‘Lame,’ she says with a laugh. It’s at my expense, but I don’t mind – it’s sliced through the friction between us.
‘Why is that lame?’ I ask, chuckling along.
‘It’s such a cliché. It’s not even close to his best screenplay and?—’
‘Okay, so what’s his best screenplay then?’
‘Well,Some Kind of Wonderfulis up there for sure,Planes, Trains and Automobiles– hilariousandpoignant – butThe Breakfast Clubis probably his best. The way he explores, then explodes high school archetypes… I mean, come on, it’smasterful.’
‘You’ve given this a lot of thought,’ I say, warmth blooming in my chest at the delight in her eyes.
‘I wrote my senior thesis on it.’
‘I see – making you an expert on the subject.’
She shrugs, her face a picture of modesty, which is even more endearing.
‘I wouldn’t sayexpert– more of an enthusiast. ButThe Breakfast Clubwas formative for me – as a movie lover… professionally… From then on, I was drawn to movies where the plot was simple and the character development was core: you stick a bunch of people together in a situation and they spend most of the time talking.The Big Chillis another favourite – like a pressure cooker where the past and present converge…’ she says, demonstrating with hand gestures. ‘And it throws the audience right in the thick of it, you know.’
‘That’s a powerful perspective,’ I say, genuinely impressed.
‘Thanks. That’s one of the reasons your movie resonated so strongly.’ She pauses, regarding me thoughtfully. ‘I never asked what inspired it – where you got the idea from.’
‘Oh,’ I say, appreciating the lifeline. ‘Well, I was up in Scotland on a shoot and they had to halt filming for a couple of days – inclement weather – so I popped down to Edinburgh on my own. And I was on the Royal Mile and I saw this couple chatting outside one of those tourist shops. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were… I guess you’d say they werecaptivatedby each other – that’s probably the best way to describe it. And I stood and watched them for a while – not, well, in a creepy way or anything…’
‘Oh, no, of course not,’ she teases.
‘Anyway, I headed off to this little tucked-away pub I know of – mostly frequented by locals, that sort of place – and I was chatting with the bartender and that couple came in.’
‘Oh, wow.’
‘Right? And I’m not a huge believer in fate or anything but?—’
‘Wait,’ she interrupts, ‘you’re not?’
‘No, not really. Why?’
Her expression clouds, answering my question. Delaneyisa believer – which explains why she’s worked so hard to sustain her relationship with Nicholas. She must believe it was fate that brought them together.
‘All good,’ she says with a terse smile. ‘Keep going. The couple came in…’
‘Right. So, I started chatting with them and they’d only met that day, but they already seemed?—’
‘Like a couple.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, pointing at her. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t get them out of my head and in the coming weeks, the idea for the screenplay started to evolve. And then I knew – I had to write it.’
‘That’s very cool,’ she says, leaning back and regarding me with blatant admiration.
‘Thanks.’ I shift my gaze towards the view, shying away from her potent stare.
‘Should we get another drink?’ She sits up straight and finishes her spritz with a loud gurgle from her straw.
My guess is that ayeswill put us back on shaky ground, where the lines between friendship, collegiality, and romance don’t exist.
I’ve also been struck with a bone-deep weariness – and it’s not from walking the length and breadth of the island or sleeping outside on a sun lounger. It’s from the dizzying whirlwind of emotions I’ve had to navigate since arriving on Capri. Which is bound to happen when you’ve been bottling things up for as long as I have –andwhen you meet someone you can actually be authentic with.
‘Do you mind if we call it a day?’ I ask.