Chapter 70: A Language Barrier Is No Obstacle
Bruce parked outside the arrivals terminal at JFK, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
The window was down. A warm breeze carrying the smell of jet fuel and exhaust poured in, and the radio blasted Coolio's brand-new West Coast anthem "Gangsta's Paradise."
He was waiting for Joey, who had just wrapped his scenes in Inglourious Basterds and was flying back to New York today.
The exit doors released a flood of passengers. Bruce narrowed his eyes, scanning the tired or excited faces streaming past.
Finally, a familiar figure squeezed through, hauling an enormous suitcase and grinning like sunshine personified.
Bruce swung the car door open and rested a hand on the roof—then froze mid-smile.
Joey had someone attached to his side.
A girl whose blonde hair practically glowed in the New York afternoon sunlight, with the pale porcelain complexion typical of Germans, dressed simply in jeans and a light blue knit sweater—tall and willowy.
She pressed close to Joey, her fingers still clutching the hem of his jacket like a small animal newly arrived in unfamiliar territory.
"Hey! Bruce!" Joey spotted him, waved excitedly, and hustled over, his suitcase wheels clattering cheerfully on the concrete.
Bruce's gaze lingered on the girl for a moment, then slid back to Joey, the corner of his mouth curling in a silent "you'd better explain this."
"Surprise!" Joey shoved his suitcase toward Bruce's feet and looped an arm naturally around the girl's shoulders. "Bruce, meet Susanna! Susanna, this is the screenwriter of Inglourious Basterds and my best buddy—Bruce, the one I've told you about a million times!"
But Susanna looked completely lost. Hearing Joey's enthusiastic stream of words, she simply followed his gesturing hand with her eyes and smiled politely at Bruce.
Joey jumped in quickly. "Susanna only knows maybe ten English words—she didn't catch a single thing I just said."
Bruce laughed and shook his head. "Then why were you introducing me with such enthusiasm?"
Joey grinned confidently. "Even if she doesn't understand the words, she can feel the energy—she knows you're my good friend!"
Bruce clapped Joey on the shoulder. "Welcome back, buddy!"
Then he extended his hand to Susanna. "Hello!"
Susanna slipped her hand into his for a light, polite shake.
"Hallo," she said softly, her accent unmistakably German.
After loading the luggage into the trunk, Bruce started the engine.
Joey and Susanna squeezed into the back seat together. As the car merged onto the airport expressway, Bruce watched in the rearview mirror—Susanna was practically curled up in Joey's arms.
"So..." Bruce cleared his throat, breaking the brief silence, catching Joey's eyes in the mirror. "Joey, I can see that Ursula's ancient history for you—no surprise there—but care to explain this situation?" He tilted his head slightly toward Susanna.
Joey's grin stayed bright and completely unapologetic. "Ha! You know me, Bruce. Yeah, Ursula's yesterday's news!"
He shifted to let Susanna lean more comfortably against him. "I flew to Germany for over a month, man. That's way too long for any relationship to survive, especially with the whole Atlantic Ocean between us. Even phone calls were a hassle with the time difference."
Joey shrugged casually. "So around week two, I called Ursula and said, 'Hey, Urs, we're too far apart, the spark's gone—how about we call it quits?' And guess what?"
Joey perfectly mimicked her breezy tone. "She said right away, 'Oh, Joey! What perfect timing—I was about to tell you I've met someone new and it's going really well! Thanks for bringing it up first, saves me the awkward conversation. Have fun in Germany!' Click."
Joey spread his hands wide. "See? Totally amicable split—everybody's happy! As for Susanna, we met on set—she was the local makeup artist the production hired in Bavaria."
Bruce raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And then what? In just one month you managed to bring her all the way from Germany to the States—how'd you pull that off?"
"Fate, man. Pure fate. The moment we met, it felt like this invisible force pulling us together—during breaks, after filming wrapped for the day, we just kept getting closer and closer."
Bruce pressed on. "Sure, Joey—every girl you date is 'fate.' But how do you two actually communicate? You said she barely speaks English, and I know you haven't secretly learned German."
Joey looked absolutely smug. "Why would a language barrier stop true love? Think about it, Bruce! By your logic, animals can't speak human languages, so they should've gone extinct from terrible 'communication' about mating, right?"
The bizarre logic left Bruce momentarily speechless.
