Jodie stood rooted to the spot, looking at her own reflection. Then she looked down. She was flooded with relief, for sure, but more than that she suddenly felt with it a vast, expansive calmness. It struck the higher note of the two entwined feelings that were in her and seemed to her the more significant of them. As she listened to it, she began to feel it was an affirmation, from something larger than herself which she could not name but which she was sure was there and was separate from herself, though perhaps not entirely. The affirmation flooded her soul with a unique and unprecedented feeling of bliss, far in excess of anything that could be expressed by the word relief. She gasped. But also listened.
She felt, whatever this thing was, it was talking to her and she obeyed its gentle instruction, though without fear.
Keep still. I’m talking to you, it seemed to say, though gently. Enjoy this.
She remained absolutely motionless.
What is it? she thought, or rather, asked.
There was no answer, but the calm feeling itself and the sense of a presence. No noise at all came from beyond the restroom door. The last sound of any significance, worthy of notice, potentially dangerous, had been the girl’s first few receding footsteps in her high heels on the soft lobby carpet. That sound had vanished. Quiet reigned, other than some traffic noise of no consequence, gently washing through the window of the stall the girl had smoked her cigarette in. Then she noticed there was no fear in her now, none at all. Is that what I am meant to enjoy? She let herself smile, then. Then she smiled more broadly, at the fact that she was smiling. Then she laughed slightly. She nodded down at that sink, as if she’d got it. Yes, she’d got it. She nodded.
I’m OK, came the thought. And she felt…wonderful.
The relief and the wonderful calmness continued to grow inside of her. But something else was coming. Information?
What is it? she asked herself, or something else, again, without moving a muscle, gazing into the sink.
Feelings were not just one of the essential materials of her craft; she knew that also they were their own truth. They made all the difference in life. They were part of one’s compass on the journey before her. Her compass, she knew, was a very, very good one. No, it is exceptional, she thought, correcting herself. That is not foolish pride; that is truth.
She knew, it was part of what made her stand out at her job; it was part of what gave her that wisdom beyond her years; that edge of precocity over most other young actors. Built into that compass was this strange knack for listening, for a particular kind of truth. She never bragged or boasted about it, but she knew she had it, this advantage in her, that was difficult to name, partly just hers, partly, she thought, her upbringing. It was possibly going to win her an award or two in London; the other, in fact, principal reason both the stars were there.
As she continued, waiting and listening, she remembered she was smart too. That was also part of that compass. It was as if, impossibly, yes impossibly, she thought, smiling again and shaking her head in disbelief, in the last few minutes, she had forgotten this pleasurable, enjoyable, fortunate truth about herself. She was very, very smart in fact: a straight ‘A’ student at her school, she reminded herself, which she enjoyed (unlike so many other children in the world, who hated school or indeed, could not go). She was also virtually bilingual in French although she was only thirteen. She felt, suddenly, all this meant something. Her exceptional talent, her gifts, her good fortune meant something. She paused.
What?
Your destiny, came her own reply.
And there it was. The miraculous escape: her destiny. She felt her destiny had been made clear to her. The thing she feared most would never destroy her. She felt something had just told her that, unequivocally, clear as a bell.
The happy convergence of good fortune and talent was going to make her life special in a way that happened to almost no other girl anywhere in the world. She was going to be a Hollywood movie star. She was already. And for some reason, it was just meant to be that way for her. The realisation of the extraordinary difference between people’s fortunes in this life descended on her heavily. She knew then, more than ever, that she was going to be extraordinarily lucky in life.
It‘s a gift, she thought. An extraordinary gift. And the girl felt something like love, as if something large and unnameable (but named by others) wanted her to be what she was going to be.
And, because she was modest, because she was brought up the way she was, and was the way she was, she wondered why she was being given this:
Why give all that to me? [She’s assured about her destiny because she asks this question. Something likes her for this.]
