Dear George Clooney

by Susin Nielsen

  The set was incredible. It was supposed to be the inside of a high-tech spaceship, and if I didn’t look up to see all the lights hanging from the ceiling, and if I ignored the crew members who were setting up for the next scene, I could almost believe that I’d been abducted by aliens.

  Then I saw my dad, standing by the snack table. He was talking to a pretty redheaded woman. Judging by her outfit, a Star Trek-style clingy one-piece space suit, I guessed she was one of his actresses. His hand rested casually on her arm.

  I looked at Jennica. She, too, had spotted my dad.

  “If I were you?” I told her. “I’d visit Dad again sometime. But next time, I’d show up unannounced.”

  Jennica looked at me sharply and opened her mouth to say something. But she must have realized I’d only said it to be helpful because she didn’t say whatever she was going to say. Instead, she brushed her hand gently against my cheek. “Eyelash,” she said.

  And suddenly I felt a great wave of sympathy for her because, let’s face it, if Dad could cheat on his first wife, he could cheat on his second wife, too.

  “And … cut!” Dad shouted from his director’s chair behind the monitor. It was a fancy black canvas chair, with his name stitched on the back and a drink holder and everything. I sat behind him, also in a black canvas chair, but without the name or the cup holder. I wore a headset so I could hear the dialogue clearly. Jennica had disappeared to have a chat with the wardrobe lady, who’d worked on another show with her.

  It had been a mildly interesting couple of hours, even though it was very repetitive, watching the same scene over and over again as it got shot from different angles. Still, it was a good scene – “The one just before the spaceship crash-lands on a strange, hostile planet,” Ben told me – and I had to admit, I felt pretty proud of my dad. From what I could tell, he was good at what he did, and the cast and crew obviously liked him.

  At one point, though, a guy in a suit showed up and talked to Dad between setups, and that seemed to stress him out.

  “One of the producers,” Ben explained to me. “We’re shooting a lot of overtime, and that costs money, which means we’ve gone over budget, and your dad’s taking the heat for it.”

  Now, as I sat behind him, Dad consulted with his director of photography and the script supervisor. Then he told his first assistant director, “We’re moving on.”

  The first A.D. shouted out to everyone, “Moving on, folks! We’re blocking scene fifteen!”

  Dad stood up and turned to me. “I need to rehearse this scene with the actors before we break for lunch, honey. I thought Ben could show you around our outdoor sets in the meantime.”

  “Sure.”

  Ben took me outside and ushered me toward a golf cart that was parked nearby. “Hop in.”

  “Can’t we just walk?”

  “We could, but we’d never make it back in time for lunch.”

  Ben drove me past their outdoor sets, which were unbelievable. A huge spaceship wreck had been constructed near the studio. Beyond that were the remains of a destroyed, intergalactic city.

  But while it was all very impressive, I had other things on my mind. “Where’s Lot 9 from here?” I asked as casually as I could.

  “About five minutes thataway,” he said, pointing down the road.

  “How long would it take to get there on foot?”

  “Fifteen minutes, probably. How come?”

  “Just curious.”

  Ben brought me back just as the cast and crew broke for lunch. I wasn’t very hungry since I’d pigged out on the craft service snacks all morning. Dad and Jennica were sitting at a table, already eating.

  “Grab some food and join us, Violet,” Dad said. “The chicken’s fantastic.”

  “We’ll head home after lunch,” added Jennica.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Why? I want to stay longer.”

  “We can’t. Anna Maria has to leave by four today.”

  “So I’ll stay with Dad.”

  “No can do, hon,” he said. “I’m going to be here till at least midnight.”

  “So? I’m not a baby, I can stay up till then –”

  “Violet, the answer is no,” Dad said, suddenly sounding stressed. I saw why: The guy in the suit was in the doorway, motioning to my dad to join him.

  “Sorry, girls, I’ll be right back.” He got up and joined the guy in the suit, who waved his hands around a lot as he talked.

  I had to think fast. Dad would probably never let me visit him on set again while I was here. If I was going to try to meet George, it was now or never.

  I turned to Jennica. “Back in a moment. I need to pee.”

  I walked down the long corridor, passed the washrooms, and stepped outside. I pulled out the map to get my bearings. If Ben was right, it would take me fifteen minutes on foot to get to Lot 9 and fifteen minutes to get back. Plus I needed time to track down George and talk to him. I’d never get back before Dad’s hour-long lunch ended.

  Then my gaze landed on Ben’s golf cart.

  The keys were in the ignition.

  — 24 —

  It’s surprisingly easy to drive a golf cart, I thought, as I cruised down the Tantamount Studios roads. Thankfully there was hardly any traffic, so it didn’t matter if I veered around a little when I looked down to double-check the map. I was pretty sure I was going the right way until I saw Lot 1 and realized I’d somehow wound up on the other side of the studio property.

