Exile on Kalamazoo Street (13 page)

“Call me Bryce.”

“Okay … Bryce.”

“I'd love tea and honey,” Marci gushed.

I pointed them to the living room and made tea.

“Such a cute cat,” Marci called after a minute.

“I've been hearing that a lot lately,” I called back.

“What's his—”

“Black Kitty,” I called.

“It suits him,” she called.

“He doesn't seem to object.”

We sipped our tea silently for a moment and Black Kitty sat at my feet, his tail draped across my shoes.

“Where are you two staying?” I said.

“The Holiday Inn,” Dylan said.

“But it's very nice,” Marci said apologetically. “I can assure you.”

“I've been there,” I said. “The bar is not bad at all. There's a view of the interstate.”

“Really?” she said. “How nice.”

“And there's a nice stand of trees on the other side of the highway,” I added.

“I'll look for them,” she said enthusiastically.

“You must try the local beer,” I said.

“We'd love to try the local beer,” Marci said excitedly.

“I grew up in Madison,” Dylan said. “Sometimes I miss the beer.”

“I don't drink anymore,” I said, “but I can certainly recommend the local beer.”

“Yes,” Dylan said, “we were told you don't drink.”

“I guess we can't invite you for the local beer,” Marci said.

“No, sorry.”

“And you really haven't been outside since Christmas?” Marci said.

Dylan gently patted her knee.

“That might be getting too personal, Marci.”

“I didn't mean anything by it,” she said, looking horrified.

“It's okay,” I said, imagining that the two of them were sleeping together.

“It's courageous,” Dylan said suddenly.

I studied his handsome face, his Malibu or Santa Monica or Venice Beach tan, his expensive haircut, his pricey Italian shoes and tailored slacks and brand-name shirt.

“How so?” I said.

“Well, it's admirable,” he said. “It takes discipline, for sure.”

“What do you admire about it, Dylan?” I said.

He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and took refuge a moment in his tea.

“I just meant that you made a commitment and you stick by it,” Dylan said.

“And so
we
came to
you
,” Marci said happily.

“That's very accommodating,” I said. “So how long have you two been in town … when did you arrive?”

“Last night,” Dylan said. “Our flight from Chicago was delayed.”

“How was Chicago?” I said.

“Oh I love Chicago,” Marci said. “I love shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

“You've spent much time there?” I said.

“Last year,” Dylan said, “on a movie.”

“We stayed at The Drake,” Marci said. “Very nice, I can assure you.”

“I've stayed at The Drake,” I said.

“Oh,” Marci said. “I didn't mean to—”

“That's okay, Marci,” I said. “I haven't been in exile my whole life.”

“Of course not,” she said. “Who would?”

Dylan gave her a subtle look of reproach.

“Did you eat at Rosebud?” I said. “It's just down the street from The Drake.”

“We did,” she said. “I love Rosebud. John Cusack took us there. He's from Chicago, you know.”

“So I've heard. He was in the film?”

“He was,” she said. “John's such a super guy.”

“Maybe we could get him for this one,” I said. “What do you think, Dylan?”

“He's on the list, for sure. It's complicated at this stage.”

“Without a script, you mean,” I said.

“Exactly. But that's why we're here.”

“And I'm the writer,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“You're the man with the vision,” Marci chimed in with such a sweet smile.

“How long are you in town?” I said.

“A few days at least,” he said. “Longer, if necessary.”

“We're here for you,” Marci said.

“How nice,” I said. “You're here to sort of get me pointed in the right direction, I take it.”

“Guidance,” Dylan said, “but you're the writer.”

“I read the book,” Marci said abruptly.

“And you still came?” I said.

“Of course, silly,” she said as she reached over and tapped a hand on my knee.

Dylan sniffed softly.

“What did you think of the book?” I said.

“Fascinating,” she said.

“Ambitious,” Dylan said somberly, nodding.

“You both realize it's crap, right?” I said.

They glanced at each other.

