"Are you related to Emma Stone?" she asked.
"No, that would be something."
"Why would that be something?"
Ryan smiled as he opened the door. "She's playing Gwen Stacy while Andrew will play Spider-Man. I guess she would be my competition." He laughed.
"Why?"
"I have an on screen romance with Andrew on this new project I'm doing. Really excited for it."
"Oh, who's the director?"
"Luca Guadagnino. Based on Call Me by Your Name."
"Really? It's been on my TBR. Now, l really want to read it."
"Well, have your expectations low." Ryan put down his keys on the kitchen table.
The room was a mess. There were clothes on the chair and coffee cups on the floor and the TV was on with the Late Night show appearing. The living room was small but had a priceless view: the neon red sign of El Capitan Theatre glowed on the far right while the strangers moved relentlessly along the sidewalks below with umbrellas in hand.
"Please make yourself comfortable. Here's the wifi." Ryan gave her a piece of paper and reached for the jacket still on her.
"Thanks. You have been kind." She took the paper and sat down on the half-dead couch.
"Just doing the right thing. Although that is a strange thing to do here."
"Yeah. I worked with this actor Nico. He would never rehearse or cooperate at all. He did not give a fuck."
Ryan sat down next to her. She looked at her iPhone and put her hand on her forehead.
"Damn, I was too reckless earlier. l don't think it's working cuz of the rain."
"What do l do?"
She put her head to the back of the couch and looked at the popcorn ceiling. Her makeup and hair were slightly off but that gave her a more earnest and down to earth demeanor. It was there he realized that they were the same age and had the same fears: whether this industry will swallow them whole?
"What do you want to do?"
"Want to look at the script l just got?" He said without a thought.
She grinned. "Want me to do your homework? Sure."
"l'll be Elio and you would be Oliver. Don't worry there won't be any hard scenes."
Fuck, l didn't mean it like that. Hard as in weird.
"I mean—"
"Don't worry l know what you're saying. I'm afraid l don't have a good British accent." Emma laughed.
"It's an American, an older American. You're perfect." Emma playfully jabbed Ryan.
What scene should l do?
Ryan flipped to page 9 to the bottom section. "I'm going to play the piano for this scene." He lunged over to the cheap digital piano by Donner.
"I will be honest if you're trash. I played when l was younger. But not much."
He smirked. "I expect nothing else from the Horror Queen from Rhinebeck."
Ryan played Bach's Capriccio in B-flat major. It was different from the prior scene that was played on the guitar.
Emma, as Oliver, said, "You changed it. What did you do? Is it Bach?" Emma sounded genuinely annoyed.
Ryan stopped himself before he laughed. He said, "I just played it the way Liszt would have played it if he'd jimmied around with it."
Emma said, "Just play it again, please!"
Ryan yawned and touched the piano again.
"I can't believe you changed it again."
"Not by much. That's how Busoni would've played it if he altered Liszt's version."
"Can't you just play the Bach the way Bach wrote it?" Emma stood up and put the script behind her.
"Bach never wrote it for guitar. In fact, we are not even sure it's Bach at all."
"Forget l asked." Emma turned away to the mirror.
"Okay, okay. No need to get so worked up."
Ryan began to play the Bach in its original form. Emma, who had turned away, turned back and smiled toward Ryan, his back facing her with a genuine grin. Ryan kind of mumbles to himself, "It's young Bach, he dedicated it to his brother." He plays it beautifully as if sending it to her as a gift.
Emma briefly touched Ryan's back as he played the piece flawlessly and gracefully. When he finished there was a long pause.
"You're talented."
"I know." They both laughed.
____________
I grew up in a family deeply tied to Hollywood, surrounded by fame and fragility. My father has a very prolific career. He received an Academy Award nom for Best Supporting Actor for Runaway Train and earned Golden Globe nominations for Star 80 and King of the Gypsies. He is known for his intense acting style and enormous and crazy output.
While my aunt—Julia Roberts—is one of the most successful actresses in history. She won the Academy Award for Best Actress for Erin Brockovich and also earned Oscar noms for Pretty Woman, Steel Magnolias, and August: Osage County, becoming one of the highest paid actresses during the past two decades. The list goes on and l mention this because with all of these accomplishments you would think l would feel pressure to chase it.
But the fact is that l don't. I know l will never become a performer like my aunt or my father so there's no need to chase it. And in fact l fear it because of my father and his addiction to cocaine. Although, my feelings have changed after talking and seeing Ryan perform.
To be honest, l had not heard of him before that night and simply approached him for his thoughts on the food and maybe because he is not bad looking.
Anyway, l was bewildered at Ryan's maturity but also his playfulness. He did not seem bogged down by expectations or pressure to succeed. He loves life.
So l followed him. I believe horror is my path but after seeing Ryan, l want to do better because why not.
After he finished the piano, l forced him to do another scene. He smiled in that magazine type way and he seemed to smile at anything. Annoying.
I was flipping through the pages and saw the line where Elio says "l come here to escape the known world."
How very Ryan that sounds like. Acting is his escape, anyone can tell that from him.
I immediately told him to go to page 40 and he looked very unsure or apprehensive. It was a look that deeply surprised me and although l knew him for a short time it felt incredibly rare—as if, somehow, l had grown up with him.
I said, "Are you scared? Do l have blood on me?"
"No it's just—"
"Let's just do it." l pointed to his line to say.
"Okay."
Ryan, as if he shapeshifted to someone who seems deeply internal, says "I come here to escape the known world."
"l like the way you say things. Why are you always putting yourself down?" l say; talking to Ryan almost as if l am talking to myself.
Ryan shrugged, "l don't know. So you won't l suppose."
"Are you so scared of what others think? Or what l think?" l step closer to him.
Ryan stares at me. And this is the first time Elio has stared so far at me as if he is saying to Oliver: this is who l am, this is who you are, this is what l want.
I say, slowly realizing where this scene is going, "You're making things very difficult for me."
Ryan's eyes dart past me as if he's looking for a way out. But he faces me, in character, and l stare back.
"Why am l making things difficult?" He says.
"Because it would be very wrong."
It would be.
Ryan seems to read my mind, "Would?"
I sit right next to Ryan on the small piano bench. He moves farther away to make space.
"Yes, would. I'm not going to pretend this hasn't crossed my mind." l forgot l'm playing a character.
"l'd be the last to know."
I say, "Well, it has. There! What do you think was going on?"
"Going on? Nothing…Nothing." Ryan looks away.
After a long silence, I finally say, "I see. You've got it wrong, my friend." Confidence swelled inside me. "If it makes you feel better, l have to hold back. It's time you learned to do that too." l put my hand on the piano and an urge to press a key to surprise him, to change his expression, or for him to hold me passes over me.
Ryan says in a mocking tone, "You don't know half of it. So much of it is wrong."
"What? Your family?" l ask, my hands on my lap.
"That too."
"Us, you mean?"
I don't even look up at the script, it feels like it's written in a different language. Time freezes. I lean in as Ryan grabs my shoulder. There's a strange sensation in the air as if the music Ryan played before was drumming in my ear and a silence so quiet that l forgot who am l or what l love. My head was shaking and his too.
We both leaned in and his lips felt warm and l was sure when l die l would never forget the dizziness l felt at that moment. And l was sure he felt it too.
His hands burrowed into my hair. My hands reached up in answer. And for a second l could not believe l was touching him — his chest, his neck — weaving my hands behind his head to draw him closer. Cold chills sizzled against the backs of my knees in glaring contrast to the heat pulling at me from the inside.
He said, "We shouldn't be doing this." l felt his smile on my lips.
"Shut up."