#6 - Brangelina

      "Here is a glass of champagne," someone says, handing you a glass of champagne.

      This is something that happens when you've just won an award for successful screen writing. You are standing at the edge of the room thinking about why certain drinks hold certain significances.

      You won an award; here is some champagne.
      You are eating a cookie; here is some milk.
      You are closing a deal; here is a double scotch on the rocks.
      You are planning a triple homicide in your parentís basement; here is some tang.

      "How do you feel?"

      Someone is talking to you. It is a very attractive woman. She has lips that resemble wet plastic. You always thought women with wet plastic lips were very attractive. She's holding a microphone to your face and you realize you are on television. You realize it is live. People at home are waiting for you to say something. Something that a winner says. Possibly something about this woman's lips.

      Words leave your mouth for a while, and when they stop a light goes off. The woman with the wet plastic lips gives a wet plastic smile. She leaves and talks to someone else. You think it is John Travolta.

      There are a lot of people here, they are all moving in one shape and place. None of them seem to know each other, but they all seem to need each other. They are all smiling and moving their hair and looking over their shoulder at someone who they're pretending is calling their name. They are constantly going somewhere. You try to imagine what they would look like doing these things in an empty room with no one watching. A sort of, A-list ballet.

      You're bored. You close one eye and squint with the other. You decide the people you can still see are the people who would survive a nuclear explosion. They are all very beautiful, and you are not. Everyone knows you're a writer. A weird, squinting, unattractive writer.

      The woman with the wet plastic lips is talking to Edward Norton. He is short in real life.

      Your glass is still full, someone hands you another one. You wonder how many glasses of champagne it would take to make these beautiful people ugly again.

      You think you see that guy from the counting crows talking with his hands. You think he sort of looks like a pineapple, giving directions.

      Another light comes on. A man with impeccable skin, the color of soy milk, and a $75 hair cut is asking you about your plans for the future. He is extremely handsome. You are slightly intimidated standing beside him. You are on TV again. You tell him about your Broadway play you are working on. You tell him John Travolta has signed on as the lead. This is a lie. You're manager will be unhappy. The impeccable face seems impressed though you aren't really sure why.

      He must not have seen Battlefield Earth.

      You put both glasses down on a ridiculous looking side table, and head for the door. You think there's a lightning storm outside but realize it's an avalanche of camera flashes. Brad Pitt enters. He is as handsome as your sister-in-law always wanted him to be. He nods at you and enters the room you just left.

      Outside, the air is misty and damp. The guy from counting crows is asking if you want to share a cab. On the ride home he talks to you about his turtle shell collection.

      You are genuinely fascinated.

©2009 Broken Chair