Rosenfeld

He’s sitting by one of the white tables on the lawn, talking to his business partner. They laugh at something, but stop when everyone’s asked to quiet down. The lighting dims and he watches the movie projected on the screen by the stage. Up until that moment, he has no idea that there’s such a thing as me. Up until that moment, I have no idea that there’s such a thing as him. But we’re soon to find out.

It’s mid-September and I’m in the middle of a rough patch. I feel stuck and I don’t know what to do to change that, so I’m pissed off at everyone and everything. There are still some joyful moments, such as this wedding of my two friends, Tom and Alison. They’re now sitting in front of the screen, roaring with laughter as they watch my movie along with the other guests. Once it’s over, everyone applauds and we go straight back to the dance floor, but then Tom tugs at me and says, “Come, they want to meet the director.”

“Come where? Who’s they?”

“My mom’s friends.”

“No, no, too drunk for introductions!”

He clears a path through the crowd and the scattered tables across the lawn and I trudge behind him.

“They’re in biotech. Marine biotech.”

“Biotech? What does that have to do with me?”

But Tom doesn’t reply since we’ve already reached the table where the “distinguished owners of Delmar Bio Solutions” are seated—at least that’s what he announces as he stands behind me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders and shoving me toward them. “This is our girl, Noa Simon.”

“Pleased to meet you.” A handsome bearded man with short gray hair and a confident handshake grins at me, examining me with glimmering eyes. “Richard Harrington.”

The other one is clean-shaven, his full head of hair combed back, a big, fat man dressed in a white shirt—or, on second glance, pink—one button excessively undone, exposing a hint of his tanned chest. He looks at me and gives a polite smile, leans in heavily and shakes my hand—“Teddy Rosenfeld”—then leans back again.

Richard says that my movie was really something special, that he’s seen numerous wedding videos, but this one “had a different kind of flare.”

“So, you’re a filmmaker?” Richard inquires while Teddy lights a cigarette.

I take a seat, and Richard asks me what I’d like to drink, as though we’re at a restaurant rather than a wedding. He asks if I’ve ever made corporate films, then briefly tells me about Delmar and the work they require. I’m working on a daytime television show and I don’t have time for another job, but I hear him out and ask the right questions. I’m trying to understand what they’re offering, even as I doubt it matches up with my own aspirations. Richard is hearty and charming. Teddy’s no longer involved in the conversation, so much so that he faces the stage the way people do at the beach, pivoting to make sure their direction faces the coming sunset.

Richard, on the other hand, is still engaged. “To be honest, we’re already in talks with an agency. But you’ve got something going on, I can tell you that!”

“Thank you so much.”

“So not only can you make films—now we know you’re also charming!” I like Richard’s smile.

“As are you both! Well, mostly you. Teddy is obviously the less charming between the two of you.”

Teddy turns his head toward us at the sound of his name, looks directly at me and says, “What’s that?”

“About seventy percent less, give or take,” I add.

Richard bursts out laughing. “She’s razor-sharp this one. Had you figured out in no time.”

Teddy looks at me. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not as charming as Richard.”

“Richard is incredibly charming, not exactly fair competition.”

“True, you never stood a chance. Why’d you even sign up?”

Something changes in his expression. Maybe I pissed him off? I offer a mischievous smile. He gives me a weird look, but then finally turns to face me.

“Noa.” I remind him of my name, in case he’d forgotten it.

“I know,” he says quietly.

*

“So, how come you haven’t made your own film yet?” He was listening after all.

“Because I haven’t managed to write it yet.”

“Haven’t managed? What’s it about?”

“It’s not something I can explain in a minute.”

“How can you write something you can’t even pitch?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Do you know what you want? You need to know precisely what you want.”

“Absolutely disagree. If you know precisely what you want at the start, you will ruin the creative process.”

“I don’t know anything about the creative process.”

“I can tell.”

“You married?”

“No.”

This exchange is happening very swiftly and our eyes are locked throughout.

