A camera glided above the crowd—it was simple, like the daily walk from home to the office now seemed an appointed part of life, of public knowledge, the way people moved through the sea of faces. The camera traveled a total of 450 meters down a street, turned right, and continued another 300 meters to reach home. From home to work, an apartment in a towering skyscraper and another in a charming building. The alternate route involved three turns—100 meters, 200 meters, and 510 meters—a calculated distance the camera needed to travel back and forth. The shoot was budgeted for four takes, while Billy, around six in the morning, performed a task that demanded timing, precision, and instinct.
-It was harder than I thought. -said Billy, who managed the entire tracking process. The cameras had closed off two streets for the shots. At least Sundays were days when people chose to linger in bed. School wasn't a concern, and only those who truly didn't want to get involved in a shoot with nothing particularly remarkable were out working.
-How idyllic. -sighed Richard Markis, one of the people in charge of executing every detail of the setup—a setup designed so that everything ran smoothly, precise down to the millimeter, crafted by calm and meticulous production crews.
-Do you follow the director's lead, or was this your idea? -asked Billy, speaking about the cost of the operation. The cold was cutting into his bones, but he had to act as if the weather were warmer—at least for certain scenes. They repeated the walk four times, each with different outfits, intercut across multiple takes. He repeated some two or three times, nearly freezing to death by ten in the morning as he tried a cup of hot chocolate and slipped on gloves. The cold had never been his friend, but the way it made his skin burn was enough to remind him how difficult it was.
Winona handled the cold better, though her hands were always frozen. For five days now, the wind had carried with it a biting, frozen chill. It's perfectly common in New York—right by the river—for the icy gusts between buildings to freeze anyone with a trace of luxurious life. Whatever people may analyze is irrelevant.
-You really suffer from the cold. -said Winona, handing him a large coffee, offering a faint smile.
-Only the tropics can give life to people like us. -Billy replied, taking a slow sip, feeling the heat scorch his tongue. It was always hard and impatient work to drink coffee while your tongue burned; the impatience was universal for anyone freezing half to death. The first sip burned satisfyingly, almost playfully, against his tongue.
-Damn the moment. -Winona muttered.
-Damn the moments for everyone. -Billy answered.
It had become a daily ritual for them—whenever their minds were too full, they cursed the only moment that gave them coffee, because coffee was what gave them life.
-How long do you think before the director punishes us for being late? -Winona asked.
-Two minutes. -Billy replied, watching her playful smile. The woman was an angel—charming, as long as she never lost that youthful spark she was made of.
-Too short. She's already coming this way. -the girl said, having noticed Nora watching them for quite a while. It wasn't surprising—just perceptive—as she saw Nora approaching, holding an empty coffee cup.
-We have to continue now. -said Nora, in her soft voice. For the past few days, that had been the signal.
-I'm not done yet. -sighed Billy, taking a deep sip, nearly burning his lips, but he kept drinking. He wasn't one to stay behind or lose pace; there was a movie to film. The entire set—a café custom-built by the studio—was ready for the next sequence. The crew had recreated nearly the whole street, blending it with the likeness of the café on 34th Street, as if to preserve its life and cautious charm.
-Give me that. -sighed Winona, now somewhat addicted to coffee. She drank two to four cups a day and often stole Billy's, which wasn't special, yet she loved it. Difficulties had long been a constant for both.
-Drink it all. -Billy said, who now ordered the same coffee as her out of habit.
…
EXT. FOXBOOKS - NIGHT
As JOE and KEVIN leave the store and head downtown, both walk at their own pace, without trying to make a failure out of what they're doing.
KEVIN: I suppose she's carrying a book with a flower in it.
JOE says nothing.
KEVIN: Actually, no. Seriously. JOE.
KEVIN: Which Jane Austen is it?
JOE: Pride and Prejudice.
KEVIN: She could be a total nightmare.
JOE: I know. Look, I'll stay ten minutes tops. Say hello, have a coffee, and leave. I'll leave. I've been watching—
JOE (continuing): Come with me, will you?
