Chapter 12: Christmas Plans
Thanksgiving had barely passed before Christmas and New Year arrived. Bruce spent Christmas Eve writing, and as dawn broke on Christmas morning, he finally typed the last word of his new script.
The script was Love Actually—a romantic comedy he remembered from his previous life that had become a holiday classic.
In Bruce's mind, if a studio bought it soon and fast-tracked production, the movie could be ready for next Christmas. With a strong script and holiday appeal, it could become one of the year's most talked-about films.
Flexing his stiff wrist, Bruce stood and drew the curtains. The apartment's warmth had turned the frost on the windows into a veil of mist, blurring the world outside.
He wiped a clear circle and the view appeared: Greenwich Village at Christmas, wrapped in snow, waking slowly to morning light.
Bruce tried to sleep, but the holiday energy kept him awake.
Giving up, he got out of bed and called Estelle from the living room.
Their last conversation had been in early December. Estelle had called with two pieces of news.
First, Miramax had greenlit Inglourious Basterds. Shooting would begin after New Year.
Second, a company had offered $150,000 for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. But with Inglourious Basterds going into production, Estelle advised holding off—if the film performed well, Bruce's value would only increase. He'd agreed.
As for the others: The Hateful Eight still had no takers, while another company bid $80,000 for Django Unchained. After negotiation, Estelle closed the deal at ninety thousand. After fees, Bruce netted just over fifty-eight thousand in mid-December.
The moment the call connected, Bruce said, "Estelle, Merry Christmas!"
"You really are my most thoughtful client," Estelle replied dryly. "Calling at the crack of dawn to wake up an old woman who just managed to fall asleep. How considerate. What do you want, Bruce?"
"I finished a Christmas script. You'll love it—everyone will. You need to read it."
"Mail it to my office."
"No, I'll bring it over. It's Christmas—you should see it today."
"I'll have my assistant pick it up. You're a top client—I'm not making you run errands."
"Alright. Send her to Apartment 22, fifth floor, 90 Bedford Street."
After hanging up, Bruce set the script beside his small copier and pressed start. The machine hummed to life.
He'd bought the second-hand unit last week for $360 at a flea market, saving himself trips to the copy shop.
An hour later—after tidying up and showering—Bruce heard a knock.
He opened the door to a woman in her thirties. "Hi, Bruce. I'm Ruth, Estelle's assistant. She sent me for the script."
"Hi, Ruth. We've met at the office. Want to come in for coffee? Only instant, but it'll warm you up."
"Thanks, but I need to get this to Estelle right away."
Bruce handed her the freshly copied pages and walked her to the stairs.
Back inside, the phone rang. Bruce answered to hear his mother's voice. "May I speak to Mr. Bruce White?"
"Hey, Mom—Merry Christmas!"
His mother replied, "Merry Christmas to you too, stranger."
"Mom, don't be like that. We're talking right now, aren't we?"
"By the way, you haven't called or visited in ages. We've grown distant."
Bruce laughed. "I know, I know. I've been buried in work."
His mom continued, "Listen, I'm calling for a reason—you need to come home for dinner tonight."
"What's the occasion?"
"Remember your childhood friend Grace? Her family ran a restaurant, then moved to Chicago. Ring a bell?"
Bruce searched his merged memories. "Vaguely. Why?"
"She just moved back to New York for work. She stopped by the restaurant yesterday and asked about you."
"And?"
"So I invited her for Christmas dinner tonight! I told her you'd be there—you two can catch up."
"Sure, I'll come. It's been too long since I've been home anyway."
His mom added, "She's great—University of Chicago grad, just started at a Manhattan law firm. If you two hit it off, who knows?"
"So it is a setup."
"What's wrong with that? You're both single, both the right age. If talking leads somewhere, that's natural! Don't resist these things—think of it as making a new friend."
Bruce smiled. "I'm not against it. I just want you to be upfront. If I'm free, I'll show up."
"Good. Dinner's at seven. Be there by six. Don't be late!"
Shortly after, his mom called back. "Grace just asked if she can bring her roommate. The girl just moved to New York and doesn't have many friends. Grace doesn't want to leave her alone on Christmas."
"Did you already say yes?"
"Of course! How could I refuse?"
"Sounds like she never thought of this as a date—she just wants to see an old friend. You might be overthinking it."
His mom dismissed that. "Either way, it shows she's kind. I'm just letting you know. Come early."
"In that case, I'll invite some friends too and turn it into a party."
"Which friends? College buddies?"
"No, friends I met after moving to the Village."
"How many? I need to know how much food to prepare."
"Not sure—it's Christmas, so I don't know everyone's plans. Could be anywhere from zero to six."
"Six? You've only lived there a few months! Boys or girls?"
"Three guys, three girls. One of the girls was my classmate at Lincoln High."
"With girls around, haven't you tried dating any of them?"
"We're too close. It would feel weird."
His mom scoffed. "You just met them a few months ago. How close can you be?"
"To me it feels like I've known them forever. Anyway, Mom, see you tonight!"
After hanging up, Bruce threw on a coat and headed down to Monica's apartment.