My Life. Hollywood Style.

First, I must start off by saying that I’m in love with Mr. Lady. Oh, you don’t know Mr. Lady? Well, you should. She’s over at ‘Whiskey in my Sippy Cup‘ [no, I don't believe she really gives her kids Jack Daniels] and she’s another example of how all the coolest bloggers are Canadian. Well, she was sweet enough to share with me a juicy tidbit of HTML. Hover over a link. Hover over this link. Cool, huh? I love it. So, from now on, hover over the links. You’ll find sweet little surprises from yours truly there.

Now, on to the day’s post.
I’m joining Janet in offering up a synopsis for a film loosely based on my life. You’ll love it. I expect to win Best Actress, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Editing at the 2009 Academy Awards.

The role of Jonathan will be played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

The role of Maria will be played by Maria Young.
Yes, I’m playing myself. *My* movie!
The setting is present day Manhattan, late spring.

I’ll share with you the first relevant chapter of the book that it’s based on, titled Indecisive.

“J…J…J…” Maria mumbled to herself as she walked past the rows of dusty books. “Joyce. Where the hell is it?” She decided to go back to the register and demand that the less than helpful clerk show her exactly where it was, since the store was set up on no certain scale. She turned up the next aisle and promptly tripped over the long legs that blocked it.

She caught her balance and looked down. Sitting there, perusing a battered copy of Atlas Shrugged was a man with almost black hair, standing in messy peaks on top of his head. He pulled his ankles back out of her path and muttered an apology without looking up at her. She started to continue her trek to the front but hesitated.

“Don’t tell me you buy into all that crap.” she said, turning her back to him and fingering the disintegrating spines of the books shelved messily before her. He looked up, seeing nothing but her jean’s back pockets, as they were full in his face. “What crap?” he asked quietly. He had an accent that she couldn’t quite make out- English maybe.

“Objectivism.” she answered.

“No,” he said. “I’m pretty sure Ms. Rand wouldn’t like me very much: I’m pretty altruistic. But I do appreciate a good novel when I read one.” He was Irish; it was obvious by the fullness with which he enunciated his ‘r’s.

“So do I,” she said, spinning and looking down at him. “And it is an excellent book.” She saw that he had incredibly lively green eyes, with flecks of gold and hazel dancing throughout. He took note of hers: deep, chocolate, unwittingly expressive.

He closed the book, grabbed the other that was sitting beside him, and lifted himself off of the floor in a fluid motion, dusting off his jeans and smoothing his t-shirt. He was taller than Maria, by about a foot, and looked down at her with a playful smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. Dimples came in and out of focus beneath his high cheekbones as he struggled against it. The aisle was tight, and forced them to be closer to each other than usually appropriate for strangers. They both noticed, and were internally grateful to the person responsible for it.

Maria found it difficult to meet his intense gaze for long and turned her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The scent of it broke through the thick, musty air of the store and met his nose like a cool spring breeze. She used a fruit scented shampoo, he gathered. He made her uncomfortable, but in a pleasing way and she found herself lost in instantaneous daydreams. He touched her face, under the guise of removing a stray lash and she snapped out it.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” she said, remembering her reason for having traversed down the aisle to begin with. She smiled, showing him her own dimples, and made to start back on her way.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, in an obvious attempt to stall her.
“Ulysses.” she replied, glad for a reason to stay.
“James Joyce.”
“Yes.”
“Here.”

He handed her the book that had been lying beside him. It was what she was searching for: a first Random House edition of Ulysses in it’s original red and black hardcover wrapping. She traced her fingers over the sharp lettering.

“Do you know what this is?”
“A good book?”
“Yes, but a very rare and very expensive good book!”
“That too.”
“And you’re just going to give it to me?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Because you know what it is.”
“What?”
“Evidently even the owner of this supposed ‘vintage and antique bookstore‘ didn’t even know what this was, as you can see by that $12 price tag. But you do. You should have it.”

Maria looked at him, bewildered, but she wasn’t going to argue. She shrugged and tucked the book delicately under her arm.