-Cut. -the director whispered, while a new camera crew worked in quiet precision, indifferent yet focused, doing what they called—
EXT. 83RD STREET - NIGHT
As the two men walk toward Café Lalo, the European café on West 83rd Street.
JOE: What if she has a really high-pitched voice? I hate that. Reminds me of those mice from Cinderella.
KEVIN: What Cinderella mice?
JOE: Gus-Gus and—oh, damn, I can't remember the other. Why do I feel compelled to meet her? I'm just ruining something good.
KEVIN: You're taking it to the next level. You always do. You always take a relationship to the next level, and if it works, you take it up again, until finally you reach the level where you absolutely have to leave.
JOE: I'm not staying long anyway. I already said that, didn't I? God, I'm a total mess.
EXT. CAFÉ LALO - CONTINUOUS
JOE stops and looks at KEVIN.
KEVIN: This woman is the most charming creature I've ever come across. If she turns out to be as beautiful as a mailbox, I'd be crazy not to turn my life upside down and marry her.
KEVIN: She could still be a total nightmare.
JOE (panicking): Go look.
KEVIN: Me?
JOE: Go to the window and look.
KEVIN: You're pathetic.
KEVIN walks up to the window and looks inside.
EXT. CAFÉ LALO – NIGHT
JOE and KEVIN stand in front of the café.
JOE: Do you see her?
KEVIN: There's a beautiful girl—wow, very beautiful.
JOE: Yeah?
KEVIN: But no book. Wait—hold on… there's a book with a flower, so that must be her.
JOE: What does she look like?
KEVIN: There's a waiter blocking her face. He's serving her tea, and she's adding three spoonfuls of sugar.
JOE: Why shouldn't she?
KEVIN: No reason. Unless she's hypoglycemic. Oh—she's moving.
JOE: Do you see her?
KEVIN: Yeah.
JOE: And?
KEVIN (clearly frustrated): She's beautiful.
JOE: I knew she would be. She had to be.
KEVIN: She looks… I'd say she has a bit of that Kathleen Kelly color.
JOE: Kathleen Kelly from the bookstore.
KEVIN: Why not? You said you found her attractive.
JOE: So what? Who cares about Kathleen Kelly?
KEVIN: Well, if you don't like Kathleen Kelly, I guarantee you won't like this girl.
JOE: Why not?
KEVIN: Because it's Kathleen Kelly.
JOE elbows KEVIN aside and looks.
JOE: Oh my God.
A long silence.
KEVIN: What are you going to do?
JOE: Nothing.
KEVIN: You're going to let her wait there?
JOE: Yes. Yes, I am. That's exactly what I'm going to do. Why not?
KEVIN: But she wrote the letters.
JOE: Good night, KEVIN. See you tomorrow.
He walks away, leaving KEVIN behind, who stares after him, then turns and walks the other way.
INT. CAFÉ LALO - CONTINUOUS
Kathleen, sitting alone at a table for two, sips her tea. She starts feeling a bit foolish. She checks her watch. A noisy group enters and sits beside her, laughing. One man takes the spare chair from her table.
MAN: Mind if I?
Kathleen jumps up.
KATHLEEN: Oh, yes. I'm waiting for someone, please.
She retrieves the chair, sits again, watches the group playfully argue over menus, then looks at her watch again. She opens her copy of Pride and Prejudice but can't focus. A man enters, and she looks up hopefully—but he joins another group. Passing her table, he knocks her book and flower to the floor.
KATHLEEN: Oh!
She leaps up and rescues them as if they were fragile porcelain.
At the window behind her, Joe appears. He watches as she repositions the book and flower, then disappears from view. A moment later, he enters.
JOE: Kathleen Kelly. Hi. What a coincidence. Mind if I sit?
KATHLEEN: Yes, I do. I'm waiting for someone.
JOE picks up her book and looks at it.
JOE: Pride and Prejudice.
Kathleen retrieves it.
