"You're avoiding me!"
The hotel room door isn't even closed before Sandra gets straight to the point. The tequila has her feeling warm and brave.
Keanu carefully pulls the chair out from the corner and places it directly in front of her. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together in a prayer pose.
"Why the hell are you avoiding me?!?" she repeats, dripping with ire.
"I'm not!" I'm not, he tries to convince himself.
"You made it clear you won't hang out if I'm there," she starts, hurling her accusations like stones.
"I never said that, Sandy!"
"Really!" she scoffs, "then why didn't you come out tonight?"
I wanted to, his inner voice screams. "I just had...other plans," his voice is barely audible, but it sets off a bomb in Sandra.
"Plans?? You had other plans?!?!? Okay, what were your plans, Keanu? What big event did you have going on? You're sitting alone in the hotel room. Again. You're always alone. Do you think you're better than the rest of us or something?"
"What?! God, no! Why would you say such a thing."
"If the shoe fits," she pushes on.
"Have you ever thought about how Nathan might feel about all this?!?" he explodes.
"About what? Colleagues grabbing a beer after work?"
He stares at her incredulously.
"We're friends. He has friends, too. So what?!?"
"Sandra..."
"No! Don't be so full of yourself to think that he sees you as some kind of threat, Keanu! I assure you he doesn't give you a second thought, and, and neither do I!"
Keanu leans back in his chair, strokes his chin and says nothing.
Sandra sprang to her feet and hid behind her hands, spinning in a slow circle. "Ughhhh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, I don't know what's got into me."
"It's fine."
His slumped shoulders tell a different story, but that is all she's going to get out of him.
She grabs her jacket and purse off of his bed. "I should go..."
"Sandy, wait." Keanu is on his feet, moving toward her, arm outstretched.
"What?"
He's standing in front of her now, hand on her shoulder, seemingly mute.
"What?" She's irritated.
He drops his hand down to his side, rubbing his thumb back and forth against his fingers. "You're in no shape to drive. Let me, let me take you home."
She frowns and shrugs. "Whatever. I don't have my car here, anyway."
He throws a long-sleeved tee over his head, pulls on a navy beanie and grabs his keys.
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The first ten minutes of the drive are silent.
Sandra is leaning against the passenger side door, her fist against her cheek and her vision fixed forward.
Keanu's left hand is gripping the steering wheel, his right hand tapping the stick. Every few minutes, he looks over to see her position is unmoved.
Say something. "I'm not avoiding you. Really," he says sincerely, "I just want you to know that."
"Then what's going on?" her voice is monotone.
He sighs. "I'm just, really trying to focus. Stay in character. Just do my best work."
"Bullshit," for the first time she looks in his direction, head still on her hand.
He does a second take, surprised at her brazen call. "I just...think that, it's important to have some separation, you know?"
"Separation?" She is fully engaged now, leaning forward, facing him.
Realizing how this sounds, he backtracks. "Not separation from you. Just from, everyone."
"You're that much of a loner? I don't get it—"
"Well guess what?!?" he slams his hand on the stick shift and whips his head toward her. "You don't have to get it, Sandra."
Her lips twitch. She's never heard him raise his voice before.
"Look, I just do my best if I stay focused," his voice is soft again. "I can't get too involved. It's not personal."
She rolls her eyes.
"It's too easy to get lost when you're filming for days on end, you know that. And then all the sudden it's just over, and people move on with their lives. There's no good reason to...to mix the personal stuff...with...the work stuff." He tries hard to choose his words carefully, but is flummoxed by how hard it is with her.
"Why? What's the big deal?" she argues.
"What's the point?" he quickly shot back.
All the times he moved growing up, all the different cities, the different stepdads, none of it lasts, anyway. He learned long ago about impermanency.
"What's the point?" she repeats back, "Uh, I dunno, maybe to live your life? To connect! To have fun with people. To enjoy work, what do you mean what's the point?"
He is silent.
"Whatever!" she growls.
He shakes his head and bites his lip as if that will hold his words in. He turns down her street and pulls into her driveway, putting his Porsche into park. One hand still on the steering wheel, he angles his body toward her, now, elbow up onto the headrest.
She knows she should stop but she can't leave it alone. "What's the worst that can happen?"
Where do I start? he wants to say, but remains silent.
Her lips press hard together as she nods her head. "Good talk, thanks."
He cautiously opens his door, unsure where to take the conversation.
Seeing him signal his exit, her forehead is heavy and her chest is on fire, lit by anger, frustration, embarrassment and...she's too hot to analyze any further. She throws the passenger door open and runs up to her front door before he has a chance to make it around the car to walk with her.
He stands there, watching as she flings her front door open and slams it shut without another word. He pounds his palm down hard on the hood of his car and holds it there against the heat of the engine until it starts to sting. With nothing left to say or do, he gets into his car and drives back to the hotel.
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Gesine is loading the dishwasher when Sandra slams the door shut. She stands there quietly, watching in a bit of a state of shock as Sandra throws her purse and keys on the table again. Sandra is not an erratic person. She is the Switzerland of emotions: completely neutral in almost every circumstance. Yet here she was, several days in a row, storming through their house as though she were about to commit self-immolation and burn the whole thing down. She doesn't even greet her sister, she just runs up the stairs and slams her bedroom door shut.
"Ugh!!!" she shouts as she throws herself back on her bed, continuing to mumble under her breath. Unsettled, she flops over onto her stomach with a big sigh, arms folded under her head, which is buried into the sheets.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Her wall clock marks the time passed. Restless, she pops up into a criss-cross sitting position and grabs her phone. Pulling Nathan's number up, she dials.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
A groggy voice answer, "Mmh, hello?"
"Hey you!" her voice is husky with sadness that she tries to cover up. "Whatcha doing?"
A long pause and then, "Sandy?"
Sandra forces a laugh, "Of course it is, dummy. Who else would it be?" she's smiling, but her eyes are shiny. It zaps every ounce of energy trying to make her voice sound happy. She shades her eyes with her hand as her head droops down.
"Do you know what time it is Sandy? Why are you calling this late?"
"I just missed you is all."
He sighs in annoyance. "You know I've got an early call time."
"I know, I know. Listen, you remember that night at the Grand Canyon? When we were camping and..."
Another sigh. "Yeah, Sandy, I remember. I gotta get back to sleep or I'm gonna have bags under my eyes tomorrow."
"Yeah. Okay. Sure. Sorry."
"S'alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow okay?"
"Okay. Oh Nathan, I—"
There's a dial tone on the other end of the phone as she realizes he's already hung up.
"—love you," she finishes. Hanging up the phone, her hand remains on the receiver as she replays the entire night. Turning back to her bed, she again buries her face before falling asleep in her clothes.
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Back at the Chateau Marmont, Keanu throws his keys on the table and collapses in the chair, fingers tapping on his leg. He reaches across the table for his notebook and pencil and opens it up. He holds the pencil to the paper and doesn't move. His fingers cramp with his grip until the pencil tip snaps on the paper. He throws the pencil across the room and pushes out from the table. Falling onto his bed like a tree that's just been cut, he tries in vain to fall asleep. Nice work, Keanu.