Richard hasn’t kept up with us. He tries to resume the lighthearted chat, gesturing to me: “All right, well, come by the office and we’ll have a chat, maybe we’ll manage to get something going.”

“Sure, I’ll give you a call and we’ll set a time,” I hear myself saying.

“Here you go.” Richard hands me his business card. Old school!

Tom’s mother then appears, draping her arms around Richard’s neck. “I see you’ve met our Noa. What a great movie! Totally brilliant! This is what I call talent!”

Richard beams with joy. “Yes, we’ve just met! And we’re trying to steal her away to make films for us at Delmar. What do you say about that?” Richard and Tom’s mother start talking, and I lean over the table, reaching for Teddy’s pack of cigarettes.

“Pass me one.” My hand doesn’t reach.

“For you, anything.”

I look at him and say in absolute seriousness, “Careful now.”

He hands me a cigarette and places his hand on his heart, smiling. I bring the cigarette to my mouth and place it between my lips with care. My heart’s pounding. We’ve hardly uttered a word, and I already feel like I’m going to pounce on this man and pull him over to me and I won’t loosen my grip, I won’t let go, until I swallow him whole, until there’s nothing left. In my mind’s eye, hyenas leap, their teeth tearing through the exposed flesh of a carcass. His eyes are still fixed on me, and the smile is still there. He tilts his head to the right, gesturing for me to come sit next to him. I get up, circle the table, and take a seat.

“Noa.” He says my name.

“Yes.” I grab his lighter and light my cigarette.

“The meeting’s over. You’re free to leave.”

“Then why did you call me over here?”

“What’s that?” He genuinely didn’t hear me, but he then adds, “To part company quietly.”

“I don’t feel like parting company just yet.”

“All right.” He allows me to remain by his side and glances around. “How are you finding the wedding so far?”

“I find it delightful and moving. And you?”

“I find it delightful and moving too,” he says dryly.

“Can’t wait to see how you look when you’re not delighted and moved.”

He looks at me and laughs. “You’re sweet. You are.” He retains his smile, displaying a disorganized set of teeth, canines slightly pointing inward, somewhat obscuring the other teeth. I find that mouth so beautiful.

“Well?” I’m impatient.

“Well what?”

“Well, what are you saying?”

“What am I saying?” He pauses and I tense up. “Don’t listen to Richard.”

“Richard said lots of things. Which part shouldn’t I listen to?”

“Don’t come to work for me.”

“Really? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“Then who’s going to make all your marine biotech blockbusters?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Okay.” I pull the ashtray closer. “What makes you say that?”

“Sorry?” He leans in a bit, to hear better.

“I’m asking why would you say that?”

“Why do you think?”

“Well, I guess you have something against me. Or for me.”

His eyes are on me. “That’s right.”

“You only met me three minutes ago.”

“Which was enough.”

“You’re despicable.”

“You have no idea.” He smiles.

One of the waiters interrupts our conversation but I’m stuck formulating my reply. By the time his eyes return to me, I’m quick to attack, my face close to his. “No, you have no idea. You have no idea who I am and how despicable I can be. Sitting here as if you’ve claimed ownership over being a dick.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash. “You should listen to me.”

“Don’t want to.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I want you to tell me what you have against me or for me.”

He smiles again. “I’m all for you.”

“So?”

“What?”

“Tell me what you want.”

He looks at me, his face lacking any and all emotion, and speaks quietly. “I told you what I want.”

“Then say it again, because I didn’t get it. Be explicit.”

“I want you to get up right now and get out of my sight because I’m dying to fuck you.”

Yes. There it is, that’s what I was after. “That’s more like it.”

My friends call me from afar to join them on the dance floor.

“It’s okay. Go on,” he says.

“Okay, I’m going, but I’ll be back,” I place my hand on his knee, crossing yet another border, passportless. “And Teddy, don’t you dare leave this wedding without telling me.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay.” He means it too.

“Good. See you.” He watches me as I walk away.