A the Jagged Smile

The Jagged Smile

I am sixteen and walking with a group of UCLA students towards a Westwood theater.

I am heading to see the Jagged Edge, a typical “bad boyfriend thriller” with a group of UCLA students. Our floor was the “social” one and would have organized activities to attend.

The gorgeous halfling is here and I learn her name so I can stop thinking it’s “Proudfoot” related: Lesley. This thrilled me as I didn’t understand she was on the same floor. Dykstra Hall was well named as the entire floor is one long hall. We hadn’t bumped into each other as Lesley and I were on the extreme ends on each side.

I also noticed no He-Man was there. He lived here, I’d seen him with Ram Man and Orko, but perhaps the three of them were off chasing Skeletor and Trap Jaw. This was a solid sign that Lesley and He-Man were maybe not that close.

We walk from campus to the Village Theater. Now, a few years back, if I was writing this story, I’d say we are headed to the Bruin. Today, I know, a priori that this not true and it is the Village. You might ask, how can something solely from the senses may be known a priori. It’s simple. I said this from Lesley. She corrected me. I said I was sure, and then she said something that informed me that I should treat this as axiomatic: “Wanna bet?”.

Normally, when one person offers another person a wager, there’s a probability discussion. This does not happen with my wife. She will simply allow you to name your prices and is happier as you increase the amount. Then she will show you the indisputable proof and collects your money. Again, this is not a probability discussion and you must understand that, a priori, a fact has been presented.

The fates align and we happen to be in line next to each other. She’s young and small. I try this gently: “Are you sure you are old enough for an R?” She smiles, laughs, puffs up big, “I’m 18!”. I hear a domino cascade start that will run for decades.

We sit together at the film and watch:

Glenn Close is alone in Jeff Bridges’ house. She is looking for something she hopes she won’t find. The closet is unlocked. This seems like an oversight for a person who has committed murder, but perhaps estate planning is not his strength.

She finds a typewriter. She sits. She types. The letters match the threatening notes. She types again. They match again. She is hoping the typewriter will change its mind. It will not.

GLENN CLOSE: (whispering) “Oh god.”

Jeff Bridges is standing behind her. He has a jagged knife. He has been charming for two hours and now he is not. The jawline is the same. Everything else is different.

JEFF BRIDGES: (stepping forward)

He does not get a line. BAM! Snake Guy is through the window. Glass everywhere. He’s got Jeff Bridges by the wrist and the knife is already across the room.

SNAKE GUY: “TAKE THAT SUCKA!”

Snake Guy hucks Jeff Bridges into the closet. The closet, notably, locks from the outside. Snake Guy turns the lock.

SNAKE GUY: “See? It locks. It’s not hard.”

Glenn Close is shaking. She starts to say something grateful.

GLENN CLOSE: “How did you—”

SNAKE GUY: (already climbing back out the window) “Pshaw.”

He’s gone. Glenn Close is standing alone in the room. The typewriter is still there. The closet is now locked. From somewhere outside, a car engine starts and leaves immediately.