I should be chomping at the bit for information, instead I am acting like a kitten. “I don't think its your type of book,” I answer honestly, “I do have an idea for a movie. Despite you have done it a couple of times, you might find my take on it rather unique. It definitely is thinking outside the box.” The look deepens, but my confidence grows. It seems to be getting easier to look him in eye. I get up and I start to walk towards my room, not breaking eye contact until I disappear inside to retrieve the items I am looking for. I go to my cluttered desk and reach for a yellow envelope. Bringing it out, I notice he is now on the lounge. I go over and hand it to him. Pulling out the contents he seems to consider all the items individually, thoughtfully looking over them. The un-mailed fan letter seems to get the most attention. “You put a lot of thought into this,” he says after a few beats. I have put the chair back in the kitchen and sit on the end of the lounge. I pray he takes this seriously. “Its been a passion project of mine since I graduated high school.” “How long ago was that?” he scoffs. “About 20 years ago,” I say. Its my turn to look at him wickedly. Now he looks like he's seen a ghost. “How old are you?” “Mr. Branagh, a woman never tells her age,” I say with mock indignance. Then I mouth the number, 37. Its his turn to gulp. I want to laugh, but I only grin wickedly. He laughs and shakes his head. “And here I thought you were just some young tweny something,” he says getting up and pacing. This reaction isn't as surprising as it is confusing. He stops, looks at me again, and then returns to pacing. I find myself unsure of what to do. Why would my age cause such a worried reaction? “Mr. Branagh, is everything okay?” I ask, wondering if it was a bad idea to give him that information. He stops and looks at me, his eyes full of delight and mischeif. I kneel on the lounge, my head cocked to one side wondering what the heck he's thinking, and hoping its nothing I am doing or have done. “I want to!” he says with excitement, I look at him, confused. “Wait, what?” “I want to make your version of Hamlet!” Okay now this time I completely feel like falling over. Dream achieved. He took it seriously. This the moment I have waited 20 years for. I close my eyes slowly and open them, smiling as I do. I can't think of a word to say. I shake my head on disbelief. This can't be real. “Kenneth, you aren't joking with me, are you?” I ask eyeing him. This would be the moment where I would wake up, broken hearted, to find it was all a dream. I want to wake up. But I just sit there, staring into his eyes. I want to drown in them. I smile, and I guess its kinda goofy looking because he slightly laughs, but he is still grinning as he vigorusly shakes his head telling me no mutely. I guess he can only be seriously considering this. “I am never joking when it comes to three things,” he explains. “My wife, my career, and film.” “Well, two and three are practically the same thing, aren't they?” I ask, still allowing my brain to process the shock. This is just so much information, I am not really comprehending everything. My mind is still stuck back where he said yes to my idea. He stops to consider my observation. My brain is a mess. I look in the mirror and notice my cat actually coming out to see what all the fuss is about. I smile. This isn't a dream. I come out to see Reika starting to make friends with Ken. “Well,” I say, getting their attention. Reika looks at me, her green eyes almost sleepy as Ken pets her slowly. I laugh at her sudden fondness. “You certainly have my cat under your spell.” He laughs lightly, and I hear Reika's familiar purr growing. I smile. “Cat person?” “Animal person, actually,” he says as she rolls on her side to give him better access to her belly. “What is her name?” “Reika,” I answer, “It was the name I made for a character I created in high school.” I feel at ease watching him with her. This feels so easy. My mind is starting to see things clearly now and I feel less overwhelmed. This man is taking me seriously. I am being considered for a film which will star him and I. I take a deep breath and then start to speak again, choosing my words carefully. “You do realize I want the lead in this?” “Of course,” he states, “it's not surprising at least.” “And you have no problem with this?” “Why should I?” “Because I am a girl.” “That's why I am saying yes. Your take is so unique and outside of the norm, I would be a fool to say no.” He keeps petting my cat, he tone even and candid. He means every word he is saying. I can't help the tears of joy that spring to my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I want to embrace him, thank him, kiss him even, but I just sit in front of him on the lounge, my face red. He looks up at me, he face falls at my reaction. “Did I say something wrong?”
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