A fictional conversation with one of my top 5 favorites Part 1

A Fantasy Conversation Between Kenneth Branagh and I Justine Heart July 11, 2019 I wake up to the doorbell ringing. I wonder who it could be because I am not expecting visitors. Cautiously, I put on a tee shirt as I was sleeping in only a bra and sleep shorts. The nights have been fairly warm, despite the windows being open and all fans going. I also spray a mild dose of deodorant on. I look through the peep hole and gasp at the sight of my visitor. It's HIM! I can't believe it! My absolute favorite actor: Kenneth Branagh! I hear a knock. I creep towards the handle and slowly open it. I am shaking slightly. I take a deep breath as I look into his deep eyes. I am falling into them, hypnotized for the moment. Paralyzed. Seeing him in person is so surreal. Why would he be here? I haven't sent my pictures or anything yet. How would he know where I lived?? I can't help but think I am still dreaming. Is this some kind of joke? Why pick my apartment? Who would know to send him here? “Miss?” I hear from a thousand million miles away. I am trying to pull myself together, but I feel like I am failing dreadfully. I take another deep breath. “I say miss, are you quite alright. You look like you've seen a ghost.” His voice is deep and warm. It runs over me, soothing me. I realize how long I have been staring and try to shake it off. “Please, excuse my staring,” stammer out, “its just you have no idea how much I have imagined meeting you. I mean... wow!” “I take it you recognize me,” his smooth British accent causing a very feminine reaction. I want to just hug him. Ken is here, and I am staring at him, bug-eyed. Shit I am staring. Wow, I am rude. “Mr. Branagh, you have no idea,” I explain. “But where are my manners? Won't you come in please. Let me get you a chair. Please, sit, won't you?” He walks slowly into my apartment, luckily its fairly clean in the front area. Clean enough for the parents to drop in and not feel embarrased at least. After bringing in a chair to the TV area, I motion for him to take a seat. I feel like I could faint, my head is so light. I try to maintain some composure as I get a bottle of water from the kitchen to offer him. I laugh nervously as I hand him the not so fancy beverage. I sit on the futon lounge chair so I am not staring at him, but he is still in my eye line. His hair has slightly changed over the years from blonde to a reddish mix. His trimmed beard and mustache are well maintained. He wears a yellow windbreaker, with a black shirt underneath. His blue jeans are well fitted but not too tight. He is so handsome, and yet so casual. I gulp hard again. My reaction does not go unnoticed. “So do you have a name?” he queries, his tone almost sarcastic. I want to die right now, but only because this is my happiest I will ever be. Ken Branagh, here, talking to me. For what reason, I have no clue. I am enchanted beyond belief. I want time to freeze, to let this moment last forever. “Jen,” I almost whisper and realize its not the name I want him to call me. “Oh no, I mean Justine.” He gives me a look so I continue. “Its both actually,” I answer, meekly. “I go by Justine online as it is the name I use in my writing.” He seems to want to know more, so I continue. “Jennifer is my legal name, but I like being called Jen. I only go by Jennifer at work or when my parents yell at me.” “Then what do you want me to call you?” The question is genuinely curious. “Whatever you want,” I say. I can't believe that's my answer. It sounds slightly slutty, and also like I have no clue what is going on. Come on, girl snap out of it. You may be a fan, but you have some self respect. I back pedal. “I mean, you have your choice of a casual version, formal, or professional.” “Let's go with the professional version then,” he says, smiling brightly. Oh what that smile does to me in person. I close my eye and take a deep breath. “So you're a writer?” he asked, trying to change my preoccupation. I smile, noticing that got his attention. “Amature at most, but yes,” I say shyly, smiling.“Published?” I wince. “So that's a yes?” I nod, grimacing. “I wouldn't call that amaturish.” “Considering its not really my novel,” I added. He looks at me, confused. I want to laugh because its the look I always get when I tell people that, plus its adorable. I want to hug him again. I want someone to pinch me still. I am still in awe, but his levity seems to be bringing me back to earth again. “Long story short, its my ex-boyfriend's novel. We decided not to use his name for personal reasons,” I finally say. He seems to accept that. “What's the name of the book?” Ken asks. “My Destiny. Why shopping for your next movie?” “Maybe,” he answers, slyly. He looks at me, an evil twinkle in his eyes that make me shiver a bit. I gulp again.

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Niki

Writer and Playwright

London, United Kingdom