At the Film Festival

by Kathryn Paulsen

She thought his new movie was kind of a mess, and felt bad for him. After his early success, expectations were high for him, and he might not get such a chance again. She’d tried to ask a question after the screening and had been ignored. Now she asked it in the lobby, and, seeing her press badge, for an underground paper about to go out of business, he said, I don’t have time now. See my assistant and set up an interview.

She did. They met in his suite at the hotel. He lounged on a couch, arms spread wide. She sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table, took out her little notebook, and asked her obvious questions. Looking as if his mind were miles away, he gave a few rote and obvious answers. Then, staring at her with sad and weary eyes, he turned questioner: Where was she from, what was her major in college? Would she like to take a bath with him? And, finally, in the tone of one posing a philosophical problem: How can we make love?