• • •
“DID YOU KNOW we worked that thing out with Charlize?” said Rob.
“Cool,” said Kit. “When’s she gonna be here?”
“She’s in South Africa now. End of next week.”
“Now there’s a long flight,” said Kit.
“Tell me about it,” said Rob. “I’ve done it — more than once. You guys know each other, right?” Rob called through the open door to his assistant.
“Maybe we met at some benefit. Toronto? Maybe, yeah. I think it was the film festival.”
Megan poked her head in.
“When’s Charlize coming, do we know?” asked Rob.
“Saturday,” she said.
“Saturday?” said Rob, with a minifrown.
“She had a family thing and had to wait until the weekend.”
“OK,” said Rob, resigned.
“Excuse me, Kit,” said Megan, respectfully. “The camera crew’s ready.”
“Great!” said Kit, standing.
“What’s going on?” said Rob, nonplussed.
“Kit’s being honored next Sunday by a group in Washington.”
“NIF,” said Kit. “The Neurological Injury Foundation.”
“How great,” said Rob.
“I’m sorry,” said Megan to the director, deferentially. “I thought you knew.”
“No,” said Rob. “But that’s fine.”
“That’s probably my fault,” she said. “Anyway, Kit’s not able to attend the gala because of our rehearsal schedule.”
“Galas are a good thing,” said Rob.
“That’s why they’re going to tape. It shouldn’t take very long.”
“If I’d have known,” said Rob, “we could have worked our rehearsal schedule around it.”
“I mentioned that to Kit—”
“It’s OK, it’s OK — I didn’t want to go to Washington,” said Kit. “Didn’t feel like doing the poster-boy thing this week.”
“You can use my office for the taping if you like,” said Rob.
“They’re pretty much all set up in the courtyard,” said Megan.
“Let’s do it,” said Kit.
(Trademark grin.)
• • •
KIT SAT IN the courtyard in a safari chair. The makeup artist zapped a zit while the D.P. tweaked lights and meters.
The director said, “OK, folks, are we set?”
“Ready,” said the A.D.
“Mr. Lightfoot,” said the director. “Are you good to go?”
“Ready-steady,” said Kit.
“Ready Steadicam,” said the D.P., nonsensically.
“Do we have a Steadicam?” asked Kit.
“No, but I wish we did,” said the D.P.
“Just like a cinematographer,” said the director. “They want a Steadicam for a stationary shot.”
“We could shoot this Russian Ark—style,” said the D.P.
“Dream on,” said the director. “Ready?”
“Ready-teddy,” said Kit.
“Let’s roll tape.”
“Camera is on.”
“Kit,” said the director, standing just behind the D.P. “Can you tell us why this new role is so important to you?”
“You mean, as spokesman?”
“I’m sorry — no. In the Rob Reiner film.”
“Sure, be happy to. I–I guess I’ve always liked a challenge. And… this — this has been the hardest one.”
“Hold it,” said the D.P.
“I’m sorry, Kit,” said the director.
“Not a problem,” said Kit.
“OK,” said the D.P. “We are good to go.”
“Rolling?”
“Rolling tape.”
“Kit, can you tell us why the role in your new film has been so important for you? Why it’s been important for you to take on?”
He hadn’t prepared, but that worked in his favor. He began to talk, heartfelt. “I’ve always really liked a challenge. And this has been a hard one! There are… so many people in my corner — friends and colleagues — so many fans. The fans helped pull me through. And there’s my mom, who was so brave. She passed away. I learned a lot from her! I still have that picture in my mind of my mother’s courage, and that was something to help me in my dark hours. And my dear friend Cela, who I knew since I was young. Another strong woman, important woman in my life. I am an artist, and just because I was injured… I still think like an artist — or hope I do! I have to do the things an artist does. So I do what I am doing for all artists and all friends — and all the friends and all the people who are alive who have suffered for… neurological injuries and trauma, and even for those who are dead but whose courage and struggles should not be forgotten…” His eyes filled with tears. “I–If I have one special wish, it is… to do my best—if I am real—to make people believe, with all their hearts, that this journey and this struggle can be so beautiful…” He looked down then back up, smiling sweetly. “To show the world. That you can be anything and dream anything…”
He trailed off, emotional.
Long silence from crew, punctuated by makeup girl sniffles.
The director softly conferred with the D.P., then said, “Kit, we had some technical difficulties, and for that I am very sorry.” The actor shifted in his seat and minorly grimaced. “I’m being told the problem has been corrected and will not happen again.” The last he lobbed toward the repentant D.P., who, avoiding his eyes, nodded militarily. “But that was fantastic, and I hate to ask you to do it over…”
“That’s OK,” said Kit, affably. “Shit happens.”
“OK, then let’s go once more! That was amazing, Kit — if you could do pretty much the same thing then I think we are golden.”
“No problem,” said Kit. “No estoy problema. No estoy problemita, Señorita Pepita.”
“Rolling tape!” said the cameraman.
“All right, Kit — when you’re ready.”
~ ~ ~
Give me, O God, what you still have.
Give me what no one asks you for.
I don’t ask you for wealth
Nor for success,
Nor even for health.
People ask you for all that so often
That you can’t have any left.
Give me, O God, what you still have.
Give me what people
Refuse to accept from you.
I want insecurity and disquietude.
I want hardship
And struggle with no end.
And if you should give them to me, O God,
Give them to me once and for all,
For I will not always find the courage
To ask you for what you still have.
— ANONYMOUS
About the Author
BRUCE WAGNER is the author of three novels: Force Majeure, I’m Losing You, and I’ll Let You Go. He has written and directed two films, I’m Losing You and Women in Film, based on his novels. He lives in Los Angeles.