Joey continued confidently. "We mostly use this!" He released Susanna briefly and started an elaborate pantomime: first pointing at his mouth and pretending to chew (eating), then gesturing enthusiastically toward the scenery flashing past outside (sightseeing or shopping).
"See?" Joey froze dramatically, chin raised toward Bruce in triumph. "Simple, direct, super efficient! And these core human activities—" he emphasized the word "core"—"don't need fancy vocabulary at all. Right, Schatz?" He looked down at Susanna, testing out the fresh German pet name.
Susanna hadn't followed a single syllable of his grand lecture on animal reproduction and core activities, but the affectionate nickname and Joey's mischievous grin were crystal clear.
With the particular shy charm of a German girl, she tilted her head and kissed his cheek softly, murmuring something that sounded like the playful term "Dummkopf."
Bruce's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile and turned his attention back to the congested traffic ahead.
The car stopped at a red light. Bruce glanced at a travel agency window advertising "90-Day European Adventure Tours," and another question occurred to him.
"So how long is she actually staying in New York? What does her visa allow?"
"Tourist visa," Joey answered casually. "Up to ninety days. How long she stays is totally Susanna's decision."
"And when those ninety days are up and she has to leave—what happens then?"
"Bruce, come on. Live in the moment, man. I don't think about day ninety-one. If she has to go back, at least we'll have had ninety amazing days together. And when we miss each other too much, I'll just hop on a plane to Germany and find her."
Bruce responded almost automatically. "Fair point. Ninety days is actually longer than most of your relationships have lasted anyway."
Joey grinned slyly. "Joey Tribbiani is a wild stallion that no one can tie down—your own words, Bruce."
The light turned green. Bruce hit the gas, and once the car was rolling smoothly again, he asked, "How's Quentin doing with Inglourious Basterds?"
"Bruce, all I can say is that Inglourious Basterds is going to be the most badass film ever made. Quentin's absolutely crazy—a genius madman. My character, Donny Donowitz, dies in serious style. Quentin was totally thrilled with it, except he decided one blood-spray angle wasn't 'poetic' enough, so he dragged us poor actors back for reshoots. It's all finished now though—Quentin and the main crew flew back to the States yesterday. They're probably fighting jet lag as we speak."
He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, then shot back. "Hey, Bruce—Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels? Is it picture locked? When do I finally get to see my idiot character Billy on the big screen?"
"Sound mix just wrapped—it sounds absolutely fantastic, David absolutely crushed it. Now we're deep in color timing, basically arm-wrestling with the colorists every day. Miramax—Harvey's got it in his head that we can open early, so they're hustling like crazy. The July release might slide up to early July, possibly even late June."
"Whoa—moving it up?"
"Yeah, it's throwing the whole schedule into chaos." His tone turned slightly wry. "So the promotional campaign's already kicked into high gear. Yesterday I did that Film Comment interview the studio set up."
Bruce's mouth curved into a slight smile. "Answering all the 'journey of a first-time director' questions feels pretty formulaic, but hey, the more people who hear about the film, the better, right? Radio spots, press junkets—the whole publicity circus is lining up. Posters, press kits—marketing's burning the midnight oil to hit this new date."
The familiar streetscape streaked past. The old apartment building at 90 Bedford Street came into view.
The car pulled to a stop. They climbed out, and Bruce hauled Joey's enormous suitcase from the trunk. Joey gazed toward Central Perk and sighed dramatically. "Central Perk, I missed you so much—time to get my caffeine fix again!"
Bruce's scalp prickled with alarm. "What kind of twisted new habits did you pick up in Germany?"
They'd barely stepped into the fourth-floor hallway when a piercing shriek—equal parts terror and fury—burst through Monica's apartment door and practically assaulted their eardrums.
"PHOEBE!!!!!!"
Bruce and Joey exchanged quick glances. Joey's face lit up with gleeful curiosity while Susanna visibly flinched at the decibel level and clutched Joey's arm tighter.
Without hesitation, Bruce strode to Monica's door and knocked firmly.
"Monica? Phoebe?" he called out. "Everything okay in there?"
The screaming cut off abruptly as if someone had hit a mute button. A suffocating silence followed, then the lock clicked open.
Phoebe appeared in the doorway, her face guilty and on the verge of tears, holding a pair of haircutting scissors in her trembling hand.
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