Vibracious – not a word, but it should be – because it describes Delaney perfectly.
But it doesn’t matter, because in the negative column of this imaginary pro/con list is that I can’t hide from my life forever. And by life, I mean Pippa. God, have our visions of the future diverged so dramatically that this is it? I try that on for size, squirming with apprehension.
Ididpropose.
But why?
Nope – not going there. I proposed because I love Pippa. And she wanted to get married –wantsto get married, as evidenced by the fact that today was supposed to be my wedding day.
I drop my head into my hands – Icannotspend the next few hours torturing myself withwhat ifs?and circular thinking. I’ll drive myself mad.
I down the espresso and finish the pastry in four bites, slip a ten-euro note from my wallet, and leave it on the table. When I get in my head like this, I need to walk – and I’ve barely begun exploring Capri. Time to see what there is to see.
* * *
I return to the hotel in the early afternoon, feeling like I’ve walked around the entire island. In reality, I’ve barely made a dent, but it’s so hilly, my hamstrings and glutes are screaming for a rest. I’ll be feeling them for the next few days.
I hesitate at the door to our room – once I go through, I’ll know one way or another. My screenplay is either a heaping pile of shit or it’s good. It could be somewhere in between, I guess – but would mediocre be better than shit?
Only one way to find out.
I unlock the door to an empty room. Housekeeping has been – last night’s pizza remnants have been cleared away, the bed’s made, and our ridiculous army of pillows has been lined up, covering most of the bed – but no Delaney.
Then she comes in from the balcony, her face tear-stained.
‘Perfect timing,’ she says, grinning through the tears. ‘I just finished it.’
‘Oh.’ My gut twists itself into a knot. ‘Are those good tears?’ I venture.
‘Yes! Oh my god, yes. It’sincredible, Nick.’ She starts pacing, one hand twirling a lock of her hair, which I’ve come to learn is her way of sorting through her thoughts. ‘It’s like… real and raw, you know? Here’s these two people – total strangers and this happenstance meeting brings them together… And theconnectionbetween them – it’s reminiscent ofBefore Sunrise.’
‘Reminiscent or derivative?’ I ask, a sliver of panic embedding in my knotted gut.
‘Definitely not derivative,’ she replies and I sigh out a frayed breath. ‘No, nothing like that – but this could beBefore Sunrisefor Gen Z.’
‘Wow,’ I murmur, mostly to myself.
‘And you writegreatdialogue, Nick,’ she says, shooting a glance over her shoulder. ‘I mean it – that scene at the airport…’ She turns and looks me in the eye. ‘I could picture itsoclearly. Everything else falls away – and you’d go for a tight two-shot – right? – play with depth of field, so that onlytheyare in focus.’
‘That’s exactly how I envision it.’
‘It’s really fucking good, Nick.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Ye-ah,’ she says, splitting the word into two syllables. ‘But it does need something – in my opinion,’ she rushes to add.
Please don’t say ‘danger’ or a complicated subplot.
‘What?’ I ask, my voice getting caught in my throat.
‘An epilogue.’
‘Oh!’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘Well, yeah – the last rejection I got implied it was too…simple. I thought you were going to suggest a crazy subplot – they get caught up in a heist or something.’