Fan fiction (more or less)

[Antoine]

Hi guys.

I s

[Antoine]

And... I fail at the intarweb. 

Start again.

I saw Pipa Lee last weekend, and... well... fell in love again. So, I tried to die from overdose : Heathers, Girl, Interrupted, Beetlejuice, Simone... All in two days.

But to no avail.

So, I thought the best way to get Winona out of my head was to write a fan fiction*. Or how I could meet Winona, in a kind of realistic way, and try to imagine how things would go on from there.

Since it's a effing wall of text, I shall post it in small bits.

But first, I have two disclaimers to make :

1/ English is not my mother tongue. I tried my best but I'm pretty sure there are still masses of mistakes. Feel free to correct them.

2/ Winona's "part" is... thin, to say the least. I really had trouble to make her talk in a realistic way.


* of course, I failed again.

[Antoine]

T'was one of these glorious mornings of April, when brief but violent showers gave way to a bright sun. Cool on postcards. Not that cool on mountain roads, when the tarmac suddenly becomes a perfect mirror reflecting the blinding sun. Not even mentioning the sand and gravel washed on the road by the rain.

So here I was, driving north after a fortnight spent in one of these community farms where apparently deranged human beings said and proved, day after day, that one can live off grid voluntarily and take pride of it, mainly because they don't produce nuclear waste any more.

I was paying extra attention to my driving, semi-furious that the rain called for a light foot on the gas pedal : these roads were one of the last playgrounds left, with all these speed cameras popping left and right. Nowadays, dangerous roads have become the only ones where speeding rarely end up with a license disintegration. Go figure...

The car was stopped on one of these small parking places carved in the mountain. Not an unusual sight : tourists often park there to take pictures. Except I saw the tire marks on the gravel. I nearly got trapped myself by the sudden flash of sunlight when I emerged from the tunnel. Fortunately, I was more or less prepared for it. I slowed down. And then, I saw the smashed windscreen and passenger window.

(this is not a good pic : the mountain wall should be vertical,
the car facing the other direction, and it should be a BMW, preferably with a shattered windshield.
Rented by Winona, btw. A free hug to you if you find that pic somewhere)

I parked, lit up my warning lights, and got out of my car. The other car was a recent BMW. "Sturdy, filled with airbags", I thought. I walked up to the passenger door, since the driver door was inaccessible, being too close to the mountain wall. I bent over to look inside the car, scared of what might be in there.

The airbags had deployed: the cockpit was covered with the powder they put in them so they don't rot. But the car itself was empty. Obviously, the accident had occurred just a few minutes ago : the car interior was dry, and it had rained not so long ago. Where was the driver ? Or the passengers ?

Too many Hollywood movies flashed in front of my eyes : a trap ? Smugglers ? A kind of elaborate trick ? I began to look around, and weighted my options : leave, since nobody was in danger here and the car was not in the middle of the road ? Check the car ? -Bad idea- Yes, leave. And then I saw her, walking back to the car from a bend after the parking.

I didn't recognize her at first glance : the shining wet road reduced her to a frail silhouette walking on a sea of silver.

- Ca va ? Vous n'avez rien ?

- Errr... oui. I mean...

- You're English ?

- American, but yes.

- Are you OK ?

- I think so. Only a bit shocked. Cut myself with bits of glass, she answered, lifting her hand. But it's only a few scratches.

- Have you called an ambulance ?

- No, my phone doesn't work here : no network. I tried to walk away a few meters, but it still doesn't work.

- I'll go fetch mine.

- 'k

I returned to my car, reaching for the phone in my backpack. No network.

- Mine doesn't work either, I shouted to her.

She shook her arms in sign of irritation. I walked back towards her car.

- Have you tried to crank it up ?

- Yes, but nothing happens.

She opened the passenger door.

- Do you want me to try ? Give me the keys.

She shrugged, and handed them to me. I stepped in, trying to avoid the broken glass, inserted the key in the slot. The dashboard lit up, filled with red alarm signs. I moved the gear lever back in neutral, and turned the key, but nothing happened, not even a single beep. I got out and gave her back the keys.

