The Red Carpet

Sometimes you fall in love with an idea and no matter what you do or what you experience you can’t shake it, can’t fall out of love with it.

For Steve, walking the red carpet with Alison was that idea.

They had joked about being so big someday that they'd be too big for the Oscars. They would watch from home, drinking champagne and eating pizza. They would make catty comments about surgical enhancements and mock the tearful tributes to agents and managers and God and the best cast and crew anyone ever worked with in the history of everything.

Now that it was a fantasy that had come true, there was no way they wouldn't put on those glass slippers and ride that pumpkin limo to the Dolby Theatre. Fairy tales have a perverse sense of humor; it was best to enjoy the moment before the fall. How does it feel? Who are you wearing? Who is the lovely lady? What's next for Steve Donovan? Or so Steve imagined and hoped; that it would be they and not just him.

His script for Tarzan: Man of the Jungle was nominated for best adapted screenplay. The movie had become the surprise blockbuster of the year, with many critics comparing the prohibitive best picture favorite's love story within an action adventure framework to James Cameron's Titanic. Indeed, Steve had particularly enjoyed the New York Times review titled "Titanic with Elephants," savoring a note that his script "deftly mixes the modern politics of the global climate crisis with the heroic action and gauzy romance of Hollywood's Golden Age, without sacrificing Jane to damsel in distress cliche." 

It was complicated, of course, because it's always complicated. Alison Miller had left him while he was writing his Tarzan. They had been together for five years and like most relationships where one takes the other for granted, he didn't see it coming. He waited every night for weeks for the knock on the apartment door, to open the door and find Alison standing there, and for her to fall into his arms. It had shocked and devastated him when he finally realized she was not coming back. He had poured all of his anger, pain, regret, and longing into the script. He heard Alison's voice in every line he wrote for Jane, and constructed a happy ending that movies are so much better at delivering than real life.

Alison had watched the post-breakup events play out with disbelief. Not that she had even a moment of regret for leaving Steve. She had seen the movie twice and was amazed that a man who seemed to know so little about love could've written a script that made her cry, made her laugh, made her hope those two crazy kids, Tarzan and Jane, would make it. She thought of her relationship with Steve like one of those bands that struggles for years only to break up just as their last album together produces a chart topping hit. Would they get back together for a cash grabbing tour in support of their hit album? Sort of. With a new guitarist and drummer because the old guitarist and drummer want to kill each other. That's all she could think of when Steve had called to "see how you're doing" and asked if they could get together for a coffee "for old time's sake." She sat at one of the tables on the street in front of the Donut Hatch, sipping her cappuccino, wishing she hadn't said yes. 

She had thought about wearing her sleakest, sexiest dress, the red number with the sweetheart neckline, something to remind Steve of what he didn't have, but ultimately decided against it. He might take it the wrong way. She opted instead for a sleeveless floral print blouse and jeans. 

"Alison. Hi," Steve said. 

"You're late," Alison said as Steve bent down to give him the "old friends seeing each other for the first time in years" kiss on the cheek. He was wearing a Marvin Martian t-shirt and cargo shorts that she recognized from when they were still living together. The watch was new, though, and it looked expensive. It wasn't something she would've imagined the Steve she knew owning. A gift? Was he seeing someone? She hadn't seen anything on social media, nothing Instagram Official. "A man with a watch like that shouldn't be late."

He fidgeted with the watch. He was obviously still getting used to it. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry," Steve said. "I was, uh, I mean, just, I'm sorry. Thanks for waiting." 

Was that actual, sincere contrition? Alison wondered. She smiled as she thought, Who are you and what have you done with Steve Donovan?

Steve sat down to a coffee and two donuts with chocolate frosting and sprinkles. "I see you ordered for me," he said. "Thanks."

"I know how much you love sprinkles on your donuts," Alison said with a wry smile, remembering Steve's pathological hatred for the sugary add ons. She was enjoying the moment and the look on Steve's face. She wished she'd worn the red dress after all

Steve nodded, considering the donuts before saying, "How are you?"

"I'm good," she said.

Steve nodded again, fidgeted with the watch, adjusting it on his wrist. "You seeing anyone?"

"Wow. Cutting right to the chase," Alison said, noticing Steve's apparent discomfort with his new, expensive watch. She was sure it was a gift now. "Yes," she said. "I'm seeing someone."

"Is it serious?" Steve asked.

Alison studied his face. She realized that she didn't recognize him, not this plaintive, sincerely apologetic look that softened his smile and lent a kindness to his eyes. Did he actually care about what was going on in her life? "I don't know," she said. "I thought I was in a serious relationship once before. But it wasn't."

Steve nodded. "Well, I hope it works out for you. You deserve better," he said. "A happily ever after." He sighed. "I was so mad at you until I realized I was the one who deserved that anger. I'm sorry I wasn't better." He took a bite of donut.

"You don't have to do that," Alison said. "You hate sprinkles."

Steve smiled.  "I'm touched you remembered. Not that I ever let you forget."

"I'm sorry," Alison said. First contrition and now self-awareness. She felt like she'd joined the movie halfway through and clearly missed some crucial character development.  "It was just a mean little joke."