  I hadn’t figured out how to back up the golf cart, so I did a U-turn instead and headed back the way I’d come. I looked at my watch: I’d already wasted fifteen minutes. According to Ben, I could have walked to Lot 9 in that time. I gunned the engine, making it go at top speed, which, for the golf cart, was about twenty kilometers an hour.

  And then, like a beacon in the distance, I saw it. Lot 9! I sped down the road toward it, when suddenly, from out of nowhere, two live camels walked onto the road, right into my path.

  Live camels! I thought I was hallucinating. I swerved as hard as I could to the left – and almost careened into ten belly dancers, walking behind the camels. It was like being in a movie, but it wasn’t a movie, it was just stuff for a movie. I swerved as hard as I could to the right –

  And smashed into a very expensive-looking sports car parked near the entrance to Lot 9.

  The last thing I remembered was the golf cart tipping …

  Me, tumbling out of the golf cart …

  The sharp, searing sensation of my flesh, skidding across the asphalt …

  And the golf cart, landing on top of me.

  — 25 —

  I guess I must have passed out because the next thing I remembered, I was lying on a cot in a sterile white room. I could hear voices nearby.

  “This is the person who hit my car?” It was a deep, masculine voice.

  “Uh-huh.” A female voice. I opened my eyes. The female voice belonged to a woman in a white lab coat. I couldn’t see the owner of the male voice.

  “With a golf cart?”

  “Yup. A couple of extras in belly-dancing costumes saw it happen.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She’s got a twisted ankle and some nasty road burn, and we’ll have to watch for concussion, but other than that, she should be fine.”

  “Who is she? Where did she come from?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  I turned my head left and right, trying to find the owner of the male voice, but he wasn’t in my immediate line of vision. I tried lifting myself up, but my head felt like a bowling ball.

  “Her eyes are open, Doctor. Could I speak to her for a moment?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Suddenly a male face loomed over me. It was a very handsome face, even if it was a face that belonged to a man who was old enough to be my father. Correction: It was a very, very, very handsome face, with warm mischievous eyes and a killer smile.

  It was George Clooney.

>   “Hi, there.”

  “Hi.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore.”

  “The doctor says you’ll be fine.”

  I nodded.

  “You hit my car.”

  I winced. “That was your car?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m really sorry. I was trying to avoid the camels. And the belly dancers.”

  “Well, better my car than the camels or the belly dancers. But if you don’t mind my saying so, you look a little young to be driving.”

  “I’ll be old enough soon.”

  “How soon?”

  I hesitated. “Three and a quarter years?”

  “Hmm. So, let me ask you this: What on earth were you doing, driving one of the studio golf carts?”

  “I was coming to visit you.”

  “You were, were you.”

  “I wrote you a letter. Two, in fact. You haven’t responded yet. I sent them to your manager’s address.”

  “And what did these letters say?”

  “I asked if you’d like to meet my mom.”

  “Your mom?”

  “You met her once before, years ago. Ingrid Gustafson?”

  He looked at me blankly.

  “You wrote on the picture you gave her that you hoped your paths would cross again. I was trying to make that happen.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I thought she’d be the type of woman who might change your mind about marriage.”

  George thought about this for a moment. “I take it your dad isn’t in the picture.”

  “Oh, he’s in the picture. Just not with my mom. He’s directing a pilot on Lot 18. He’s remarried.”

  “Did your mom put you up to this?”

  “No, no. She doesn’t know I wrote the letters. She thinks she’s perfectly happy dating this man named Dudley Wiener.”

  “Wiener. Unfortunate name.”

  “Yes.”

  “But maybe she is. Happy, I mean.”

  “No. She’s delusional.”

  “Really.”

  “Really. He’s not good enough for her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. He’s bland. And balding. And he’s a punster. And he’s got man-boobs.”

  “Man-boobs, huh? Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, those don’t sound like very good reasons. Those sound like, um, superficial reasons.”

  “It’s more than that. He’s not …” I struggled to put it into words. “He’s not …”

  “He’s not your dad?”

  I nodded, and suddenly my eyes welled up with tears. I was crying, right there in front of George Clooney, big fat tears rolling down my face. “I mean, I know my dad was a jerk in the end, leaving my mom for Wife Number Two and all … but when he was really our dad, he was great, you know? Dudley is so …”

  “Not your dad.”

  “Not even close.” I sniffed back a large snot-ball that had formed in my left nostril.

  George handed me a Kleenex and patted my hand.

  “See? You’re handsome and smart and kind. You’d be perfect for her.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It sounds to me like your mom deserves someone who’d be there for her, always. I’m not that guy.”

  “Maybe you are that guy, and you just haven’t met the right woman.”

  “It’s possible. But I doubt it. A man tends to know himself pretty well when he reaches almost half a century.”

  “Wow. You’re old.”

  He smiled. “Ancient.” He picked up my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Can I tell you something? No one is ever going to be able to replace your dad. Not even me.”

  I nodded, and my head felt like it might explode.

  “But let me ask you this. Does this Wiener guy make your mom happy?”

