The Lonely Hearts Bar. Конни Гранма

I remembered one of them extremely well: he wore a white hat, a white T-shirt and shorts, and he had dark and lonely gaze. I was dying to make a face so he’d smile. And he did, just not from my expressions, but from the music in his ear buds, or maybe a memory.

      Another memory. One time, sitting on a bench, my gaze fell on a young man in shabby clothes who was filling holes in a wall with cement. I suddenly pictured him as a futuristic builder in space, saving the Universe from an attack of black holes. He stopped for a second, leaned on the wall and began looking at all of the cars parked in that wealthy neighborhood. I mentally wished that one day he’d get a Bugatti Veyron.

      Wonder what they’re up to now…

      I abruptly snapped out of my thoughts when I smelled my pizza, which the waiter was bringing over. Pizza… it felt like it had been forever since the last one!

      I often spent my nights on the balcony, gazing at the lights of Los Angeles. Music played softly.

      «I love You. I believe in You. Thank You. Amen.»

      On one of those lonely nights, I decided on a whim to go to the grocery story. I glanced at myself in the mirror and convinced myself that pajamas and the tufts of hair sticking out of the bun on my head weren’t all that visible at night. As it turned out, I also forgot to put on shoes: I drove off in blue house slippers.

      Now I just had to locate a 24-hour grocery store. Found it. Let’s get: yogurt, muesli, apples, fresh mint, a lemon, my favorite broccoli, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, asparagus, arugula, mozzarella, and salad dressings. And another cheese, my absolute favorite – which is surprising, given that I suffer from trypophobia – mouse cheese. Well, that’s what I call it, because of all the big holes in it.

      As it turned out, the idea that not many people would get it into their head to buy groceries at this hour… was false. I walked up to the cash register and froze: in front of me stood five people in nearly identical plaid pajamas. My only distinctive feature was the snazzy blue slippers that kept falling off my feet.

      A young man walked up to the cash register. I assumed he was one more weirdo till I realized that he wasn’t wearing pajamas. I could sense him looking at me, so I turned around and, I guess, stared coldly into his unbelievably blue eyes. A good-natured smile spread across his face.

      Having paid, I rolled my cart to the car. A beautiful BMW sport bike was parked beside it. The blue-eyed young man came out just after I did.

      «Excuse me!»

      I looked around.

      «You, uh…» his smile wavered only slightly, «didn’t happen to see any keys on a Jack Daniels keychain, did you?»

      I was surprised by the question.

      «No, I didn’t.» I unlocked the car and quickly tossed the bags inside.

      «Alright then. Sorry. Oh and – nice slippers!»

      My gaze met the stranger’s:

      «Same color as your eyes.»

      He laughed charismatically and went back into the store. I got into my car and immediately hit the road. There really was something sketchy about him…

      The next day, I swung by college just to get some books from my locker.

      «Connie!» Mr. BB called from the entrance.

      «Hello, Mr. Bern.»

      «Isn’t today your day off?»

      «I came by to get my stuff.»

      Mr. BB took the first pages of my screenplay from my hands.

      «It’s not ready yet,» I said.

      He rapidly skimmed the first two pages and gave them back to me.

      «Do you think I liked it?» he asked, and smiled. «Think hard and tell me.»

      «To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about whether you liked it or not.»

      «Hmmm. Can’t quite figure you out, Mystery Woman. What are you looking for in the filmmaking profession?»

      «Definitely not disappointment.»

      «Well, it’ll come. Without a doubt. Especially when it hits you that many people get Oscars for pure crap, while your screenplay gets torn apart in online forums by trolls whose opinions you don’t give a rat’s ass about. Whose opinion will be more important to you then?»

      «People who believe in me.»

      «In you, or in your screenplay?»

      «Mr. Bern, is there something you don’t like about my screenplay?»

      He laughed in an approving, fatherly way and said:

      «Don’t ever let yourself doubt your screenplays. They’re a huge part of your heart, and it knows best.»

      I sighed deeply: something about our conversation had irritated me. We left the university together. Our cars were the only ones in the parking lot.

      «So you’re a fan of classic American cars!» Mr. BB remarked.

      «I certainly am.»

      «Is it back to Neverland after college?» he asked, spotting a Peter Pan sticker on my car door.

      «Most likely the opposite, sir.»

      Mr. BB, whistling a tune or two, got into his car and drove away with a wave. I heard my name being called, so I turned and made out David and Lee heading towards me at a fast pace.

      «Hey Connie!» they called out simultaneously.

      «Hi guys. How are you?»

      «Fucking awful, thanks for asking!» David said cheerfully.

      «David, could you stop?»

      «Are classes already over?» David asked.

      «I had the day off.»

      «Listen, we were thinking about doing a movie night. Basically, there’s gonna be popcorn and coke. Wanna join?» Lee asked.

      «Sounds good. I was thinking of stopping by somewhere for lunch. You down?»

      They looked at one another:

      «Good plan!» they blurted out in unison.

      «She’s adorable. I literally can’t even,» Lee said admiringly, «so where are we headed?»

      «You’re a dick,» David observed.

      «Just trust me, Lee.»

      Well, I’m pretty sure you guessed where I decided to take them: «Caioti Pizza Cafe.» I ordered the same pizza as last time and a refreshing pitcher of lemonade.

      «Goddamn. This is unbelievable!» David burst out.

      I had a taste of the lemonade and glanced at him: he was clumsily snatching strings of melted cheese with his teeth, having lifted a piece of pizza over his chin, and then looked over and smiled. It was the grin of a teenage boy dying for the weekend, when his parents will let him eat a pizza and drink something sweet and probably terrible for him. It was like watching moments from his childhood play out before my eyes: the good ones abruptly becoming cold and full of pain…

      «David, what’s your dream?»

      «Like in life?» He wiped his mouth with a napkin. «Hmmm… My dream is to hit my head and get amnesia. That would be ideal. To get a second chance, do everything differently.»

      Lee sighed disapprovingly.

      «What about you, Lee?»

      «To go home.»

      «Where’s that?»

      «Look at my eyes. Gimme your best guess: where do people eat everything that moves?»

      «God Lee. Stop it, would you?» David winced. «What about you, Connie? What do you dream about?»

      Lee poured lemonade for everyone.

      «Me?» I thought for a moment, «this is gonna sound lame, but I don’t know if I can answer that. Maybe I’m just trying