There she is.
Jennifer Lawrence stands in front of a couch. She holds a video game controller, playing what looks like Wii Tennis. She’s barefoot. Taller than you think. The apartment smells of baked chocolate chip cookies, which is exactly how you expect a room with Jennifer Lawrence in it to smell. On a coffee table is a plastic cup of green juice and a plate of what looks like raw cookie dough.
Sara breaks the ice. “We have your phone!”
Jennifer doesn’t look over. “Hey dude. Thanks for–” She swings the controller. “–finding my phone.”
“Oh, sure, no problem.”
“Sorry, one sec.” Jennifer swings the controller again, then puts it down.
Jennifer runs over and hugs me. Sara and Lance watch the scene like it’s happened before. For a moment, I think I’m staying to hang out, but then she starts closing.
“Thanks for doing this. You could have easily messed my whole shit up.” She sips her green juice.
I assume she meant sell the phone to TMZ.
“Nice meeting you, Jen. I mean, Jennifer. Can’t wait to see the new movie.”
“Oh! We’re doing a screening next week in New York. David and the cast will be there, if you want to go.”
“Really? I’d love to.”
“I’ll have my publicist get you a ticket. It’s the least I can do.”
Sara blurts out, “He wants $100!”
“No! No I don’t! That was a joke. I’m happy to give your phone back. For free.”
I look at Sara, then at Lance, who is eating a banana. Jennifer tilts her head, confused.
I say my goodbyes – stiff hugs with Jennifer and Sara, an overly formal handshake with Lance – and leave.
I stroll down the sidewalk, glancing at the gargoyle over my shoulder. I pass the pizza place, and after a block, enter a bodega. I browse for a few minutes, but knew why I was there. I buy a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough.
I unravel the cookie dough, put a chunk into my mouth, and walk.
I take out my iPhone, go to my music, and hit shuffle. A song plays. It’s Prince’s “1999.” 1-9-9-9.
I consider hailing a cab, but no. I clutch my phone and walk home, finally getting my exercise for the day.