- Nothing I can do : these cars are filled with electronics.

She shrugged again.

- I can drive you down to the next village. There, I believe we can find a way to have your car taken to a garage or something.

- It's a rented car.

- Ewww... this will cost you an eye.

- Hmm, she only answered, not looking exactly bothered by that.

- Do you have any luggage ?

- Yes, it's in the trunk.

- Let's hope the lock is not jammed.

But it wasn't. I rushed back to my car, hastily removing the usual pile of junk of the passenger seat when I drive alone, and opened the trunk, nearly filled with my own stuff.

- You will have to put your luggages on the back seat : my trunk is full.

It was when she walked back to the car that I finally recognized here. Or at least, her sister, or someone that really looked like her. It's always difficult to tell because of the makeup and all that. She was Winona Ryder. Her eyes -she had removed her shades to pick her stuff in the trunk and on the back seat of the BMW... I was sure. It was her. For one second, this idea froze me. "Shorter than I expected" was the only thing I could think of.

[Antoine]

I flipped the passenger seat, and dropped her bags on the back seat. As usual, my car was a mess after two weeks in the middle of nowhere : mud and gravel on the carpet, greasy rags I used when foraging under the bonnet, papers everywhere... Not really the kind of car she must be accustomed to.

- Sorry for the mess, I didn't plan to have passengers today.

Again, she shrugged. Not that talkative.

I started the engine, and we left the parking. She didn't even look at the wreck. For a few minutes, we drove in silence. I didn't know what to say, but knew the only question I wanted to ask wasn't a very wise or polite one.

- Could you move your legs a bit to the left ? I mean... right ? So I can reach the fifth gear without being sued ?

She didn't answer, but crossed her legs so that I could use the gearbox without touching her knee. The first attempt to make her smile failed. Miserably.

- Are you sure you're all right ? No headache ? No breathing problems ? You're not hurt ?

- No, I'm fine, just a bit shaken, thank you.

- You might want to see a medicin, when we will be at the village.

- A what ? Oh, you mean a doctor.

- Yes, a doctor.

- We'll see, but I'm fine right now.

She looked into her handbag, and took a pack of cigarettes. She was about to light one when I interrupted her :

- Excuse me, but... I don't like when people smoke in my car. You see... after, it stinks. I'll pull over, you can smoke outside the car, that's no problem, I'm a smoker myself. Just not in the car.

- Ah, sorry. No, that's all right, I shouldn't smoke anyway.

- I can stop, that's no problem.

- No, no, please, carry on.

And she shoved the pack back into her purse.

Soon after, we drove through a little village : a few houses, nothing more.

- We won't find a garage here. We should go a bit further.

Again, she didn't answer, but shrugged.

- How did you crash the car, anyway ? What happened ? The sun ? You got blinded ?

She sighed :

- Yes, just as I went out of that tunnel, there was a curve, I knew it, but suddenly I couldn't see a thing. I slammed the brakes, but I think it was too late. And there was this huge bang, and the airbags. It feels like you get hit in the face by a wet towel or something, you know...

She was mimicking the scene with her hands.

- Well at least, in this car, you won't get hit by a wet towel : no ABS, no airbags, you die like a man, I replied, trying a little humour noir.

She stared at me a few seconds. I glimpsed at her, but there was nothing to read on her face, her eyes invisible behind the shades.

- Ewww, OK... I'm sorry, that was a completely stupid thing to say. I'm not good at cheering people up.

- It's OK. And I don't need to be cheered up.

- No, no, I'm truly sorry, I don't want to act like these kinds of silly blokes that desperately try to be funny, and end up like some kind of... you know...

- It's OK, never mind.

- I mean, your life must be filled with guys that act stupidly just to impress you, or worse, become rude just because they saw you in a movie or something, and imagine that this allows them to talk to you because they cross you on the street. I imagine it must be very unpleasant. I mean, there are enough lousy blokes out there, I shouldn't have said that, that's stupid. I'm an idiot.