“Thanks.” she asserted and walked away antecedent to him trapping her under his spell again. She moved quickly, paying for the book and putting the receipt in her purse before the man could change his mind. As she opened the door to leave and the bell rang she looked back and saw him approaching the register to buy the Ayn Rand. He was watching her, and smiled when her eyes found him. She smiled back and left, holding his stare through the glass store front until he was no longer visible.

It was warm out, and early evening, so the sidewalks were packed. She slipped on her shades and walked quickly. Her brownstone was only a few blocks north. She skipped across the street to the other side and kept her pace, checking her watch to make sure she still had plenty of time.

“Hey! HEY!” came a yell from behind her. She turned to see the man from the bookstore jogging towards her. She pursed her lips, ready to tell him the book was hers and he could fuck off.

“Do you like sushi?” he asked.
“No.”
“Oh,” he muttered, a mixture of surprise and relief on his face. “You look like a sushi eater. I don’t like it either.” He shifted his weight to his left foot and jammed his hands in his front pockets, the veins in his forearms straining. Maria followed them up his chiseled arms, her sight lingering on his left arm, at the 1/2 sleeve peeking from the shirt.

The cotton was pulled taut across his chest and fell, rippled, over his abdomen. He obviously worked out. He stood with his hips forward in a relaxed but confident stance, yet there was something jut slightly insecure about his present demeanor.

He stepped towards her, once again closer to her than he should have been. Reaching up, he tucked a stray feat behind her ear, his fingertips tracing the lobe and the contours of her neck before pulling his hand away. His breath was warm, and sweet on her face and she once again broke under his eyes and looked to the left.

“I’m Jonathan.” he whispered. Despite the bustle around them that should have made it barely audible, it was all she could hear.

“Maria,” she replied, just as softly. She didn’t know why, but he was having an effect on her that she’d never experienced. She felt consumed by him, and attempted to break free of the feeling.

“Are you trying to ask me out?” she offered. He smiled big but didn’t answer.
“Do you have a phone I could use?” he asked. She reached in her bag to fish it out and handed it to him. He fiddled with it for a bit, pressing buttons, and gave it back. She frowned.

“What’d you do?”
“Gave you my number.” And with that he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her close to him, and lifted her mouth to meet his own. They kissed for what seemed like forever, but was only a few seconds. He released her and stepped back, nodding and turning on the heels of his Pumas to walk away.

She continued her journey home immediately, determined not to be caught standing flustered in the same spot in case he looked back. She fought the urge to glance over her own shoulder and instead added a bit more sway to her walk.

Her mind raced and it seemed her feet did too because she was at her stoop quicker than anticipated. Letting herself in and dropping her purse on the table in the foyer she sighed, still unable to take in what had just happened. Finding her phone, she searched through her contacts and found it: Jon – (646) 555-1703. She put her phone back.

Maria walked through to the kitchen and set the bag that contained Ulysses on the island counter. Pavlik, her rescued Abyssinian leaped up beside it and meowed loudly, nuzzling the plastic. She lifted the cat and kissed his nose, setting him back on the floor. Grabbing a plum out of the refrigerator, she made her way upstairs towards her bedroom and was surprised to find a man, with almost black hair and bright green eyes sitting on a trunk against the bed, leaning back against the foot board, tapping away on a laptop.

“Hey babe,” Joaquin said, closing the computer and putting it down beside him. He rose and walked towards her, scooping her up and kissing her forehead. “Did you find it?”

“Yes,” she responded through a mouthful of fruit, closing her arms around her husband, returning his embrace carefully, as not to get juice from the plum on his linen shirt. He gave her a tight squeeze, and kissed her. When he pulled away, his brow was furrowed and he tasted his bottom lip, biting it gently as if trying to figure out what the flavor was on her mouth. She swallowed noisily, wondering if he would be able to tell that what he tasted was another man.

“That plum isn’t all the way ripened is it? It seems bitter.”
“Oh. Yeah, they were picked too early I guess.”

She took another bite, threw the rest in the trashcan by the door and made her way into the closet, where she pretended to look for something to wear for the night. She fingered the emerald cut diamond set in the top ring on her left hand and made a mental note to delete that number from her phone the very next opportunity she had.

See you next time!

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