"I had it coming," Steve said. "And it is funny. Not so much Spielbergian as Aspergian but still funny. Real life needs comic relief even more than the movies." He took another bite.

"Seriously," Alison said. "You don't have to eat that."

He held up what was left of the donut. "A man must face his fears." He smiled. "I wanted to make some changes in my life and decided to start small. Sprinkles seemed like a good place to start. You know. Baby steps." He finished the first donut and took a sip of coffee. 

Realizing she hadn't said it yet, Alison said. "Congratulations on the nomination."

"Thanks," he said. He shifted uneasily in his chair. "That's the reason I asked you to meet me."

She wasn't sure where he was going with this. "I always wanted to have a meeting with an Oscar nominated writer," she said, trying to sound confident. "Well, I was hoping for an Oscar nominated director but I suppose this will have to do."

"I'd like to take you, uh, ask you, to accompany me to the Oscars," Steve said. 

"So," Alison said. "You won't be staying home with your girlfriend to watch with champagne and pizza?"

Steve laughed, showing some nervousness, Alison thought. "It turns out a first time nominee, like myself, doesn't have that kind of sway," he said. "I'm a longshot to win - I wasn't even nominated for a Golden Globe - but the studio wants me there, just in case, you know. They want me to thank the producers, the director, the lead actors, and God, preferably in that order. After that, I can thank whoever I want in whatever's left of my 45 seconds of fame." He couldn't read Alison's face but whatever she was thinking, she had deftly avoided an RSVP to his invitation. "I don't know if we owe each other anything but there are always studio execs at the after parties. It could be an opportunity-" 

She cut him off. "I'm not acting any more."

Steve nodded. Should he say, That's too bad? Ask what she's doing now? Unsure, he pressed on. "I realize we're not a couple. I don't mean, you know, I mean, I know that's over." He paused, hoping she would argue the point. "I'd like you to come, not as my girlfriend, but as my muse. I'd like to take you, for you to come with me, as my muse."

"Your muse?" Alison said. She nodded. "I did think about suing for writing credit when I heard some of Jane's lines."

"You've seen the movie?" Steve said, his voice rising as he tried in vain to contain his feelings for Alison. Why was he doing this? She still hated him. Maybe that was too strong. Maybe she was just mad at him. Whatever it was, in this moment, he wasn't sure he could ever change her mind. She would hate him or just be mad at him forever.

"Who hasn't?" Alison said.

"Right," Steve said. "Yeah. Statistically speaking, given the box office numbers, I guess it was likely, even highly probable, you would've seen the movie." He paused but couldn't stop himself from asking: "Did you like it?" Then, regretting it, quickly added. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. I'm still a slave to my own vanity, I guess."

"Aren't we all?" Alison said. "I liked the movie." She shrugged. "I actually loved the movie."

Steve smiled, relieved. "That's great, I mean, great to hear. I'm so glad you liked it."

"Loved it," Alison said.

"Loved it," Steve echoed. "And your boyfriend? What did your boyfriend think?"

"My boyfriend?" Alison forgot for a moment that she'd lied about seeing someone but quickly recovered. "My boyfriend hated it."

Steve smiled. "So. You loved it. He hated it. Are you sure there's a future there?"

Alison's face changed and not in a good way, Steve thought. He was pushing too hard. She smiled but her face was still as hard as steel.

"At least I know how he feels. At least he's willing to let me in," she said.

Alison had distracted him again. Or had he distracted himself, thinking about her new boyfriend. Imagining this mystery man to be taller, richer, smarter, and much better looking was surprisingly easy. Not to mention that he was also, apparently, a better listener and emotionally vulnerable.

It isn't working, Steve thought. This scene clearly needed at least one more rewrite. She hadn't said no to his invitation. but she hadn't said yes, either, and Steve thought that was as good as a no.

He had pictured them walking the red carpet. He had imagined winning and thanking her by name (after the producers, the director, the lead actors, and God, of course). He had seen them at the after party, drinking champagne, eating designer pizza; laughing, dancing, and falling into each other's arms. Spending the rest of their lives together. 

It was just the memory of a dream, he realized now.

He checked his new, expensive watch, before finally making eye contact with Alison.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I think I knew this was a mistake before I called, but, as you know, better than anyone, I'm an idiot." He smiled a weak and unconvincing smile. "It was great seeing you again." He paused, but she did not return the sentiment. "I hope all your dreams come true. I mean that." He smiled. "And tell your boyfriend I hate him. I mean that, too." His joke drew only the slightest of smiles from Alison.

He stood, clumsily knocking over his chair. As he set it aright, Alison noticed his eyes. He was on the verge of tears. "Steve, are you all right?" she asked.

He blinked back the tears; all but one of them, which raced down his face making a small dark dot on his shirt. He took a deep breath, let it out. "Acceptance," he said. "It turns out I'm allergic." He smiled again. "Goodbye," he said and left.

Alison took a sip of her now cold cappuccino. She thought about the aphorism that everything ends badly, or else it wouldn't end, but that wasn't quite right. Nothing ever ends, she thought, it just fades away to a singularity, until all that's left is a memory that refuses to leave.

*****

Author's Note: I wrote this in part because I felt bad for Steve and Alison and their unhappy ending in Quicksand, fully intending to give them a "happily ever after" here, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be…