2008 Woodie Awards
Sixteen Minutes: Part VIII
Stephen Outten
Issue date: 3/27/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment
- Page 1 of 1
People came and went as the party continued into the late hours of the night. I paced myself at the bar, having learned from experience that more fun would be had while I was cognizant than if I were passed out. In and out of my vision darted Anna, running over to hug me every now and then before vanishing off to a corner with her friends doing God-knows-what.
When different people would approach me, I would make up various professions for myself, sometimes dropping the name of a famous but seldom-seen director or producer. All in all, it was shaping up to be a fun night.
Until James made his way up to the lounge. How he got in, or how he managed to find Anna, was beyond me. But there he was, no longer dressed in his Army greens, but wearing jeans and a button-up. From the quick glance I threw to him before going to find Anna, I could see why she would have wanted to marry him. He was quite dashing, with an almost princely quality to him.
For a brief instant, I actually questioned why she had left him. Anna hadn't gotten to that part of the story yet.
She was huddled over a magazine with whom I assumed were her model friends. "Anna," I said, gently grabbing her arm. She turned laughing and threw her arms around me.
"Hi, Ethan! Like Hawke, but not the bird!" She let out a tremendous giggle, and her friends joined in.
"Anna, we need to go," I tried again, hoping that I could somehow cut through the haze of her inebriation. "James is here."
"He came?" she cried, her face falling.
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't think he'd come!" she cried, showing me her phone to illustrate her point. She had texted him, asking him to come.
"Anna," a deep voice behind me said. "Who is this guy?"
I already knew who it was. I didn't have to turn and look. But for some reason, my morbid curiosity got the best of me, forcing me to see what fate had thrown into my path.
Jeans, check. Button-up, check. Princely face, distorted and angry and trained to kill by the U.S. government. Check.
When different people would approach me, I would make up various professions for myself, sometimes dropping the name of a famous but seldom-seen director or producer. All in all, it was shaping up to be a fun night.
Until James made his way up to the lounge. How he got in, or how he managed to find Anna, was beyond me. But there he was, no longer dressed in his Army greens, but wearing jeans and a button-up. From the quick glance I threw to him before going to find Anna, I could see why she would have wanted to marry him. He was quite dashing, with an almost princely quality to him.
For a brief instant, I actually questioned why she had left him. Anna hadn't gotten to that part of the story yet.
She was huddled over a magazine with whom I assumed were her model friends. "Anna," I said, gently grabbing her arm. She turned laughing and threw her arms around me.
"Hi, Ethan! Like Hawke, but not the bird!" She let out a tremendous giggle, and her friends joined in.
"Anna, we need to go," I tried again, hoping that I could somehow cut through the haze of her inebriation. "James is here."
"He came?" she cried, her face falling.
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't think he'd come!" she cried, showing me her phone to illustrate her point. She had texted him, asking him to come.
"Anna," a deep voice behind me said. "Who is this guy?"
I already knew who it was. I didn't have to turn and look. But for some reason, my morbid curiosity got the best of me, forcing me to see what fate had thrown into my path.
Jeans, check. Button-up, check. Princely face, distorted and angry and trained to kill by the U.S. government. Check.
Be the first to comment on this story