From a thousand possibilities. A villa of such style is only a magnificent point within everything the world has to offer. To Billy's surprise, Monica arrived one afternoon, captivating in a way that made people on the set tremble. Her beauty was everything one would expect from a queen of fashion—yes. Monica was a queen of fashion, particularly sexualized in cinema, as in certain films.
She arrived wearing a white silk blouse that left one shoulder bare and a blue skirt, with heels that revealed her glorious toes. She was a beautiful woman who seduced with the slightest glance. Always with her long hair loose, flowing down past her back.
Billy watched her as the trees framed the surroundings; a trip to Tunisia awaited them in twenty days, when they would film the next parts. The blue, the pale green, everything around them breathed a beautiful air full of life that chewed on a simple truth. Everything was magical: the moving trees, the fish in the river. The sun felt alive, and much of the winter cold was beginning to retreat with sunnier days; trees were blooming, and everything shaped itself into a flourishing spring.
A sweet, grateful kiss was returned by Billy.
-—I'm glad you're here— Billy said, breathing in Monica's calm.
-—You look young, without your usual beard— Monica replied, running one hand along his chin while the other played with his hair, planting light kisses where the beard had once been. Monica's ideal was to love without restraint.
-—Jim told me you kept working— Billy commented, inhaling the scent of her shampoo as he pressed his forehead against her neck—. It seems you've caught my illness.
She made a slight grimace. But everything was understood. It felt good to be valued. People called her from everywhere, and she had several lucrative contracts that promised a comfortable life. She had found a kind of circle of friends who taught her beauty rituals, and the stress of her former life had disappeared since she began living without worrying about trivialities. Now she only longed to make a film for herself, one that burned in her heart: Malena, a forbidden romance/drama, independent in nature, with erotic undertones—something that moved entirely toward tearing that Italian prose onto the pages of cinema, in a small, intimate frame.
She noticed Billy's co-star, a slender girl with delicate features, who waved at them; her dark eyes sparkled as the girl ran past.
-—She may seem a bit harmless— Monica replied—. But she's surely in love with you.
-—You always greet things thinking about the women around me— Billy commented.
-—It's just curiosity. You don't seem to like them much, from what I can see. You always seem to fall for older women, even when younger ones are charming in their own way— Monica replied, kissing Billy's lips for the third time.
-—You came for the project— Billy said.
-—I received the script— Monica replied again—. I accept it. Let's do independent cinema; what does it matter? I only hope you're ready for intense rehearsal sessions.
-—Actually— Monica whispered fervently.
-—You have to learn Italian. To be a producer— Monica added.
-—I've been practicing seriously for a few days now. But for anyone, learning Italian is simply difficult. I'm afraid it will take time— Billy whispered.
It was very hard to put it into words, but for months he had understood some of it. Now, however, they asked him to act more complexly, to fill the gaps, the simple parts. Everything was whispered, but the film was about a thirteen-year-old boy who, by fate, meets Malena—one of those women who fully awaken desire and the youngest innocence of boys. The story was a sad one, filled with misfortune, in which his age prevented him from playing any other role; yet what remained was left in the open, as his merit now lay in learning Italian.
-—Although we can change some things. I feel the script is excessive where it shouldn't be. If we add a deeper, more imprisoning style, we make prostitution appear more dangerous than freedom— Billy commented. He knew that, beyond countless words, what lay beneath was the cage of social pressure—and above all, a way to narrate the prison of a man's desire for women.
To narrate sadness. To narrate that is what makes the pain of a soul—one the body cannot heal—forgettable.
That same afternoon, they joined a Star Wars shoot. The romantic parts were arriving, where even the slightest embrace, the faintest touch, endowed everything with love and filled it with an ironic complexity.
Monica took a seat on the other side; what she desired was not complex—just ordinary reasons and the way things moved. It made everything else hang suspended in a clean, firm, and forgettable shot.
