Applehead Fever

9 - connections by monkey

A quick yawn escaped my mouth. I resisted the urge to lift my hand and rub my eye; it would smear my makeup.

The time was 10:27, and although it was earlier than last time, we still had one more scene to shoot before the day was over.

Vince stood in front of me and Michael, explaining in great detail what we were to do. Joe—who had been on Vince's tail all day—towered right beside him and frequently interrupted him to correct the choreographer, molding it to fit his own vision. I could see Vince's irritation flaring up at this, but not once did he express it outwardly. Every time Joe interrupted, he clamped his jaws shut and stared at a fixed point behind us, most likely trying to gather himself to speak again.

It seemed Joe and Vince were caught in a feud. Joe even extended part of his controlling tendency to me and demanded we reshoot the scene when I swept my hand out in a flourishing gesture, like Vince suggested, instead of just plainly sauntering down the sidewalk, as Joe wanted.

I didn't say anything either, just adjusted myself and did what I was told. I blamed the cranky atmosphere on the late hour; people were just trying to go home and sleep.

Six retakes later; we still hadn't satisfied Joe. David Banks, the writer Craig introduced to me yesterday suggested a break and thankfully Joe obliged.

This gave me a chance to spark up the conversation with Michael. I skipped over to him, my eyes brightening and energy restored.

When he saw me approached he turned, his hands up at his face to fuss with his slightly messy curls.

"Hey, Michael," I smiled causally, intertwining my fingers together behind my back. "How are you feeling?"

He shot a quick glance at Joe, assuming I meant the amount of times we had to redo one scene and Joe's dissatisfaction with each one. "Kind of tired. But I want this to be perfect, so it's okay."

Perfectionist.

But I couldn't argue with that. It was admirable anyway. I too, wanted it to be perfect, but in no way was it going to be if the director continued to have a negative attitude about it.

I shrugged it off, not wanting to rub anyone the wrong way with my opinion. "Yeah, I don't mind it so much." A silly grin started to take over my face as I switched subjects. "But someone told me you have a pet chimpanzee named Bubbles..."

Immediately a wide grin formed on Michael's face, his pearly whites revealed. "Oh, Bubbles? Yes, he's amazing. We had a party for him for his fourth birthday in April."

April, huh? It looked like I already shared something in common with his unusual friend.

My eyes stretched wide. "Really? That's so cute! Did he like it?"

"Yeah! He loved it. He made a mess with the cake and had so much energy." Michael replied, his body pivoted to fully face me and he gestured with his arms as though reenacting the event.

I giggled, leaning closer. "I love animals. I wish I had a pet chimpanzee; they're so smart. When did you get him?"

"The last month of 1983. I think he was eight months old. Very little and cute."

"Wow," I breathed, completely enamored by Bubbles's history. "You've had him for that long?"

Michael went on to share cute and entertaining stories of Bubbles; me listening intently. He had this look in his eyes when he talked about Bubbles, like he was talking about the most famous person on planet earth. I was so amazed by the connection between owner and pet; I asked so many questions Michael never ran out of things to say about the chimpanzee. It was the best conversation I'd had with him so far. I was able to meet his eyes nearly the entire time. Growing to like the depth in them and how his pupils dilated as we continued to talk. We were both engaged in it, finding a few things we had in common along the way.