“Jean Seberg,” James said. “A bout de souffle. In English, Breathless. Directed by Jean-Luc Godard. 1960. The film that started the nouvelle vague. My second favorite Godard film. It’d probably be my favorite Godard except that it’s everyone’s favorite, so my first is 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her.”
“James is a movie buff,” Alice reported, despite it being perfectly evident.
“And Jean wasn’t French, she was American,” James said. “Not to mention, your hair is darker than hers. Incidentally, I didn’t say it was different in a bad way.” He cocked his head lazily and squinted at me. “I like it better now.”
“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Alice said, clapping her hands. “You’ll be working together.” She explained that it was her intention that Hamlet’s story be an important part of the video projections. “You both should get started as soon as possible,” Alice said.
James asked me if I needed a ride. He suggested we sort out our schedules on the way home. His car was out of the shop.
Even though I’d been planning to go upstairs to The Phoenix to work, I found myself saying yes.
During the short ride to my house, we figured out that Saturday afternoon was the best time for both of us (he worked Saturday and Sunday nights), and before I knew it, he was pulling into my driveway.
“Hey,” I said, “how did you know where I lived?”
“That is a good question,” he said.
I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, so I asked him why it was a good question.
“The thing is, I looked it up. I thought I might stop by your house to see how you were doing.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Guess not.”
I considered saying how I wished he had, but then Ace’s face popped into my head. For better or worse, Ace was still my boyfriend, so it didn’t seem right for me to be flirting with some other guy, particularly one who ran as hot and cold as James.
Instead, I told James that I would see him on Saturday and got out of the car.
Later that night, I was on the phone with Ace. “But what about homecoming?” he asked. The dance was also that Saturday, and we had planned to go with Brianna and her boyfriend, Alex. Alex had been one of Ace’s best tennis team buddies before he graduated and went to NYU.
I assured him that it was fine. “I’ll be done with play stuff around five.” I decided not to mention James.
“Is that gonna give you enough time?” Ace asked.
“What do you know about it?” I countered.
“I do have a sister, Naomi. All that girl stuff takes serious prep.”
“How long does it take to put on a dress?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t know. What about your makeup? Your nails?”
“You worried I’m gonna be ugly, Ace?” I teased him.
“Guess you won’t be needing much time for your hair.”
“Ha,” I said.
James picked me up on Saturday at noon. When I got outside, I could see that Yvette was sitting in the front seat of his mom’s station wagon, and in the backseat was a suitcase full of period costumes. I hadn’t known she was coming.
Once I was in the car, Yvette turned around to look at me. “James and Alice thought it would be cool if you played Ophelia and Hamlet in the projections, so I’ve got costumes for both. And a wig for the Ophelia part.”
We drove to a park a couple of towns over in Rye. And James videoed me standing on a rock in a Hamlet costume, and then lying soaked in a river as Ophelia, and the day pretty much went like that until a ranger came to kick us out of the park because we didn’t have the proper permits for shooting video. James reasoned with the guy and said since we were students we didn’t need permits, and the ranger said we could stay fifteen minutes longer. This was fine with me; I was completely freezing and had been all day. Even though I hadn’t complained, James remembered about my being cold and made sure that Yvette covered me up with a coat whenever we weren’t shooting. James was really professional that way. I’d seen my mom at work, and he reminded me a little of her.
Back in the car, Yvette said she had to go get ready for homecoming. She was going with Alice and a group of girls from drama. James said he would drop her off first and me second. On the way to her house, Yvette teased James about not going to homecoming. “Just about everybody in the play asked him, you know. Girls and boys,” she said to me.
James laughed. He said that not everyone had asked him and that he had to work anyway.
When we reached Yvette’s house, James and I helped her take all the costumes inside. She kissed James on the cheek. My involuntary and embarrassing reaction was to wonder if I could get away with doing that same thing when we got to my house.
Yvette kissed me on the cheek, too. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight, doll,” she said.
On the drive to my house, James asked me if I was going to the dance that night. I told him that I was, “With Ace.”
“Ah yes, the jock. Good name for a tennis player, Ace is.”
“Unless you’ve got a run of bad serves,” I joked.
James didn’t laugh, but then it hadn’t been much of a joke, I suppose.
About a minute later, he said, “You were good out there today. Really game and relaxed. You made things easy for me. You’re amazing at keeping still.”
I laughed. “What can I say? It’s a gift.” I told him how my mom had been a photographer, so I had spent most of my life posing for one thing or another.
“Had been?”
“Well, still is. But we’re not really speaking at the moment.”
He didn’t push me to say anything more about my mother, which I appreciated. “I don’t know a thing about acting, so that probably accounts for my relaxation,” I said.
“Maybe you should just accept the compliment,” he said.
But I’d never been much good there. At least not that I could remember. “Where do you work?” I asked.
He told me that he worked at the community college as an AV specialist, which basically meant projecting movies and videos for their adult education classes. “Pays pretty well, and my dad thinks I ought to have a job. I get to watch a lot of things I wouldn’t otherwise get to see.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, over the summer, there was this class on Swedish cinema, so I’ve pretty much watched everything Bergman ever did. Do you know who Ingmar Bergman is?”
I shook my head.
“He’s this brilliant director. His films are mainly about sex and memory. You’d probably find them interesting with…well, everything that’s happened to you,” he said. “And now there’s this class about the films of Woody Allen, so I’ve been watching a lot of his, too. I like him, but not as much as Bergman.”
“I love Woody,” I said. “My parents used to always rent all his movies when I was little. I especially love Hannah and Her Sisters and The Purple Rose of Cairo.” I was glad that there were some things I could still remember liking.
“Maybe you could come down sometime and watch a couple?” he suggested. “I could get you in. Not that it’s any big thing. You could bring your jock.” I’m pretty sure he was teasing me with that last part, but his deadpan made it hard to tell.
By then, he was pulling into my driveway. I told him that I doubted that Ace even liked Woody.
“Probably not,” he said. “Have a good time at your dance, Naomi.”