She stared at me one more time, but I just couldn't look back. Damn ! In one single sentence, I completely ruined everything. Shut up ! Shut up ! Stop talking, drive her to the next village, drop her there, and scram ! Idiot ! Idiot !

[Antoine]

After a few more kilometers, we entered a bigger village. I stopped the car in front of a small church.

- Wait here, I'll go ask if there's a garage somewhere.

When I came back, she was finishing a cigarette outside the car.

- I'm sorry. We're Sunday.

- Well, yes... So ?

- It's just that I'm on holiday : forgot which day we are. Today, it's Sunday.

- And ?

- Oh, and on Sundays, you won't find an opened garage in France. You should give a call to the car renter, and see what they can do.

- I still can't catch the network here, she replied, looking down at her cellphone.

- Use my phone, then. I have an international plan, you can call the US if it's necessary.

- Thanks, but I won't have to.

She spent a long time on the phone, walking up and down in front of the car. And judging by her body language, what she heard didn't please her. She asked me where we were, and I spelled the name of the village. Then she hung up.

- So ?

- So they can't get me another car 'till tomorrow. Had to find another way to go to... well... I can't wait. So a... friend of mine will come to pick me up in a few hours.

- Oh... fine. Well... there's a café over there. You can wait there I guess.

She sighed.

- Stupid me. And stupid GPS. I shouldn't have come here alone.

- It's not your fault, these roads a treacherous, especially when it's raining.

I had a song in my head. "Should I stay or should I go". Go. Leave her. Don't bother her. Someone is going to pick her up.

Instead, I heard myself ask :

- It's... nearly noon. I'm hungry. Do you want a coffee ?

- Oh, well... Why not ?

The café was one of these typical French places, with a long bar, the usual TV set, fortunately off, and a few tables. A handful of customers. Ugly posters, cheap paint.

- Coffee ? Errr... it will be a French coffee, not American. You call it an espresso i think.

- That's fine.

I ordered a sandwich and a soda for me, since I didn't have breakfast, and went back to the table she had chosen, next to the window. We sat in silence for a while. She was looking outside. Strangely, I couldn't look at her. I stared at the table, instead. "Should I stay or should I go", banging in my head again. I hated this song. Was it the only thing I could think of ? She finally spoke :

- Look, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that... I'm tired, I'm jet-lagged, and the accident...

- You don't have to apologize. It's me. I don't know how to behave. I mean... meeting Winona Ryder here...

- Winona... not Wynonaah...

- Why...

- We-no-na.

At least she smiled when she heard me mis-pronounce her name.

- Greg.

- Pleased to meet you. And thank you, by the way.

We shook hands across the table.

- Don't thank me. I mean, you know, even if it wasn't you...

- I hope so, she replied with a wry smile.

- It's not what I meant. And besides, I didn't recognize you right away. Just after a while.

The waitress bought us what we ordered, thankfully bringing an end to the feverish activity of my brain, unable to come up with something constructive.

She sipped her cup. She was looking through the window again, and for a few seconds, I gazed and her little finger, the angle it made with the ring finger while she held the cup. And she had brown eyes, with a thin line around the iris. Stop staring ! Say something ! Stop staring !

- Is the coffee OK ?

She had a little laugh :

- Yes, yes. You know, we also drink espressos in America.

- Oh ! I know, it's just that...

She looked at my sandwich :

- What's in there ?

- Ham and cheese, sort of swiss cheese. And butter, of course.

- Can I have one ? I might be there for a while.

- Sure. I'll order one more. But they might have other things to put in it, like just cheese, or... whatever.

- No, cheese and ham is fine. Thanks.

When the waitress came back, she left the bill on the table. Winona reached out for her bag, and took her purse. She slid an American Express card on the table.

- Err... I don't think they accept the Amex here.

- Crap ! This is definitely not my day !