“That's not our concern,” Dylan said after a pause. “We're looking at this entirely as a film. We are seeing it all as a film.”

“We're not literary critics, Bryce,” Marci said solemnly. “We're movie people.”

“Diplomats, too,” I said.

Dylan smiled, leaned forward.

“Our only concern is translating something to the screen, Bryce. If it's good enough to wind up on the screen, then of course it has merit. Of course.”

“The critics didn't agree,” I said.

“Water under the bridge, Bryce,” he said. “Let's see what movie we can make.”

“That's right,” Marci said. “It's all about the movie, now.”

“And I'm the writer,” I said.

“Indeed you are,” she said, patting my knee again.

“When do you want to start?” I said.

“We're at your service, Bryce,” Marci said.

“Your servants,” Dylan added.

“I'd like a little more time to think of how to get going,” I said. “Would you be okay with coming back tonight, after dinner?”

“Of course,” Dylan said. “That's no problem at all.”

“No problem at all,” Marci said. “You should definitely have some time to collect your thoughts.”

“To formulate a direction,” I said.

“You're the writer,” Dylan said.

“I just need a start,” I said.

“It all starts somewhere,” he said.

“It does,” Marci said.

I nodded, and so did they.

“How about around seven, then?” I said.

“Seven is perfect,” she said and Dylan nodded eagerly, glancing at his watch.

I helped them on with their coats and showed them out the side door.

“What will you do until tonight?” I said.

“We have calls to make,” Dylan said.

“Lots of calls,” Marci said with a frown.

“Endless,” Dylan said, shrugging.

“There's always something,” Marci said. “And before we know it, it'll be time for dinner.”

“Try the local beer,” I said.

“We will,” she said. “Any special one?”

“They're all good.”

* * *

The movie people came back a few minutes before seven and we settled into the living room with orange and blue flames licking hungrily at logs in the fireplace. I served them tea. Black Kitty settled into a chair next to me, opposite the movie people clumped on the sofa. Two teams squaring off. Black Kitty's ears perked up every time the fire popped and cracked. I was happy to have him in the room as an ally.

“What a great fire,” Marci said. She pretended to warm her hands from across the room.

Dylan nodded. “It's a dandy fire. What wood do you use?”

“Wood from the shed out back,” I said. “Brown wood.”

Dylan nodded again. “Brown wood seems to burn well.”

“I haven't had any trouble with it yet,” I said.

“Brown wood's good,” Marci said.

“It comes in just the one color,” I said and she nodded gravely.

“I love a good fire,” Dylan said.

“I can't tell you when I last sat by a fire,” Marci said.

“Aspen,” Dylan said, patting her knee. “When we were in Aspen two years ago.”

“That's right,” she said. “Or was it Sun Valley?”

“Definitely Aspen,” he said. “We were never in Sun Valley.”

“Why did I think Sun Valley?”

“I don't know,” Dylan said. “Have you been there?”

“No, I haven't,” she said. “I would remember that. I don't know why I thought Sun Valley.”

“And yet they say it's very nice in Sun Valley,” I said.

“Have you been there, Bryce?” she said.

“I haven't,” I said. “Exile has so far prevented that. But we could shoot the film there. It could be shot anywhere, pretty much.”

“That's a thought,” Dylan said. “Sun Valley.”

“Or Aspen,” Marci said.

“True,” Dylan said. “They're essentially the same. Interchangeable.”

“And we know Aspen,” Marci said.

“Intimately,” Dylan said.

“I liked Aspen very much,” Marci said.

I waited until it appeared Aspen had trumped Sun Valley, and then slowly and as nonchalantly as I could, I said, “What if we called the film,
Jedi Mind Trick
?”

Marci and Dylan blinked eyes rapidly, and Marci cleared her throat. Dylan cocked his head to a side momentarily.

“Like from
Star Wars
?” Marci said quietly.

Dylan looked puzzled, seemed to still be assessing it.

