The Bridge Across Forever: A True Love Story by Richard Bach Page A

realities. Hot fudge is HERE! Hot fudge does not threaten our comfortable worldview. Hot fudge is NOW! You about ready for some hot fudge?"
    "Just a little teeny bit," she said.
    By the time we had finished our dessert, we were late, and had to stand in a line two blocks long to buy our movie-tickets.
    The wind was from the sea, cooling the night, and not wishing her to feel a chill, I put my arm around her. "Thank you," she said. "I didn't think we'd be outside so long. Are you cold?"
    "Not at all," I said, "not cold at all."
    We talked about the film we waited to see; mostly she talked and I listened; what to look for, how to notice where money is wasted in a film, and where it's saved. She hated wasting money. In the line we began to talk of other things, too.
    "What's it like to be an actress, Leslie? I've never known, always wondered."
    "Ah, Mary Moviestar," she said, laughing at herself. "Are you really interested?"
    "Yes. It's a mystery to me, what sort of life it is."
    "Depends, It's wonderful, sometimes, with a good script, good people who really want to do something worthwhile.
    That's rare. The rest is just work. Most of it doesn't make much contribution to the human race, I'm afraid." She looked a question at me. "Don't you know what it's like? Haven't you ever been on a set?"
    "Only outdoors, on location. Never on a sound-stage."
    "Next time I'm shooting, would you like to come and see?"
    "I would! Thank you!"
    How much there is to know from her, I thought. What has she learned from celebrityhood . . . has it changed her, hurt her, made her build walls, too? There was about her a certain confident, positive grasp of life that was magnetic, deliciously attractive. She's stood on mountaintops I've only sighted from far off; she's seen lights, she knows secrets I've never found.
    "But you didn't answer," I said. "Aside from making films-what's the life like, how does it feel, to be Mary Moviestar?"
    She looked up at me, guarded for a moment, then trusting.
    "It's exciting, at first. You think at first that you're different, that you have something special to offer, and that can even be true. Then you remember you're the same person you've always been; the only change is that suddenly your picture is everywhere and columns are being written about who you are and what you've said and where you're going next and people are stopping to look at you. And you're a celebrity. More accurately, you're a curiosity. And you say to yourself, / don't deserve all this attention!"
    She thought carefully. "It isn't you that matters to people when they turn you into a celebrity. It's something else. It's what you stand for, to them."
    There's a ripple of excitement when a conversation turns valuable to us, the feel of new powers growing fast. Listen carefully, Richard, she's right!
    "Other people think they know what you are: glamour, sex, money, power, love. It may be a press agent's dream which has nothing to do with you, maybe it's something you don't even like, but that's what they think you are. People rush at you from all sides, they think they're going to get these things if they touch you. It's scary, so you build walls around yourself, thick glass walls while you're trying to think, trying to catch your breath. You know who you are inside, but people outside see something different. You can choose to become the image, and let go of who you are, or continue as you are and feel phony when you play the image.
    "Or you can quit. I thought if being a moviestar is so wonderful, why are there so many drunks and addicts and divorces and suicides in Celebrityville?" She looked at me, unguarded, unprotected. "I decided it wasn't worth it. I've mostly quit."
    I wanted to pick her up and hug her for being so honest with me.
    "You're the Famous Author," she said. "Does it feel that way to you; does this make sense to you?"
    "A lot of sense. There's so much I need to know about this stuff. In the newspapers, have they done this to you?