You Must Be the One

Purple- Creativity II

The list of possible workshops to attend have names like "Discovering Your Inner Child" and "Turning Grief Into Art" (yeah, she'll pass) and she frowns at the page while she simultaneously talks to Bobby and eats dinner; a surprisingly delicious chicken pot pie made from scratch in the inn's kitchen.

"So, aside from cheesy games, what did you think? Did you meet anyone interesting?"

She can tell he wants to know if she thinks there's a chance of regaining what's she had lost, but the poor guy's on tether hooks around her these days. She doesn't blame him. She hasn't exactly been a picnic.

"Uh, yeah, kind of. I only sort of recognized one person. He's an actor and he's adapting a screenplay. I dunno," absently she toys with the fork, "we didn't get to really talk much."

She deliberately omits the part where he invited her to dinner because Bobby most certainly would make a much bigger deal of it than was necessary.

"Oh, that's cool. Who was it, would I know him?"

When she tells him, there's a silence at the other end of the line. "Of course! Stef, he's really, really good. Kind of amazing he's here."

"Very talented people still get writer's block, Bobby," she reminds him.

"Yes, they do. Hence you being there, too," he replies. "Anyway, you enjoy yourself, alright? What does your mother always say?"

"Stay present," she answers automatically, smiling in spite of herself. "My mother can truly make the best out of any situation."

"And so can you, honey. I know so. Talk to you later."

When they hang up, she exhales deeply, her arms fanning around her body. A drink would only help her sleep; in lieu of one, she reads over the packet, frowning at Bruce's credentials.

Sure, he sounded great on paper, but she'd been around long enough to know that generally speaking, when the Bruce's of the world catered seminars and retreats and what have you to people who had money, they weren't as renowned as they claimed to be.

Out of all the seminars that weekend, only two pique her curiousity; Memoir Writing and Photography. Though she's still pretty skeptical about the actual helpfulness of any of this, at the very least, it'll be something creative.

The good thing, she learns as she reads, is that each workshop is only two hours in the morning and they'll have the duration of each day to explore the grounds, to play around in the make shift music, art, and photography studios set up. It brings her a small comfort to know that they won't be subjected to torture for long.

She loved leading workshops, for young people, especially, thought they were really great ways to connect with others in a safe environment.

But this feels almost too personal...the fact she'd have to strip herself metaphorically bare in order to recover and to do that in front of others in a space that wasn't on stage was fucking scary.

Her thoughts turn, of their own volition, to Bradley. Bobby was right; he was an excellent actor. She had seen the vast majority of his films and developed a deep admiration of the way he immersed himself in a role. She related on that level and to know someone that seemed so sure of himself was having difficulty as well made her feel slightly less alone.

To say he's charismatic is a given; most actors were. In her experience, most actors at that level were also assholes. And yeah, she was bracing herself (maybe slightly unfairly) for a cocky dude, full of himself. It was a snap judgement she wasn't proud of. The way he'd stood up for her without hesitation  was extremely kind and instinctively, she knew it wasn't some ploy to get into her pants, either. He was quite obviously genuine and to be that good looking and nice at the same time seemed somewhat of an anomaly.