- I can lend you some cash, you'll just have to ask someone to pay me back later. I'll leave you my phone number... or just my address...

At this very second, my phone rang.

- Allô ? Oh, yes, sure.

And I handed her the phone :

- It's for you.

- Hello ? Yes. When ? And... what am I supposed to do ? No, there's nothing here, just a small village. I'll ask, but I don't think so.

She hung up, looking pretty furious.

- My err... friend can't come pick me up now. Is there a taxi I could take from here ?

- Dunno, let me ask.

Just by the look on my face when I came back, she knew the answer was no. She took out her pack of cigarettes.

- Bad idea : it's forbidden to smoke in cafés now.

- Christ ! I hate this place !

She slammed her lighter on the table.

- Look, if you tell me where you're going, I could at least drive you to a bigger town, so you can find a taxi, or make another arrangement.

- I don't want to bother you, or be a burden. It's just... Crap !

She looked pretty miserable at this time. Oh, please, I beg you, don't cry. Don't cry. I would say stupid things if you cry, and ruin everything... Don't cry.

- Tell me where you're going, I'll have a look at a map, see if it's not too far, and... well... take you as far as I can.

- OK, let's do that, she finally said.

I payed, and we went out.

[Antoine]

- OK, this is what we're going to do. I'll tell you where I'm going, and then we will check where you're going.

She gave me a puzzled look

- Why would you do that ?

- Just to reassure you... that I'm not lying or something, you know...

- Do you always... think like that ? I mean... It's kinda... weird...

- I... I don't want you to think... you know... that I might abuse... no... not abuse... how do you say that in English ? I mean...

- OK, let me get this straight. I don't think you're trying something... whatever. I'm grateful that you can help me out, and that's all. It's not about who I am, and you would have done that for anybody, wouldn't you ?

- Oh yes, of course... I'm not in a kind of "damsel in distress" thing... no.

I took the map from the glove compartment, and unfolded it on the hood.

- See, I'm going... there. And we are... hmm... here. And my route goes like... this. I try not to take the highways, to avoid the... how do you say that ? Toll ? Is that correct ?

- Yes, toll. And I'm supposed to go... there.

She was pointing at a city, east of my route.

- Well... I can drop you... there... Or even take you to your destination, it's not that far. Roughly... yes, some 80 kilometers. Not that far. It won't be a problem. You have an address there ?

- A hotel.

- Well, if you have the address, the GPS will find it, and... when you think... feel free to stop me anywhere you like.

She smirked :

- Sure ! It's one of my oldest dreams : left in the middle of nowhere in a country I can't speak the language with a pair of heavy suitcases, and no money at all...

She shook her head, and closed here eyes a few seconds, taking a few deep breaths.

- Excuse me, I'm being sarcastic...

I shrugged.

- You should call your friends, tell them I will drive you there.

I folded the map, and entered the address in the GPS. A few seconds after, she sat in the car, and gave me back the phone.

- It's OK, they will come and pick me up at the hotel for dinner.

She tried to close the door.

- Slam it. It's an old car, you have to slam the door.

- Strange little car, if you want my opinion. But I won't complain : better than mine.

- I chose it because it doesn't have electric windows, nor... how do you say that ? Climatization ? Climate control ? Whatever... And of course, no ABS, no airbags, blablabla, like when I'm not funny and make a complete fool of myself.

- You know... you don't have to apologize all the time.

- I'm sorry... I mean, no... well... anyway... let's go.

I started the engine, and we drove out of the village.

- So... why are you in France ? For a movie ? Or perhaps you're not supposed to talk about that.

- No, no, I'm here for a movie. Well at least the first contact with the film crew. I'm not quite sure I want to do it, especially after the last one.

- What was it ? Girl, Interrupted ?

- Oh no, that's an old movie ! 1999. The last one was "Black Swan".

- Sorry, Girl, Interrupted was the last one I saw. I might like what you do, but I'm not a "fan", I mean, I just like your movies.

- Thank you.

