eyebrows and he responded to my unspoken question, "Reading scripts."
"I don't want to interrupt."
"I invited you, didn't I?"
He smiled at me with an expression that told me I was being an idiot.
I smiled back, acknowledging his look and feeling like an idiot. I pointed at the stack of manuscripts piled next to his chair, and asked, "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
He replied, "As a matter of fact, I am. I'm looking for a comedy."
I made a face, "Isn't that a little out of the ordinary for you?"
"It is very out of the ordinary for me. I've been playing psycho killers for years. If I don't break out of that mold soon, I'll be type cast forever. Besides, the picture I just finished was so intense it almost did me in. I need to move in a different direction both for the sake of my career and my sanity. I don't usually have to ask this, but are you by chance a fan?"
"I am not sure exactly how to answer that. I have seen a couple of your movies, and I've really loved your performances even though - I have to be honest - I didn't necessarily like the movies." I paused and added, "You know, I think I'd love to see you in a romantic comedy. Something kind of Cary Grant-esque."
He tossed the script onto a pile, stood up and took my hand, "That's exactly what I'm looking for."
We walked through the house which was, as I expected, modern but ancient, or vice versa. Even my untrained eye recognized that the paintings on the wall were masterpieces. His house was like an art museum. I would love to have lingered and looked more closely at them, but Luke was ready to go. As he led me out to the driveway, he asked, "What kinds of movies do you like to go to?"
I answered truthfully, "I tend to wait until movies come on TV. My budget doesn't often allow for entertainment money. When I do have extra cash, most of the time I choose to go to a musical concert or, maybe, a live play."
I hesitated, not knowing what to say in response to the actual question about what kind of movies I liked. I laughed when I noticed the Aston Martin parked in the driveway. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I slid into the passenger's seat and waited until he got behind the wheel. I continued, "But, I make an exception for James Bond movies."
"What?!"
"You heard me. I know it is crazy, but I love Bond movies."
He leaned his head back against the head rest and laughed out loud for a long time, "If you only knew how much money and effort I spent trying to get the Bond role.'
I said, "But you're American. Could you do the accent?"
He nodded and replied, with a perfectly clipped upper crust British accent, "Absolutely, I could. I worked with voice coaches for months in order to learn the accent. They passed me over for that damnable Welshman."
I looked out the window and tried, totally without success, to stifle a giggle.
"Go ahead and say it."
"You mean go ahead and tell you that I'm a huge fan of Sean Connery? Yes. I am. Some women will tell you they don't like the Bond movies because they are sexist. I suppose they are, but I love the exotic locations and the gorgeous women who make the perfect backdrop for the Welshman, as you call him. Bond shows up in a white dinner jacket and two things happen. First, all heck breaks loose and there is stuff blowing up and all kinds of amazing action and unbelievably cool special effects, all of which is too much fun for words. Then, when that is all over, Bond beds down with a beautiful woman against some kind of scenic backdrop. It's totally escapist and fun. What's not to love about that?"
I paused and added, lamely, "But then again, maybe I just don't get out enough."
He backed out of the driveway and muttered, "I may not have got the role, but I've got the car. What do you think?"
I giggled and said, "You're not going to like it."
"Tell me anyway."
"It's a gorgeous car, but it's damned uncomfortable."
He laughed again with his head back and his mouth open. I started sweating again. The man was so unbelievably ... um .... I think the current word is 'hot'.
We arrived in town in only a few moments. He parked in front of the boulangerie. We went inside and he introduced me to the baker and his staff. I was surprised that this American movie star knew everyone in the tiny shop by name. He asked after spouses and children by name as well.
We moved on to the wine shop. He ordered several bottles of fine wine and a selection of beers. Again, he introduced me to each of the employees, by name. Next we moved on to the post office where he introduced me to the post-master. He picked up some mail, and we went to the pattisserie where we stopped for coffee and pastries. I took one bite of the almond tarte and tears sprang to my eyes. They were exactly like my mother made them. I told the owner as much. Tears came to her eyes as well and she pressed another bite-sized tarte on me. I didn't say no.
When we had finished with the shops in town, we headed for Luke's car. I noticed he was empty-handed. I asked him what happened to all the things he purchased. He shrugged and said the various merchants would deliver the stuff he ordered. We got into the car and he backed out of the parking space. Instead of heading down the hill towards his villa, he turned in the other direction. In response to my sort of curious look, he made a face that said, "Just you wait."
We soon arrived at what was obviously an ancient ruin. Luke told me it was Roman. I had no reason to disbelieve him although it could have been anything from prehistoric to medieval for all I knew about history and architecture.
We wandered around what appeared to be some kind of fortress. He gave me a running commentary about the history of the area, the architecture of the fortress and even a little about the geography of southern France. Frankly, I didn't care very much about the history of the place, being much to distracted by the unspeakable beauty of it. I tried to pretend to listen politely because the lecture he was giving me obviously meant a lot to him. I was struck by the contrast between the image of Luke Payne, the movie bad guy/Hollywood playboy, and the man I was with, a man who was clearly very well versed in French history and culture, at least as far as this little corner of France was concerned. He also spoke flawlessly colloquial French. I asked him about that.
He sat down on a bench that overlooked the village below and the hills and fields of Provence beyond, and pulled me down beside him. Once I was seated, he let go of my hand. It was all I could do not to reach out and grab his hand again. I restrained myself and we sat, rather primly, next to each other while he explained, "My parents grew up in this community. I was actually born here. My dad sold our family home when we moved to America, but it was still here until it burned down a few years ago. I am so glad I wasn't here when that happened ...." He trailed off and was quiet for a little while.
Then he continued, "My dad was a mechanic in the movie business. He could fix or build about anything, whether it be a busted camera or some kind of technical prop needed for special effects. He moved to America in 1938 to work on the movie version of Gone With The Wind. My mother was a wardrobe mistress on that movie. I was actually present the day they shot the scene in the railroad yard. My dad sneaked me onto the set and told me to keep my mouth shut and watch movie history in the making. I watched, and knew that he was right.
"I think that was the day I decided to work in the movie business.
"I was about ten when we moved to America. I became an American kid almost immediately. My parents spoke only French at home, at first because they spoke only French, period. After we all learned English they refused to speak to me in English at home, nor would they answer me or even acknowledge that I was speaking to them if I did not speak in French. They lectured me endlessly about the culture, beauty and history of Provence, and Gordes in particular. I used to get irritated with them because of that, but some of it percolated through my thick skull and my American ways, I guess. They may have moved to America to make their living, but their hearts remained in France.
"About five years ago I came to the Cannes Film F
estival for the first time because a film I had worked on was a nominee. While I was there, I met a woman who owned a villa in Gordes and I sort of manipulated her into inviting me to her house. I never told her that I was from here or that my parents were ordinary working people, because she was some sort of minor European aristocrat and I was afraid her blue-blooded snobbery would cause her to rescind her invitation. Having maneuvered her into offering it, I accepted the invitation. I think she thought we would have an affair. To be honest, that was exactly what I think we both had in mind when we left Cannes. At least that was what I had in mind until I saw the house and the town.
"Within a couple of hours of our arrival, I asked her what she wanted for the villa. We haggled most of the day. She was much older than me and she had lung cancer, although she did not share that fact with me at the time. We agreed on a price for the house and we also agreed that she could stay in it free whenever I was not using it for the rest of her life. Her life turned out to last only another four years. We never got around to having an affair exactly. We skipped right over that and became good friends.
"The thing we shared most was a love of this town and that fabulous villa. At the time, the house needed a whole lot of work, which she didn't have the money to undertake. I had plenty of money, so I financed the project and she made it happen.