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“Why?” I ask. “What happened then?”
“Movies started to change in the ‘60s and ‘70s, got more realistic, grittier. I like the old stuff better. It’s more about the writing. And I love the way actors spoke back then.”
“They do have an odd cadence,” I say to her.
“It’s like an accent. You hear it with every decade. People don’t even realize they’re doing it.”
I grin at her. “We’re doing it right now, I bet. Talking in our own decade’s accent.”
“You’re right,” she says, laughing. “I never thought about it.”
“I wonder if people will say this about us one day, that our movies are awful and our accents are stupid.”
She laughs again. “Probably. I mean, would you blame them?”
“Not at all.” I sigh a little bit. “I mean, our version of the Western is the superhero movie…” I trail off and look around the room at Henry’s collection of nerdy comic book memorabilia.
Emily laughs again. “You shouldn’t say that in this room. I think it’s a shrine to superheroes.”
“Eh, Henry’s more into anime.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” She glances at his bookshelf.
I follow her gaze and laugh softly. “Did you find his dirty books?”
“They’re all dirty,” she whispers. “Seriously, Japanese people are filthy!”
“Everyone’s filthy.” I grin at her and turn around my sketchbook. “See?”
Her eyes go a little wide. It’s an impressionistic sketch, not very detailed, but it’s clearly of her, lying on the couch, completely naked.
“Wow,” she says. “Is that…?”
I nod. “It’s you. I mean, it’s meant to be you. I can make it more detailed if you want.”
“No, no,” she says quickly, blushing. “That’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” I stare at her for a second. “I want to draw you.”
“Like in Titanic?” she asks.
I nod my head. “Like one of my French girls.”
She laughs a little, but I don’t look away, and she realizes that I’m not kidding. “I don’t know,” she says.
“You can have it when I’m done. You can do whatever you want with it.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Even sell it? I hear you’re getting pretty popular.”
I smirk at her. “Even sell it, if you want, but I don’t know where you’re getting your info.”
She shrugs and waggles her phone in the air. “I may have done some research.”
I sigh a little. “Of course. The internet ruins everything.”
“The internet improves everything.” She sits forward and looks at me for a second before taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” I stand up and take the paintbrush from my back pocket. She glances at it as I place it down on the desk next to my chair.