- Oh, and that's not just... I mean I'm not just flattering you, I really liked "Looking for Richard III", for example. I used to bothering everyone in the family... and my friends... with that movie. The perfect way to learn what Shakespeare writes, from my point of view. And that lady who played the mother of the two children... terrific actress.

- Thank you. I will tell that to Al, he will appreciate it, she answered with a nod.

- Al ?

- Pacino. Al Pacino.

- Oh, yes... of course.

And then I laughed.

- What ?

- Well imagine this : one of my favorite actress is going to tel Mister Al Pacino himself that I like his movies !

- It is true. I will tell him.

- It's not what i meant. Who am I to pat Al Pacino on the shoulder and tell him "nice job, pal, do it again anytime" ?

- You know, sometimes it's important to know what "real" people think of our work, and not just the critics, or the movie... industry. So many hypocrites, liars... So you also liked Girl, Interrupted ?

- Yes... Well... I liked it. But... strangely, you see, I... I was diagnosed with... this borderland... syndrome thingy...

- Borderline.

- Yes, borderline. I know it's usually an illness for girls... I mean, women, if you see what I mean. But there is a small chance that men... catch it also, I don't know how to say that properly.

- Oh... I'm sorry. It's...

- You don't have to. Took me three years before... well... I got out of it, more or less. And exactly like you said in the movie, there was a part of me trying to hurt another part, a dark part, some kind of bizarre savage wildcat inside me, inside my head, with unpredictable reactions. That frightened me. I couldn't look at this dark side of me. Really thought I was crazy. Never knew which part was trying to kill the other. And it took me... yeah... twenty years to talk. Talk about... this overwhelming panic I felt sometimes for no reason, and my brain screaming like an engine in... overspeed ? The impression I was nothing more than a pile of glass, ready to crumble down, into bits. It was sheer panic. And bitter cold also, when I waited for a train, and sometimes thought "one more step, and all this will be over".

- I can... understand that, she replied softly. Her look was unfocused, as if she was remembering things.

Outside, another shower was blanketing the road.

- Can you see anything ? she asked briskly.

- Oh, yes, the wiper on your side is old and doesn't work too well. Mine is OK, don't worry. And by the way, if you don't want to be blinded when you enter a tunnel, just close one of your eyes a few seconds before. It will get accustomed to darkness, and you will be able to see better when you're in it. And when you exit, you put back your shades on, and don't look directly at the road, but on the side, especially when it's raining on a sunny day. The mountain walls won't blind you, unlike the road.

She didn't look very impressed by all this.

Silence fell back in the car, as I concentrated on the driving.

- What other movies ? she finally asked, probably eager to move on to less... problematic scenarios.

- Err... I had a little "Winona Ryder" period a few months ago, so I watched a few of them. "Heathers" was a movie I saw back then with my first girlfriend. Of course, I was in love with you, and she was in love with Christian Slater, so... we were pretty even on this one. "Greeting and salutations" is a phrase I still sometimes use.

- Yes, I remember that one. She was smiling.

- And Alien 4, also. But, obviously you couldn't match Ripley. I mean... this was an Alien movie, and Sigourney was in her element... And also The lives of Pipa... whatever...

- Pipa Lee.

- Yes, Pipa Lee. I like that woman who played Pipa Lee's mother,

- Maria Bello.

- Yes. She's pretty, and her part was a difficult one. But I think that's all. You have played in other movies that I don't want to see, because... well... that might sound ridiculous, but I don't like to see women crying or suffering, even in movies. Oh, and I think you would have done better than Nathalie Portman in "V for Vendetta".

- Why ? She looked surprised, and shook her head.

- Because... It's difficult to explain. Her character is supposed to be fragile at the beginning, but I have the feeling that she is not frail at all, she knows exactly where she is going. I mean... in real life. You would have done better, I think. More convincing.

She had a little laugh.

- So, who is your favorite actress ?

