Page 9 of Wildest Dreams

I simply shake my head at that comment. She’s not joking.

“But Ilovehim! He’s hilarious in those movies he did with Sandra Bullock, where she’s the mob boss and he’s her oblivious boy toy.”

“Didn’t see them.”

“And he was the soldier in that movie where he dies and the girl waiting for him back home thinks he’d forgotten about her, but then she gets the letters he’d been writing her like a year after the war’s over. Oh my god, I bawled my eyes out. I think he was nominated for something for that movie.”

“Didn’t see it either.”

“Go home and watch them! All of them! Everything he’s in is good.”

“That seems a little creepy now that I know him.”

“You talked to him?”

“Oh yeah. We met.”

Her mouth drops and it looks like her head is going to explode.

“In person?”

I nod, then proceed to tell her the whole story.

“Well, God bless Bertha!” she exclaims when I finish.

“No! I felt terrible. Half of our conversation was me apologizing.” I shake my head.

“But if it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t know he’s living there!”

“I wish I didn’t know. It was so awkward. I was so awkward. Now he’s going to go back to Hollywood and tell everyone about the strange little person he rented a house from in Alabama and her pet alligator.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, he’s not.”

“I just hope if I see him again, I’ve at least brushed my hair.”

Behind us, the loud crack of a baseball bat is followed by cheers and parents yelling. Patsy turns to look, checking on her free-range children.

“I hope you do see him again.” she says, turning her attention back to me. “We can be friends with him!”

“He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to shoot a movie.”

She crosses her arms and sighs. “Pierre f-ing Chatham.”

I nod at her beaming face, then we mutually burst out laughing.

“Pierre f-ing Chatham,” I say.

PIERRE

Ididn’t bring much on my trip from California, so it doesn’t take long to get settled in the lake house. I can’t get over how gorgeous this space is. It’s comfortable without being ostentatious, low-key but quality. Exactly the vibe I need.

I even love the art in the house. There are exquisite photos of the river and even some of the local historic homes on the walls. They’re all bright and happy, like if Mayberry were in color. It’s clear whoever decorated has a good eye and a soft spot in their heart for this town.

Following Kendall’s instructions, I go to the Piggly Wiggly right before they close and clean them out of rotisserie chickens. I’m sure everyone thinks I’m a creep, since I’m wearing a low baseball hat and sunglasses close to nine o’clock at night and carrying enough poultry to stock a KFC franchise, but no one seems to recognize me, so I let it go.

The next day I go through the movie script again, make notes, and rehearse some lines in front of the bathroom mirror. I love this story, I love my character, and I love the crew I’ll be working with. I even love this town.

I love everything except Marina Breton being my co-star. I’m finally at a point in my career where I’m getting serious roles, nominations, and my choice of scripts. I should be excited to do another drama, but Marina has cast a cloud of dread over this shoot already. Maybe I’m wrong and she’s matured since the last time we worked together. Maybe.

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