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Danny Bikko rolls over two minutes early and pesters me with questions about my project. Who is this character I want her to play? What motivates the character? How much am I paying? This is the primary question, of course. And I should ask Danny what I’ll be getting for the kash but I am too polite and we experiment forward.

The character is a woman in flames.
Dreams not dashed yet, but curdling.
The perfect love is a cruelty of imagination and self respect is no longer expanding commensurate with time. I.e., a sense of accomplishment is wanting.

But I sense Bikko calculating and cut to the chase: Let’s do a scene:

Is this what you did as a child?
Watch women?
(pause)
Maybe I should ask myself
who was watching me
when I was a child.
But I can’t do that in front of you.
I won’t do that in front of you.

Bikko hammers the scene, a baby shark let loose in a playground of guppies, and I get teeth marks around my neck. And then she says:

“I can’t have nude pix of me floating around cyberspace, Blue. No nudes.”