- Apart from you ? Hmm... Keira Knightley ? But she's not like you. She scares me a bit. If it was her instead of you sitting in this car, I would be much more... intimidated ? She has a "living radius" bigger that yours, if you see what I mean ?

- Not really, to be honest.  

- Well, I think that people have "outside shapes", or "auras", if you want. Different shapes, different textures, different colors, different sizes. Keira... has a large and "hard" aura... Something... yes, intimidating. Yours is... smooth. I'm not afraid of you. Between you and Keira stands Nathalie Portman, or Jennifer Connelly, for example. It's something I can't explain, something I feel when I see people. I guess everybody feels that... don't you think ?

- Interesting theory. I wouldn't have explained it this way, but I can understand it. So you're not afraid of me ? Strange thing to say. I don't know what to think of it, really...

Suddenly, everything went into slow motion. I was having this distinctive tickle in my head, a bizarre throb, telling me : "this is a perfect moment, a fraction of eternity". Everything fell into place : the road, jet black because of the rain, the cloudscape and the sun casting shadows among patches of bright light, the gorgeous colors of the countryside, this ideal valley we were driving through, with a small river at the bottom, a few farms scattered on the banks, their roofs glittering, and Winona sitting next to me in my own car.

Like in "Cashback", I tried to freeze that moment. In vain.

I must have slowed down, because she looked at me :

- Something wrong ?

For a few seconds, I couldn't speak, filled as I was with this feeling of pure joy, of pure grace. One that makes you feel small and immense all at the same time.

I answered softly :

- No, nothing wrong. It's all the contrary.

I looked at her, trying to absorb as much as I could, engrave in each parts of my body all the scene, the light, the smell, the distant rumble of the wheels and the engine, the warmth of the sun through the windshield. And her. For some reason, the only words I managed to pronounce were :

- Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté...

- What ?

And, as swiftly as it had arrived, that moment vanished.

I cranked the car back in first gear.

- Nothing, I was having some kind of... strange feeling.

- You're feeling... sick or something ?

- No, no, absolutely not. It was just... a moment of pure... happiness.

- I don't understand.

- You see... sometimes I think you do some kind of a @#$%ty job. With all these people around you that... glue all their aspirations on people like you. But they don't know you. They think they know you because they saw you moving and speaking in movies. That's not the... true you. But what do they know about the true you ?

I smashed my palm on the wheel. She frowned at me. I continued, in a softer voice :

- What do they know about you apart from what they can read on websites, or read in magazines ? What do I know about you ? Apart from your birth date, 29th of October 1971, and a few more things... That's a terrible burden you carry. It's... not fair. Too heavy. Don't they see the weight they... throw at you ? All their dreams... Like you were supposed to endorse them, make them come true...

- It's... something you get accustomed to, along the line. It's not easy, but you have to. To protect yourself. But... you know my birth date... by heart ? she asked with a frown.

- Oh, err... this is not difficult to remember : you were born precisely one month and one day before me. I was born on the 30th of November. It's easy to remember. It was on the IMDB website when I was looking for pictures.

- Pictures ?

- Errr... No ! I'm not one of these freaky fans who put posters all round their bedroom, I'm too old for that anyway. It's just that I bumped on a picture of you with a T-shirt that made me smile : there was "Free Winona" written on it, and I wanted to make one for myself. So I took a black and white picture of you, the best I could find. I posterized it in two colors, and made my own "Free Winona" T-Shirt. It's just one of my personal T-shirts, along with the one saying : "Vote for Guy Fawkes, the only man to enter parliament with honest intentions", and a few others.

To my amazement, she laughed :

- Free Winona. Do you have any idea of what this really means ?

- I... think so. "Free my true self from all this media bullcrap" ?

- More or less... Oh, and by the way, you were born one month and two days after me. There are 31 days in October, not 30.

[Antoine]

We both fell silent. For the first time since this morning, my head wasn't filled with questions, like "what does she think now", or "what should I say", or "I should have said that instead of this". My brain was blank. At peace.

