Jeff Goldblum kisses my hand and tells me he is loquacious and verbose. But he hasn’t said all that much to me yet so I’m wondering if this is some kind of warning, a glimpse into his coming attractions. He’s confident and relaxed with bushy, yet well maintained, eyebrows. I try not to stare too long at his eyebrows. But I do imagine braiding them by the fire in his big house on the hill, in the not too distant future.

I’m seated on the red sofa, backstage in the too brightly lit greenroom when Jeff throws his jacket at me.

He threw it much harder than necessary. Was he trying it impress me with his strength? When I caught it, he smiled that border line creepy mischivious smile of his and I felt envious.

I envy his maverick essentricities

his expression factory,

his oiled sport,

his ocean of cray.

I’m wearing a strapless, rainbow colored Betsey Johnson dress so the top button of the jacket stung when it hit my exposed upper chest. I can feel the burn and I wonder if it’ll leave a mark. Will I be forever branded by this moment? This camel colored suede jacket is probably one of a kind. I wonder why I’m still holding it. I wonder why he thew it at me in the first place. Why is there a lone sunglass lens at my feet? Who left it here? What happened to the rest of it? Did a soap star get into fisticuffs with the AD? Doesn’t anyone clean up this place?

It’s too hot in this room and the walls too bare. I think I would prefer this green room, if it were actually green

like a forrest,

like a succulent,

like nobody’s favorite M&M.

The suede feels warm and smooth against my chest.

It wraps me in its textured talent and whimsical wealth.

It smells like easy street and I’ll bet it tastes like five michelin stars, at least.

I want to bite into it and chew on its good fortune and swallow its privilege.

This jacket is artsy and weird, just like its owner.

“Life finds a way,” Jeff tells me for no apparent reason. I know I’ve heard that line before, I think from a movie. So, a screenwriter wrote it. it wasn’t intended for my ears only but I don’t care. I can’t remember what movie it’s from and besides, Jeff gave the sentence to me just now. I found it floating in the air on the way to my ears so the sentence is now mine. Finders keepers. Maybe it’ll make sense later - when i’m braiding his eyebrows by the fire.

i wrote this for you

Posts tagged with memoir

Jeff Goldblum’s Jacket