Chapter 1

Jill says:

When I first saw Maq I actually started to stand up and leave. I'd wanted nothing but privacy. I wanted to be away from any person who would say one more thing to me or tell me one more thing that had to be done. I did not want anybody telling me how they are a big fan or how much I meant to them or anything. I wanted silence. I would not trade my fame and what I have for anything and I really do try to smile and be charming and friendly when someone imposes on my privacy. I actually mean it. I know that the only reason I am where I am is because of my fans. I know that each of them deserve a part of me because they have made me what I am, but a person must have private moments.

Making a movie is a stupidly complicated undertaking. The logistics can be hard enough, but, on top of that, too many of the people involved are above average narcissistic and egotistical. Players all want a piece of the process and they all work to direct the flow of fortune or fame their way. It makes me weary.

When you become a big star, you can take some control and make it work more in your favor, but that just makes you a part of the process and, in addition to the lack of privacy from the public inherent in this business, you have to start giving more of your time and being to the process. It can create explosive frustration. Especially when stupid things happen.

I am one of the fortunate ones, I can quit and never work again and I can pretty much set the conditions I want when I do work, but the bullshit does not stop. As successful as I am, I have actually been propositioned by self-important assholes just like I was some struggling actor desperate for a part. Their egos can be amazing.

Anyway, a few years ago we were in the preliminary stages of getting a movie made. As a part of that process I was at a resort and, unexpectedly, because of senseless delays, I had several days to wind down. The man in my life at the time was elsewhere. My assistant had been sent somewhere to do some things. I'd declined every invitation to dinner and to parties. I was in a really relaxing location and in my superstar, egotistical manner; I made the production company agree to pay my bills for the week.

People at resorts like that one are generally pretty good about leaving you alone. For the most part, they don't gush. They'll eventually get around to asking for an autograph or to have a picture made, but they are sophisticated and genteel about it. Nevertheless, even the least bit of attention irritated me. I did not, however, want to sit in my room and watch television. I found a secluded patio, a little corner, architecturally orphaned by some remodeling.

(Maq: Damn, you're wordy.) (Jill: Shut up. Remember, you're the one that taught me to write dirty stories. Besides, I'm shy. I'm working into the good parts slowly.)

So, having finally found a place where waiters could serve me drinks discreetly while I enjoyed the sunset, this guy finds my corner and bumps in with a camera hung around his neck. My first thought was "how did the fucking paparazzi find me." (Maq says: I love it when you talk dirty.) (Jill says: I know you do.)

Maq says:

I recognized her, of course, even if she was dressed down, wearing baggy khakis and a baggier top. She had on the ubiquitous Hollywood ball cap that now draws attention rather than provide anonymity. I am old and cynical and can hide it well if I am the least bit star struck. Even before I met her, I sympathized with the humanity of celebrities and would not cast myself as a part of the overbearingly adoring public. I was there to take pictures, but not of her.

Her description of the little space of deck on which we found ourselves as being architecturally orphaned is superb. (Jill: Thank you, dear.) I'd been at the resort for three days in the hopes of selling something to someone. He'd suggested we meet there. I didn't know it when we set up the meeting, but he was tangently related to the project Jill was working on and hoped to impress me by being blasÇ about his involvement. Anyway, when her production had to take a break, he'd left me there.

I'd discovered the little forgotten space the night before and found it the perfect place to bring a drink and watch the sunset. The night we met, there was a terrific lightening storm off in the distance. I knew the view had the potential for a dramatic photograph; thus, the camera.

I noticed the look she gave me when I arrived, the "fucking paparazzi" look and I quickly said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to take your picture, I'm here for the sunset."

I stood for a moment to see what she would say. I knew that in the scheme of things she outranked me and I would leave and find another spot to take my photograph if she objected.

Jill says:

I realized immediately that he'd noticed my look of worry. (Maq edits: look of disgust) I felt bad about that, and said, "No problem. It is a good view."

He smiled, set his drink on a table, put his camera on a tripod and proceeded to ignore me. I smiled to myself when I realized that I felt the typical celebrity conflict-I hadn't wanted him to bother me and it bothered me when he ignored me. (Maq says: Not to worry. By this point I was already relishing the fact that I would, in the near future, be able to casually mention to acquaintances the fact that I'd had drinks with Jill overlooking that which we were overlooking.)

