Page 77 of All That Remains
"M'fine," I whispered, unable to tell her anything. "Just miss you, is all." That earned me a bubbly laugh.
"Now you see why I call you so much! I miss you too, love. I was hopin' you'd come home for a week or two.Or more..."
"Will do. Already in the works. I'll get there before filming starts and try to stay as long as possible."
"My heart skips a beat anytime the news comes up. I just can't comprehend it. My baby,an actor.... I don't wanna fuss over you too much now—and I don't wanna make the girls cross by always talkin' up you and your sister, but this ought to be celebrated! I’ve told everyone I know and they’re just as over the moon as I am."
“That’s awesome, mum. Thanks.”
She gave a little involuntaryaww. "And everyone's just so happy for you, love. The music is one thing, but Spielberg is quiteanother."
"Yeah...tell me about it," I smirked. "I'm a lucky bastard."
"Y'happy, Ralph?"
"Mm-hm," I nodded, trying to convince myself. "Really happy."
"Good—"
"I've gotta have a trim for the role, too, so there's that. I, uh, think I want you to be there when it happens." That amused her.
"Don't think I'd recognize you anymore with short hair. Are you quite prepared for that?"
"Not really. Sometimes I think I am, then I look in the mirror and, uh, just can't picture myself with short hair anymore, y'know? Not since like what? 2010? Dunno what I'd look like with, uh,normalhair per se."
"D’you have a stylist in mind?"
"Mm-hm...from the band. She’ll style it afterwards. I'm used to the way she works and she knows what I like."
"Good then. We’ll get you sorted. It should be really good then after all."
"A fresh start..."
"Sort of symbolic, then…when you think of it that way," she sighed. "Rob says you oughtta just wear a shorter wig and call it a day!"
As usual, she broke off and began having a conversation with him and relayed everything he said to me, instead of just switching to speaker phone.
"What's it called, babe?" she asked him. "Say again—"
'Toupee',I heard him say with an affected French accent.
"Rafe, listen...Rob says:'don't cut it.'He knows how much you love your hair—it's charmin', innit, Rob? How much he loves it?"
I laughed as they continued to speak to each other, forgetting me as they debated whether I should take the leap or not.
"Ralph, love? Still there?"
"Mm-hm," I nodded.
They kept going at it. I heard Rob's voice muttering in the background and suddenly missed him talking politics on Sunday mornings, although I rarely knew what he was referring to those days. I put the call on speaker and Googledtoupee,and what I discovered was disturbing.
"This? Hell no, mum! That's for bald spots, I think. That'd look awful.”
"Hear, hear,I agree. Go ahead and cut it, love. I think it’d be best," she sighed. "What d’you think, Rob. It can always grow back. Let him have it his way."
After hanging up with them, I felt considerably better; my mood elevating in sync with the sun. I got out of the car and stretched, walking a few paces down the road to study the old oaks and hedges that enshrouded the neighborhood. From mylast visit I knew they would leave massive shadows along the pavement in the early evening, and hoped I'd be around to witness it again.
Settling back into the car, the seat now in an upright position, I picked my nails and switched the playlist to "Night and Day" by the Temptations. Thirty emails later—which were mainly just spam and requests for endorsements and articles sent from friends and family aboutme—I dared to ring up John. He didn't pick up so I tried Jen; still nothing. Finally, I tried Dan Winston, fellow Brit turned big time Hollywood producer, and he answered with a mischievous chuckle.