  “It would seem so, yes.”

  “So maybe you need to give him a chance.”

  A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I suddenly felt like I could sleep forever.

  “What’s your name?” asked George.

  “Violet. Violet Gustafson.” And then, just like that, with the biggest movie star of all time standing over my bed, I fell back into a deep sleep.

  — 26 —

  When I woke up again, it was pitch-dark, and Jennica was shaking me awake. It took me a full minute to realize I was in my bed at Dad and Jennica’s and that Rosie was sound asleep in the bed beside me.

  “What are you doing?” I mumbled to Jennica, my voice thick with sleep. I could feel pain pulsing down the right side of my body.

  “I have to wake you up once an hour and check your pupils to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Still at work.” I glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:00 a.m. “They shut down production for a couple of hours when he found out you were in the Tantamount infirmary…. Once we all realized you’d be okay, he had to rush back and play catch-up.”

  I thought about the guy in the suit who was already giving my dad grief and groaned. “Dad’s gonna be furious.”

  Jennica squeezed my hand, but she didn’t contradict me. “We’ll talk about all of this in the morning. In the meantime, I’m just glad you’re okay.” She stood up and walked to the door. “See you in an hour.”

  “Jennica?” I said.

  She turned back.

  “Thanks.”

  She gave me a small, tired smile before she walked away.

  “George Clooney’s car!” Dad was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee.

  Jennica and I were still in our pajamas. She had dark circles under her eyes, thanks to her once-an-hour vigil over yours truly the night before. I had a single crutch to help me move around on my twisted ankle. The right side of my body – leg, hip, and arm – was raw and red and starting to form scabs.

  “You hit George Clooney’s car! With a studio golf cart! That you stole! And you’re twelve!”

  “Almost thirteen. And I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it –”

  “George Clooney’s car!” This particular piece of information was clearly the worst part of it for Dad. “He must be furious.”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

  “I spoke with him. In the infirmary.”

  My dad rubbed his temples. “Violet, don’t be ridiculous. George was shooting all day, he couldn’t have visited you in the infirmary.”

  “But he did. Just ask the doctor. She was there.”

  Jennica said gently, “The doctor wasn’t a she, Violet. His name was Bernard.”

  Now I felt confused. “But I did talk to him –”

  “You’d hit your head. You were hallucinating,” my dad said.

  “If I was hallucinating, how come I already knew I’d hit his car?”

  “Because the parking spot had RESERVED FOR GEORGE CLOONEY painted on the curbstone in enormous letters. You must have seen it while you were lying there on the pavement….” His voice broke. “Violet, you could have killed yourself. You had us worried half to death.”

  Then he grabbed me and hugged me tightly for a few seconds before letting me go. “Dammit, why can’t we ever have a normal visit with you?” He gave Jennica a quick kiss on the crown of her head. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Call time’s not for two hours, but I have to revise my storyboard, try to make up for lost time.” He shot me a look as he said this.

  As he headed out of the room, he shouted over his shoulder, “And call your mother!”

  Jennica and I were left alone in the kitchen. We could hear Rosie and the twins, playing happily in the family room. Jennica handed me a pill, something the doctor had given me for the pain. I drank it down with some apple juice.

  “Do you really think you saw George Clooney?” she asked.

  “Yes. At least, I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”<
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  “Is he as good-looking in real life as he is in his movies?”

  “Better.”

  Jennica smiled, and the smile turned into a yawn.

  “Why don’t you go back to bed?” I said.

  “I can’t. It’s Anna Maria’s day off.”

  “I can watch Rosie and the twins,” I told her.

  She looked at me, and I knew she was trying to decide whether or not she could trust me.

  “Just for an hour. And I won’t take them outside. We’ll stay in the family room.” Then I said what she really wanted to hear. “I won’t do anything mean. I promise.”

  She studied my face for a moment. “Okay. Thanks, Violet, I appreciate it.” Then she handed me the portable phone. “But first, call your mother.”

  “Violet, is everything okay?” my mom asked, when I got through to her on her cell phone. She was at work, and I could hear voices in the background.

  “Everything’s great, Mom. Me and Rosie are fine.” I paused. “But I did have a bit of an accident yesterday.”

  There was silence for a moment. “An accident?”

  “I’m fine. I just have a twisted ankle. And I’m pretty scraped up. And they thought I might have a concussion, but I don’t.”

  “What happened?” There was a hint of hysteria in her voice.

  “Um … I kind of fell out of a golf cart. And it kind of landed on top of me.”

  “What?”

  “But, you know, it’s a pretty long story, and you’re at work and all, so it can wait till I get home –”

  “No. No, it can’t wait till you get home. Karen, take over for me, will you?”

  A moment later, the background noise died down, and I knew she’d stepped into the hall. “Okay, Violet. Tell me everything.”

  So I did.

  — 27 —

  “Rosie, stop squirming.”

  “The tag is itchy!”

  “Fine, I’ll find someone with scissors.”