stop. My stomach can't get any tighter as she opens it.
What will she say?
The house lights blink twice.
Her eyes move across the card and I'm afraid to breathe -- afraid to breathe until I know.
She looks up. I see her eyes follow Eric's pointing hand. He's grinning. The miles close and she smiles.
Finally, I breathe.
I don't need to see her nod and mouth, "Yes." Her smile already says it.

Scarlett

In August of '04 - in his room in Queens - my friend Josh wrote a pretty fucking cool story about a Kirsten Dunst daydream he had... If enough people beg him, he might repost it on his blog. It's totally worth reading.

Well, time has rolled on and I finally have my hip-hop response to it. (For those of you who unfamiliar with the rap world, it's a pretty common thing to respond to other artist's works by addressing them in your own...don't you feel cool knowing that?) Um yeah...so, here it is:

"Anyway, it's not like you should talk," she said over her fork, a strand of Spaghetti a la Puttanesca dangling from the prongs. I never imagined that a loose strand of pasta could increase a beautiful girl's attractiveness, but there it was. I tucked the memory away, knowing that this small moment would remain cherished forever. "How many hours a week do you work?"

I just grinned at her.

"And besides, you don't get mobbed going to buy tampons..." she said.

"Um...maybe 'cause I don't buy tampons."

"Well, if you loved me..."

God, if she only knew. How could I not fall for her. I was still amazed that I somehow made it past the initial "hi."

"I'll buy you tampons if you stop waving your food at me."

"Huh...oh..."

The loose noodle had slipped further from her fork. She put it in her mouth and slurped it up making a pucker-lipped face at me.

"Okay Dad..." she said in her mock grownup voice. I felt her foot on my leg under the table at the same time she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Nice," I said. "There's next week's cover shot for the Enquirer... And since you were mean, maybe I won't tell you about that spaghetti sauce on your face."

"What?," she said quickly pulling the napkin off her lap. "Where?"

"Hmm..."

She rubbed the napkin down both sides of her mouth, her light-blue eyes darting quickly to her left as if to be sure no one was watching from the front of the restaurant. Looking down, she saw her napkin was still white and frowned. She dabbed around her mouth, this time catching her chin in the process, and glanced at the clean napkin.

"Where..." A quick glimmer of a blush lit her cheeks as she realized she'd been had.

I was saved from a flying napkin by the arrival of our white-shirted waiter.

"Ah...the bell," I said.

"How is everything?" the waiter asked.

"Great, thanks," I said, still relishing my little victory.

"Would you like some more wine?"

I glanced across the table and saw her nodding, "yes."

"There you have it..." I said to the waiter. "Two more please."

"Great," he said. "I'll go grab those for you."

"I think he's scared of you," I said, nodding at the back of our retreating waiter. "Notice how he never talks to you?"

"It''s better than when they only talk to me..."

"I guess you're right about that."

I still wasn't used to the whispers and the weird reactions, but I did my best to pretend it didn't bother me. That kind of attention was easier for her since she was used to it, but I knew the constant spotlight got to her sometimes.

"So, have you heard anything yet?" she asked, breaking the short silence.

"Huh? About what?"

"About your friend's story."

"Oh that..." I said. "Not yet."

"I can't believe she hasn't called him."

"Well..."

"C'mon. It's a great story," she said. "I just about died when I read the poem part. That was pretty awesome."

"Yeah, that part cracked me up too. That's why I figured she might like it. I don't know, maybe she'd get a kick out of it."

"I think she'll call him."

"That would be pretty cool."

"How did you get it to her?"

"You remember the guy who sent your agent my script?"

"The guy from William Morris?" she asked.

"Yeah..."

"Mmmm, not really. But go ahead."

"Well, anyway, he's a friend of my friend Eric so I got his number and asked if he could hold of Kirsten Dunst. He said that wasn't really his thing. So I told him I would just send it to him, let him read it and if he thought it would be cool, he could try and get it to her. I guess he liked it 'cause he gave it to one of the guys he works with and he gave it to her agent. There you have it."

"I think she'll call," she said.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I called..."

"True. I'm still pretty amazed about that."

"I'm glad I did," she said as she reaching for my hand.

"Me too.."

I pushed the rush of memories back, happy though they were. The phone call, the lunch down by the beach, the drive back from Redondo, thanking God I actually cleaned the place and did the dishes that had been stacked in the sink, the talk into the night over the bottle of Dynamite Cabernet I'd been saving for a special occasion...

I just wanted this moment right now though. Her smile, the little freckle on her cheek, her hand in mine across the table... These moments are short when we're out in public.

This one was no exception.

"Excuse me..."

I looked up to see a guy in jeans and an In-and-Out Burger tee shirt standing at the side of our table.

"Aren't you Scarlett Johansson?"

She smiled politely at him. I felt her hand pull out of mine.

"You're her aren't you?"

"Yes I am."

"Wow...I'm a huge fan. Can I get your autograph?"

"Sure," she said. I pulled a pen out of the pocket of my jacket that was draped over the chair behind me and handed it to her.

"Hey, can you take our picture together?" the fan said, handing me a cheap digital camera.

"Sure," I said...

testing

just checking....