Her question was entirely genuine, though accompanied by no shame or guilt (in fact she felt she wasn’t being allowed to feel those things), just curiosity and wonder. The question she had just asked seemed like the decent, yes decent and right question to ask herself. But no self-doubt accompanied it or answered it and there was no guilt in her. And that too, she knew, was part of the moment.
Why me? Why me? she kept thinking rapt in wonder, gently shaking her head, but also she was aware of something else that came from her: the gratitude of her own, which was somehow inseparable from the thing that was telling her not to move, the thing that loved her and which also prevented her guilt. It made her feel deserving. Her gratitude, not her talent (which was luck) was what made her feel she deserved the good fortune, she now magically knew would be hers.
The incident with the girl had been miraculously lucky. It was hard to avoid that word, that thought – a miracle – though she didn’t believe in God any more, or try to. But the answer to the question she kept asking – Why me? – which (as the atheist she felt she was) was unanswerable (at least in the spirit in which the question was asked) still came and was somehow divine, she thought.
That is just my destiny, she thought, in answer. And she wondered at it. But rather than feeling imperilled or undeserving, she was now sure she was meant to enjoy it. And use it.
Yes, use it. But what does that mean? She asked, pursuing this truth of her life.
By the strangest twist of fate, she had unintentionally given the far less fortunate and unrecognised but gorgeous, clever, frustrated, decent, gay seventeen year old girl, who had emerged from the stall and who would never know such extraordinary fortune as hers, a moment.
Of what?
Of magic, she replied.
Triumphant pleasure, her inner voice, continued eloquently. It was magic. For the counter-girl. Private magic, underground magic even (this delighted Jodie and made her smile even more broadly), movie magic, cinema magic came her voice in answer.
“That cute, world-famous, sexy film star, Jodie Foster, who all the young, teenage boys of Great Britain are drooling over right now, is GAY. NOW I KNOW IT! I heard her in the bog. How funny. She’s gay. Like me. HA!”
Jodie smiled at the girl’s wonderful triumph and the style with which she had celebrated it. But Jodie also knew it was her own triumph too. She shook her head rapidly in wonder at this extraordinary benevolence, this information. Then she gasped with happiness and looked up into the mirror. She looked at her now famous face, proudly and happily. What had just happened between them in private would be one of the most special and she was sure, most private moments of the counter-girl’s life. And her own. (Jodie chose at that moment never to share it with anyone, not even her mother.) The wonderful girl would, she was certain, share it only with her close friends, if she had any close enough, if she had any friends in fact: she was gay, after all. She might have no friends. Or it’s possible nobody, or almost nobody, knew the counter-girl’s private truth and she had plenty of friends. Maybe almost nobody would ever know.
Jodie Foster gazed at herself in the mirror triumphantly.
There are so many others like me, her mind and heart thrilled at the thought. I’m there for them too, they can privately marvel at me, lust after me even, if they want to.
She laughed out loud. It felt like an invincible laugh. Jodie knew now, the girl would never hurt her. She just wouldn’t. A message of recognition and respect, had been conveyed to her along with the fact of the counter-girl’s undoubted (but also undoubtedly untapped) intelligence.
There was lust too, possibly, of course. For Tallulah. Maybe. She smiled at the thought. Possibly she just thinks the movie’s funny.
But also affection or something even larger had been conveyed along with these messages.
I know you’re a film star, but you’re just like me. You want what I want. You like what I like. Gotcha! The girl had humouressly, agonisingly, victoriously said to Jodie, as she held her life in the balance.
But then the punchline, the coup-de-theatre, loud and clear:
Your secret, your unacceptable secret, (which is also my secret), is safe. I’m letting you go.
Jodie’s mind raced, but pleasurably now. She was almost laughing inside. She put her hand up to her forehead.
Part of the magic for the girl was that Jodie was a movie star. She liked her being up there, knowing she was gay. She liked it.