After a while, she fell asleep. Sometimes, I slowed down just to look at her. But the moment was gone. And what would she think if she woke up, with me staring at her ?

One hour later, I finally stopped in front of her hotel. Now... how should I wake her ? Touch her arm ? Her hand ? Her shoulder ? Call her ? Fortunately, she woke up while I was still trying to figure out a correct answer to this question.

- Are we there yet ?

- Yes, that's your hotel, apparently.

She blinked, a bit confused.

- What time is it ?

- Somewhere around 16... I mean, 4 pm, French time.

She yawned and stretched herself. I got out of the car, trying to figure out what to do next. She also stepped out of the car, and walked towards the hotel. It was then that I noticed her boots. Black, with a flat sole. They looked a bit like Doc Martens. I stayed there, backed to the car, feeling dizzy after 3 hours of driving.

She got out of the hotel, waving at me.

- OK, good news : everything is sorted out. No more fuss today.

- Excellent. Let's get your luggage inside.

In the hotel lobby, I waited a few steps behind her, looking vaguely at the semi-luxurious interior. I was then hailed by a waiter.

- C'est votre voiture qui attend dehors ? La voiture noire ?

- Oui, oui, pardon. Elle gêne ? Je suis désolé.

- Je peux aller la garer, si vous voulez.

- Je... je ne suis pas client de l'hôtel, j'accompagne juste cette dame.

- Oh, très bien. Peut-être voulez-vous que je la gare au parking visiteur ?

- Non, non, je vais le faire. Indiquez-moi juste où il est.

I walked to my car, and drove it to the visitor's parking. What should I do now ? I lit a cigarette. What should I do now ?

When I got back in the lobby, Winona was no where to be seen. I went to the counter :

- Excusez-moi ? La jeune femme qui était ici il y a quelques instants. Elle est montée ? Vous avez son numéro de chambre ?

- Vous l'accompagnez ?

- Non, pas vraiment, je l'ai juste conduite ici. J'étais ressorti garer ma voiture.

- Vous êtes taxi ?

- Non, non, juste une connaissance, en fait. 

- Vous avez son nom ? demanda le réceptionniste en consultant son ordinateur.

- Oui, Ryder. R-Y-D-E-R.

- Hmm... Je suis désolé, monsieur, mais il n'y a personne d'enregistré sous ce nom. Peut-être sous le nom d'une entreprise ?

- Heu... non, je ne pense pas. Elle était là il y a juste cinq minutes, elle a dû monter dans sa chambre. Vous l'avez sûrement vue.

- Je viens d'arriver. Je prend mon service à 16 heures. Peut-être que mon collègue l'a accompagnée. Mais j'en doute...

- Ou alors essayez...

Crap ! What was her real name again ? It sounded German...

- Horowitz ! H-O-R-O-W-I-T-Z, ou quelque chose dans le genre.

- Non monsieur, je regrette, je n'ai personne de ce nom-là dans l'hôtel. Peut-être devriez-vous attendre que mon collègue revienne ? Il pourra vous renseigner.

- OK, je vais attendre.

I waited like 10 minutes in the lobby, feeling more and more of a mismatch with muddy shoes, a leather jacket on a hooded sweater and a one week beard. Leave her a message ? But how do you leave a message in a hotel to someone you can't identify ? No phone number either. Or maybe the waiter had strict instructions with people like Winona, like... like Julia Robert in this movie... Notting Hill. And I wasn't exactly Hugh Grant. And this wasn't a movie with a happy ending approved by focus groups.

With a sigh, I went out. Walking back slowly to my car, I felt again this inner chill, this mass upon my shoulders. Well, at least, I had spent a few memorable hours with an adorable actress sitting next to me. For a few hours.

I shrugged, and got in the car. Back to my normal life...

It was getting late, and if I wanted to be home before dawn...

Half an hour later, as I was driving up yet another mountain, I heard the beep of my cellphone. A call, probably when I was out of the network coverage again. A message :

- Hi, it's me... Err... You left before I could thank you. I... I hope I didn't... well... I hope you were not angry or something... Call me back, please.