“We couldn't actually call it
Jedi Mind Trick
,” Dylan said. “George Lucas would pop a gasket and sue us.”

“Oh, yes,” Marci exclaimed. “George would maximize The Force on us—or whatever that is. But otherwise, he's such a nice man.”

“But it has a good ring to it, don't you think?” I said. “Short and sweet. Punchy. And with good cadence.”

“It does offer good cadence,” Marci said. “I like a good cadence.”

“And good name recognition,” Dylan said, nodding. “If we could use it, that is.”

“Everyone knows
Star Wars
,” I said. “It's sort of like The Beatles—everyone knows The Beatles. Everyone loves The Beatles.”

“I love The Beatles,” Marci said.

“So do I,” Dylan said, determined not to be outdone.

“What's your favorite Beatles song?” I said, looking at Marci.

Her smile grew and threatened to engulf her face, which reddened slightly.

“They're all great,” she said. “I don't think I can pick just one.”

“I couldn't pick just one, either,” Dylan said quickly.

After an awkward silence, I said, “I think
Jedi Mind Trick
works as a title because everyone likes Jedi. But of course, we can't use it. So, I'll think of a new one.”

“Jedi are cool,” Marci said. “No doubt about it.”

“These aren't the droids you're looking for,” Dylan said, smirking, and even adding the little hand gesture Alec Guinness used in the film.

“That's the best line in the film,” I said.

“For sure,” Dylan said, and I felt he was sincere.

“It is,” Marci said. “For sure. Are we still talking about
Star Wars
?”

“
Gone with the Wind
,” Dylan said and it took Marci a moment to realize he was kidding.

“
Gone with the Jedi
,” I said and Dylan laughed.

“Okay, you guys,” Marci said. “So, Bryce, how did you come up with that title?”

I shrugged and glanced at Black Kitty, who was napping. Dreaming of The Beatles, perhaps.

“It just came to me, Marci. After you two left today.”

“Just like that?” Marci said. “Wow!”

“Just like that,” I said, snapping my fingers. “That's the way it was with the book—it just came to me. And it shows.”

“But the film's a clean slate, Bryce,” Dylan said.

“Indeed it is,” I said, “and I'm the writer.”

“You're the writer, for sure,” Marci said.

“I'm the one who truly knows the story.”

“Only you know the story,” Dylan said. “It's your vision.”

“It's your baby,” Marci said.

“And the book reads like a man having visions while on peyote,” I said.

They maintained their smiles and eye contact.

“So, Bryce,” Dylan finally said, “have you sort of got the whole script mapped out?”

“Not at all,” I said, trying to look very serious.

Marci and Dylan glanced at each other.

“I'm kidding, folks,” I lied.

Their smiles were slow to reappear.

“Just pulling our legs,” Dylan said. “Humor's important.”

“
So
important,” Marci said.

“And since you've got a … working title, obviously you've put some thought into it,” Dylan said.

I had not thought much about it at all, but I nodded enthusiastically and they looked quite relieved.

“I mulled it over all afternoon,” I said, “while you two sampled the local beer out at the Holiday Inn.”

They both laughed.

“We haven't yet sampled the local beer,” Marci said apologetically. She gazed into the fire.

“Working our way to it, Bryce,” Dylan said. “As a reward for hard work.”

The fire popped loudly and we all gazed into it a moment. It woke Black Kitty up and he climbed into my lap.

“Your buddy,” Marci said, for once making perfect sense.

“Cowriter,” I said. “The title was his idea.”

Marci reached over and rubbed Black Kitty behind the ears.

“And why did he choose that one, Bryce?”

“So that no one remembers the book.”

* * *

I had the movie people over again the next afternoon because the night before I had managed to say a lot without saying much of anything about the screenplay. As an icebreaker I ordered a sausage and pepperoni pizza from Santorelli's. Black Kitty successfully begged sausage bits from me.

“Just like being back in the dorm in Madison,” Dylan said with a mouth full of pizza.