The actress spoke out loud the words, but in her own voice:
“I’m not gonna tear you down. I like it, just the way it is. I like it. You up there. Me knowing. Us knowing. I like it. I’ll always know, every time I see you. And you’ll always know, I know and…” She paused in wonder, “that I kept your secret safe for you.”
The film star looked into her beautiful face and spoke to herself in the mirror:
“I’m just fourteen years old and I know this: my life, my life, is gonna be fantastic!”
There were three loud, but not aggressive knocks at the restroom door.
“Who is it?” she called out and noticed now how sharp and self-possessed she sounded.
“Who d’ya think?” answered De Niro, drily.
“Well you’re not the only man in the world, are you?” she replied, sharply.
“Well actually, a lot of women in the world think I am the only man in the world right now.”
“Well I’m not one of ‘em, am I?”
All systems go.
She grinned at herself in the mirror, at her coded joke. She loved him as a friend. He was a very special, kind and caring man and a very special actor. There was a pause, while this affectionate thought went through her head, during which she knew also, he had been taken aback by her renewed confidence.
“You OK?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Better than OK,” she answered without hesitation, in the voice that said: I’m fine. I’m the Jodie you know. The Jodie who annoys you a little sometimes, but who you like, who you admire and respect and who you don’t really have to worry about at all.
“You sure?” asked Robert.
“I’m sure,” she had an idea. “Just give me five more minutes honey. I wanna look gorgeous for ya,” she answered loudly in Tallulah’s voice.
“Will you please fuck off with that voice? OK, I’ll see you in five. You’re gonna miss your first big scene in the movie, you know that?”
“I know. I wanna wait. Till I sing for him,” she called out.
“You don’t sing, you mouth. We’re all grateful for that.”
She frowned.
“Fuck off with that remark. And, by the way, I DO sing, as a matter of fact. I have no idea why you don’t believe me about that.”
“Because I’m in the room next to yours at the Ritz, remember? I hear you in the shower.”
“He likes it, whatever you say.” She said distractedly and smiled at herself in the mirror.
“Not if he heard what I hear every morning, he wouldn’t,” replied Robert. He had ceased worrying about her now and was smiling to himself, unseen by her of course. She thought he must be fed up. She didn’t care.
“Can we get this done, if you’re ok now?” he went on. “I wanna eat.”
“Again?” she replied, offhandedly.
“Yes, again.”
“Well now…I think there’s something called a fish and chip store a few doors down,” she said helpfully and then pursed her lips as she applied her lipstick. She finished, straightened up and admired the end result. It was more than satisfactory for this little lover boy. “Have you tried that yet? Fish and chips? It’s a British delicacy and it’s simply…”. She rolled her lips again, then added, “delicious!”
He smiled. The girl was on form again. He didn’t know why, but she was. “No it’s not delicious. It’s a “load of bollox” as they say over here.”
“A load of Bollox..?” she said in reply, then paused, looking away from the mirror for a second to mull over this new word properly. “Bollox…I love that…bollox. What does that mean exactly? Bollox?”
“Believe me, you do not need to know. Now hurry up and let’s get out of here.”
She heard his first retreating step as he walked back to the foyer. She put the lipstick back in the bag. Bored now and irritated by the whole ridiculous circus though he was, she knew he loved her and was comforted by the fact that she was fine.
The star smiled at herself in the mirror again and waited until she figured he would have passed through the swing doors.
Confidently, and looking into her beautiful face, she spoke to it:
“You, you little British sweetheart in there are NOT gonna know what hit you.” She smacked her lips theatrically. “Jodie Foster is about to happen to ya, ya little honey.”
She struck her sexiest Tallulah pose, the kind of pose the counter girl would laugh at, but privately like a lot and purred, in the voice of her character, at the glass:
“Let the chemistry begin, honey.”
Then she turned foxily, put her very small hips into orbit and went on her way.
Jodie Foster and the Super 8 