-scene 45, take 1.-
EXT. THEED, RESIDENTIAL AREA, SIDE STREET – AFTERNOON
People stroll down the narrow street; elderly men sunbathe, women gossip, children play. ANAKIN, PADMÉ, and ARTOO turn onto a side street. ANAKIN has returned to his Jedi robes. PADMÉ wears a simple, beautiful dress. She stops, radiant. An Italian-style villa reflecting a marvelous baroque touch.
PADMÉ: There's my house!
PADMÉ moves ahead; ANAKIN lags behind.
PADMÉ
(continuing)
What? Don't tell me you're shy!
ANAKIN: (lying) No, but I…
Suddenly, the shouts of two girls are heard: RYOO (6) and POOJA (4). They come running toward PADMÉ.
RYOO AND POOJA: Aunt Padmé! Aunt Padmé!
PADMÉ: Ryoo! Pooja!
PADMÉ lifts RYOO and POOJA into her arms and hugs them.
PADMÉ
(continuing)
It's so good to see you! This is Anakin. Anakin, this is Ryoo, and this is Pooja.
ANAKIN and the GIRLS greet each other shyly. Then:
RYOO AND POOJA: Artoo!!!
Seeing the droid, they hug him. ARTOO WHISTLES and BEEPS. PADMÉ laughs. ANAKIN and PADMÉ continue toward the house. The GIRLS stay behind to play with ARTOO.
-cut.-
The first cut lasts three to four minutes, nothing remarkable. A step, a quick taste that seems to be forgotten within the weave—moments of a shooting day.
INT. PADMÉ'S PARENTS' HOUSE, MAIN LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON
SOLA, PADMÉ's beautiful older sister, enters from the kitchen carrying a large bowl of food.
SOLA
(over her shoulder)
They'll eat at Jev's later, Mom. They've just had a snack. They'll be fine.
SOLA sets the bowl on the table as Anakin, Padmé, and RUWEE NABERRIE (Padmé's father) enter the room.
PADMÉ: Anakin, this is my sister, Sola.
SOLA: Hello, Anakin.
ANAKIN: Hello.
SOLA sits as Jobal Naberrie (Padmé's mother) enters with a steaming bowl full of food.
Jobal: You've arrived just in time for dinner. I hope you're hungry, Anakin.
ANAKIN: A little.
PADMÉ: He's being polite, Mom. We're starving.
RUWEE
(smiling)
You came to the right place at the right time. Sit down, son.
They all sit and begin passing food.
JOBAL
(to Padmé)
Dear, I'm so glad to see you safe. We were very worried.
PADMÉ shoots JOBAL an annoyed look. RUWEE smiles as he watches.
RUWEE: Dear…
JOBAL: I know, I know… but I had to say it. It's done.
SOLA: How exciting! You know, Anakin, you're the first boyfriend my sister has ever brought home.
PADMÉ
(rolling her eyes)
Sola! He's not my boyfriend! He's a Jedi assigned by the Senate to protect me.
JOBAL: A bodyguard?! Oh, Padmé! They didn't tell us it was that serious!
PADMÉ: It's not, Mom, I promise.
(looking at Jobal)
Anyway, Anakin is a friend. I've known him for years. Do you remember that boy who was with the Jedi during the blockade crisis?
They nod.
PADMÉ
(continuing)
He grew up.
JOBAL: Dear, when are you going to settle down? Haven't you had enough of that life? I certainly have!
PADMÉ: Mom, I'm not in any danger.
RUWEE
(to Anakin)
Is she?
ANAKIN: …Yes… I'm afraid so.
PADMÉ
(quickly)
But not much.
Two camera movements; everything is dismissed.
EXT. PADMÉ'S PARENTS' GARDEN – AFTERNOON
ANAKIN and RUWEE walk together.
RUWEE: Sometimes I wish I had traveled more… but I must say, I'm happy here.
ANAKIN: Padmé told me you teach at the university?
RUWEE
(nodding)
Yes, and before that, I was a builder. I also worked for the Refugee Relief Movement when I was very young.
-cut.-
Billy approaches Monica, who has done a fine job, with a gesture full of happiness.
...