KATHLEEN: Do you mind?
She places it back on the table and rests the rose on top.
JOE: I didn't know you were a Jane Austen fan. Not that it surprises me. I bet you read her every year. I bet you just adore Mr. Darcy, and your sentimental heart pounds at the thought of him and—what's-her-name—finally ending up together.
KATHLEEN: Would you please leave?
Joe sits.
KATHLEEN: Please?
JOE: I'll get up as soon as your friend arrives. Is he late?
KATHLEEN: The heroine of Pride and Prejudice is Elizabeth Bennet—one of the greatest, most complex characters ever written, though you wouldn't know it.
JOE: Actually, I've read it.
KATHLEEN: Well, good for you.
JOE: I think you'd discover a lot if you really got to know me.
KATHLEEN: If I really got to know you, I'd find that instead of a brain, there's a cash register; instead of a heart, a balance sheet.
Kathleen surprises herself.
JOE: What's that?
KATHLEEN: I've just had a major revelation, and I have you to thank for it. For the first time in my life, facing a horrible, insensitive person, I knew exactly what I wanted to say—and I said it.
JOE: I think you've got a gift for that. It was a brilliant mix of poetry and cruelty.
KATHLEEN: Cruelty? Let me tell you—
JOE: Don't get me wrong, it's a compliment.
He picks up the book. Kathleen snatches it back.
KATHLEEN: Why are you doing this?
She manages to take the book, leaving Joe with the rose.
JOE: What do we have here? A red—no, crimson—rose hidden between the pages. Something out of one of those books, no doubt. The kind with a woman in a nightgown about to throw herself off a cliff.
He lifts it to his face like a mustache.
KATHLEEN: You think this is funny, don't you? Everything's a joke to you.
She grabs the rose and tucks it back into the book.
KATHLEEN: Please go. I'm begging you.
He gets up, walks to the next table, and sits with his back to her.
The restaurant door opens. Kathleen looks up hopefully. A pleasant-looking man enters, joined immediately by an equally pleasant-looking woman. Kathleen seems momentarily deflated, almost breathless. She takes out her compact, checks her reflection, and tilts it slightly to glance behind her—just as Joe glances her way. She turns quickly, wiping off her lipstick.
JOE: You know what that handkerchief reminds me of? The first day I met you—
KATHLEEN: The first day you lied to me—
JOE: I didn't lie—
KATHLEEN: You did—
JOE: I didn't—
KATHLEEN: That whole "Fox" thing seemed so charming. F-O-X.
JOE: I never lied about that—
KATHLEEN: "Joe. Call me Joe." As if you were one of those stupid twenty-two-year-old girls with no last name. "Hi, I'm Kimberly." "Hi, I'm Janice." What's wrong with them? Don't they know you're supposed to have a last name? It's like they're a whole generation of cocktail waitresses.
She stops—realizing she's gone off on a tangent she didn't mean to. But Joe stands and moves back to her table.
JOE: I'm not a dumb twenty-two-year-old girl.
KATHLEEN: I didn't mean that.
JOE: And when I mentioned the Price Club and the cans of olive oil, I didn't mean that either.
KATHLEEN: Oh, poor, miserable millionaire. I feel so sorry for you.
The door opens again, and in walks a large, glamorous drag queen wearing a boa.
JOE: I'll take a wild guess—that's not him either. Who could it be, I wonder? Not the world's foremost expert on Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, I assume, but someone entirely different. Will you be mean to him too? Will you start off sweet as candy and then suddenly—miraculously—unleash that razor tongue of yours?
KATHLEEN: No, I won't. Because the man coming tonight is nothing like you. The man coming is kind and funny, with a wonderful sense of humor.
JOE: But he's not here.
KATHLEEN: If he's not here, he has a reason—because there's not a trace of cruelty or carelessness in him. I can't expect you to know someone like that. You only have one suit.
A beat. Joe stands.
JOE: That's my cue. Good night.
Joe leaves.
-Cut.-
...