So, he sat down. A member of the staff scurried in to run him off. I noticed. Maq noticed. Feeling bad about the look I'd first gave Maq, I waived the waiter away. Maq smiled this irritating (and cute) smile he does when he makes a wry and accurate observation and said, "Thanks. I really won't bother you."

"No problem." (Maq says: And she smiled. It is true what they say about people like her. There's something special about them. I felt that smile in my gut. It made me question my cynicism.)

The waiter appeared. I ordered another drink. Almost as a second thought the guy asked Maq, "And you sir?"

He smiled that smile and said, "Jack. On the rocks. Thanks."

He turned to me and said, "Really. Am I intruding?"

"No, really. It's okay."

And we each turned to watch the sunset over the rail.

To make a long story short--we sat in companionable silence. Often, the much sought after aloneness comes at the price of isolation. Upon reflection, I realize that being alone in the company of another person is better than being alone in isolation. It has a different quality, a continuing touch of humanity that elevates the pleasure of just being myself. (Jill: Does that make sense?) (Maq: Doesn't have to. Besides, you're making more sense than you did the night you tried to explain after too much wine.) (Jill: Screw you.)

He had his camera set up and took a photo from time to time. And then came the moment. (Maq: Sounds like you should capitalize that.) (Jill: Okay.) And then came The Moment. He took The Photograph. I have a copy of it in front of me as I write this and I will try to describe the sense of what he captured. Anyone who comes into my house sees the real thing.

Imagine a desert vista with mountains rising in the distance. The sun has dropped down below a layer of dark clouds and the light has entered what photographers and cinematographers describe as the "magic moment." When filming we often prepare and sit for hours to capture a brief moment, usually much less than an hour, at either the start or end of the day when the light is low, allowing shadows to define the world but while there's still enough light to provide full illumination. On the best days the light does have a magical quality. Pay attention in films and when you see one where they cared more about style than reality, you may see a shot that is supposed to be in the afternoon, but the quality of the light and the long shadows reveal that it was actually done early in the morning or very late in the evening.

We were facing the sun, but the haze and clouds and mists of the world filtered it so that it was way below blinding. The edges of the dark clouds overhead were lit by the twilight colors of the sun. The narrow band of sky at the horizon must have contained every warm, living color God created. The earth was golds and purples. To the south was the thunderhead. A group of twenty or thirty horses were being herded in front of us, the dust they raised glowing from the sun. Maq was clicking away. Suddenly, from the thunderhead, lightening streaked. It forked across the top of clouds and to the ground. It was breathtaking.

I looked over at Maq to share what we'd just seen. He was staring at his camera.

"Did you get that?" I asked.

He turned slowly my way. I could actually see goose bumps on his arms. He looked at me with a look of awe, his eyes wide and said, "I think I did. Wow."

"You have got to sell me a copy of that."

"Man, I hope I got that." He broke into a big smile. "If I did, I'll send you one."

Maq says:

It was serendipity. Existence is always rolling along in its magic. Occasionally, a random moment is sparked, and, if you are lucky enough to catch it and if you have any passion in your soul at all, it is spiritual. Rarely can someone catch it in a photograph without the help of Photoshop. I am not that good a photographer. The chances of me pressing the shutter at exactly the right moment must have been astronomical. But, I did. And I was using an RB-67 with a wonderfully large negative area. I'd slowed the shutter speed to catch the movement of the horses and to further enhance the diffusive effects of the dust they raised. There was even some reflection from the mountain behind us that added light to the scene. I do not expect to ever have another such perfect photographic moment. (Jill says: I think it was God's way of making sure you eventually got into my panties.) (Maq says: Thank you, God.)

The photograph is amazing. She described the moment well. Everything is there including the streak of lightening. The shutter speed assured that I caught the colors. The most amazing thing is that the lightening acted like a photoflash and etched the silhouettes of the horses, the blur of their movement obscured into darkness. (Jill says: R, a director, saw the photo in my house some time later. He did a double take, examined it, and said, "Goddamn, that's real. Great shot." Trust me, from that man, that is as good a compliment as you can get.) (Maq says: You never told me that.) (Jill says: Oh, good. I still have a few secrets from you.)