And of course, no number ID, since I was off grid. Crap ! Crap crap crap mega-crap !

But wait... She used my phone to call someone. I shuffled through the menus... Previous calls... 0800... that must be the call center of the car company... And then... A French mobile phone number. Around 11 o'clock. That was it.

- Bonjour, laissez-moi un message.

- Bonjour, heuh... je vous appelle parce que... enfin... tout à l'heure... ce matin...

And I hung up. It was useless. Living 10.000 kilometers from her, or so. She was not part of my world. San Francisco. Out of reach. Who was I anyway ?

I unzipped my sweater, and looked at the T-shirt underneath.

"Free Winona".

[Antoine]

And... that's it !

For those who don't read French, the first part in the hotel is when a waiter asks me to move my car out of the way, and in the second i'm trying to get her room number from a waiter that just began his shift.

I know the beginning is slow, somewhat boring. But I thought a more direct approach would have been unrealistic.

I could have introduced other topics in the discussion, but it was already a long text.

And I apoligize for the repetition of some words : my vocab' is not that good.

Also thought of a soundtrack, and especially the last song, meant to cheer up a bit a sad story. I thought about "Elenore" by The Turtles ( <a href="http://www.youtube.com/v/n-LJ9sjJuig" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/v/n-LJ9sjJuig</a>)

Edit : and by the way, I absorbed massive doses of Simon & Garfunkel while I was writing. Believe me, "April, come she will" is a bad, bad, bad idea when you live some 8.000 miles away.

Oh, and another useful tip : the "coming out therapy" doesn't work either. I've been looking at the photo thread for the last half hour, listening to pieces of the "Melanesian Choirs" from the Thin Red Line soundtrack (no obvious relation I can think of), and it doesn't help. At all.

[eagle-rare]

Hi Antoine,

"English is not my first language."

Really? I am impressed. The spelling, the proper word uasge, is spot on.

What struck me the most is your grasp of American English colloquialisms, i.e.,

"...effing wall of text.",

and

"...my vocab,...".


"Effing" and " vocab", you are certainly at an elevated level of english comprehension.

Great job!

Of course, of course!

[Antoine]

Thank you, Mr. Rare. Or can I call you Eagle ?  

Being raised in a bilingual school helps.

Playing too much interweb spaceship games too, especially if they are packed with Brits, Aussies and Americans.


Next job : find a few photographs to lighten a bit this text. Like pictures of potential shooting scenes (in my head, this is a 30 minutes short movie). I'll try to do that later today.

I'm still working on the "Free Winona" T-shirt : having trouble finding the right font, and the rendering needs more trimming.

Btw, I asked by e-mail to the webmaster of winona-ryder.org if she would like to post this on her site. She hadn't answered when I noticed the "Forum" tab on her website. Hope she won't be cross I bypassed her somehow.

Edit : regarding one possible location, it could be the Puy Mary, in the Massif Central, in France. The D17 is one hell of a road if you happen to be a biker, and the view when you go down the Puy Mary using the D680... wow.

Map link here : http://maps.google.fr/map...0.142822&t=h&z=13


And... here's the T-shirt (yay !)



Actual size is 8,8 x 10,4 inches

It's in two colours (black and gray), so it should be suitable for those thermal printing machines.

I'm not that fond of the font, but I can't use a too complex one, else the printer will mess everything up. I guess the guy operating the printer will already have a hard time with her face (especially the eyes, which are a crucial part of the pic, obviously - I spent quite a long time figuring what to leave and what to delete to preserve the expression).

Picture comes from "Reality Bites", I think. Original pic is in colour (she wears a red t-shirt), but I worked on a black&white version.

[Antoine]

I can't draw, so a kind of storyboard is out of reach.

But... I can do tricks with the Gimp.

The shining wet road reduced her to a frail silhouette walking on a sea of silver.

I assure you, Fanboyism should be a serious condition decribed in the DSM4.