"Nothing's like a good Italian dinner."
Probably the most used sentence of my childhood echoed in my ears while coming back home that evening after the dinner at Giorgio Baldi.
It was just such a perfect night. Your dad picked me up in Malibu on his bike at 7 pm and we spend almost four hours eating the most delicious food and talking, mainly about the movie which I started to realize actually could be a reality. The plan was to make a screen test for Warner Bros and we discussed different ideas and settings. Naturally we also talked a lot about music -making it, listen to it, living it. I learned what a big music lover your dad was, who'd spent a lot of time at concerts and festivals, knowing a lot of people in my industry too. This project was so thrilling for both of us; I could feel how my knowledge about, and experiences from the music business was making him relax. It was somehow comforting when I felt so uncertain in so many ways. My insecurity was actually the reason your dad suggested we could do the screen test at my place, to make me feel as safe as possible. That was always so very important to him, that I felt comfortable and secure. And I always did, right from the very beginning.
We left the restaurant around midnight, bathing in the flashes from the papzz that had gathered outside while we were eating. Although we both appreciated the Italian cuisine (well that's pretty obvious) we also knew that we most likely would be seen if we went to GB, being one of the most popular paparazzi spots in the area. It was still so early on in the process but we both agreed it probably was a good thing to get some buzz going about us, to help your dad convince the studio executives.
"Gaga!! Bradley!!"
Click, click, click, click.
"What's up? Collab? Gaga over here!! Gaga!!
Click, click, click.
"Over here Gaga!"
"Cooper, give us a smile!! Cooper!"
Click, click, click.
Click. Click.
Click.
Click.
Insane.
After the short walk to your dads bike we finally left the parking lot and I let out a breath I didn't know that I was holding. Paparazzis are a part of fame, for better or worse, but I'll probably never get used to it. That might be hard to believe considering all the craziness I've displayed during the years, but wearing costumes and being in character actually has been a way to control my uneasiness and anxiety about it. It's much harder to be papped just being me, without all the drama as a shield. I hate that the papzz are a part of your upbringing, that you're so used to it that you probably believe it's perfectly normal for a child to be photographed by random people while going outside to play, walking to school or whatever. It is what it is, and of course there's some kind of interdependence between us; we're definitely using the paparazzis the way it suits us and serves our purposes. But that doesn't prevent me from feeling sick to my stomach sometimes, solely by thinking about it.
It's quite a bit to ride from Santa Monica to Zuma beach. Before we left the restaurant he asked if I wanted to stay the night in his guestroom, offering me a ride back early the next morning, which I honestly was tempted to accept. I even believe he was serious about that invitation, cause it didn't feel awkward at all getting the question. It just felt natural, like we were really old and really close friends. And of course a typical thing for your dad to do, as the kindest and most caring human being he is. I declined though, mostly out of common politeness, and we decided to take the golden mean which meant riding to his place and switch the bike to his car.
"You're cold" he stated when he noticed me shiver in the chilly April night and offered me a blanket from the back seat. I greatfully accepted it and swept the soft fabric around my body, pulling my legs up under me to warm my feet.
"If it wasn't so late I would invite you in of course. I'm not usually this inhospitable"
he chuckled." It's not like I'm trying to hide anything. More than a sleeping girlfriend."
