One Scene, Two Points of View

The vaulted living room of the million-dollar McMansion glowed with the light of celebrity. The near-rich and the almost-famous who inhabited the faux-opulent space filled it with vacuous chatter about one another. Richard fit right in here, and he knew it. His most recent film had garnered praise enough to be noticed and criticism enough to be interesting. His easy good looks were sure to attract the attention he craved.

He surveyed the scene in a way that he hoped would not be noticed. To his left there stood a small group of young film makers with whom he might be able to network his path to another success. The couple standing near the fireplace–an older, highly-respected producer and his wife–might be a good contact. How could he introduce himself without fawning?

Then his eyes fell on a woman whose beauty and bearing stopped his search. Who was she? He couldn't recall her. His mind ran through all the starlets he'd encountered along the way to his modest accomplishment, but she was not among them. His imagination undressed her and transported her to being alone with him. Thoughts of spending much time with anyone else that evening were overwhelmed by his desire to be with her. She was alone, and apparently available.

As he took his first step in her direction, she turned slightly to her left and headed toward the entry hall. Had she seen his approach? Was she leaving already? Had she forgotten something, or was someone she knew coming to join her? Richard hesitated, not wanting to seem to be chasing her, yet not wanting to lose her. In Richard’s moment of doubt she left the room and his sight.

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At a little past nine I arrive at the Brown's home just outside Beverly Hills. I am sure I have been invited because of the decent, if not great, reviews Sleeper in Seattle got, and Dave and Marge think I might be useful to their growing company. But I also know I have a lot to gain from being seen here, both because of the other professional contacts I can make, and because you never know who you might meet at a big party. Reasons enough to attend alone...better not to have to worry about anyone except me.

I am not entirely comfortable in this tux, but that's required. Just have to trust my smile and my looks. Just inside the door of the living room I stop, stand tall, and casually look over the crowd. Who could be most useful to me? The young, aspiring folks like me, or the older, more connected men and women of the industry? I have to chose carefully, given this singular opportunity. 

Then I see her. My heart stops. I don't recognize her at all, and I think I've met most the young actresses in Hollywood, even spending quality time alone with many of them. Something about her, not just her beauty, but the way she stands and carries herself, even with no one else around her, makes me burn to meet her, to spend the evening with her. To hell with professional contacts.

I take a step in her direction, and she moves. O shit! She's headed to the door. On her way out? To meet someone else? She disappears from my sight, and I am alone again.