It was a good movie: funny, thoughtful, well-acted, well-lit, alternative, and times even a little lurid. But she was unbelievable. Not in her acting, which was impressive since the last thing he'd seen her in, What was it? The Patriot Game? No, must have been Clear and Present Danger. He was aware that she had acted in other movies since then, but he never found the interest. Roman had never ever thought Thora Birch was that appealing of a child actor. He kept looking at the main menu of the Ghost World DVD.
Roman clicked off the TV. Even before ejecting the DVD and putting it back, he went to his small desk. He clicked on his computer, it took awhile to cue up, and he went to Microsoft Word. Before he knew it, he was typing. The words seemed to come out more natural than anything he had written in three years:
"Dear Miss Thora Birch,
I am writing you this letter from an old, scratch oak desk that my Uncle Henry bequeathed to me. On the surface, this desk saw better day before the Great Depression. Nevertheless, it is as firm and strong as the day if left the factory floor. Firm and strong, just like how your breasts looked in the movie Ghost World. Now before you get alarmed, I am not a stalker. I have no wish to hover around you. I saw a documentary on John Hinkley the other day, and believe me, I am not that guy. For one, I am not even a fan of yours.
I mean, the last I saw you in, you were playing Jack Ryan's precocious little brat in the movie A Clear and Present Danger. You were kind-of annoying, but that's okay. You were a child actor, you were learning, you were evolving, and you were better in front of a camera than I'd ever be. And your growth as an actor was noticeable in Ghost World. I AM impressed, but you have a long way to go still. Also, I was roughly the same age you and Scarlet were when Ghost World came out. So I am a peer fantasizing about a peer. Believe me, I am fantasizing about you. I just finished watching the movie not five minutes ago, and I have already imagined you laid out nude and sweaty in post-coital bliss. And your giving me clearcut signs that you're ready for seconds. However, these fantasies will go no further than my mind. You can sue me for this letter, you get a restraining order, but I have no wish to ever meet you in-person. In fact, if you ever come to Pittsburgh, let me know in advance so I can be sure to be out of town then or just stay in my apartment. I have no wish to "impress you." I have no doubt that you've had boyfriends, and they've had more fun with you than I'll ever know.
But, where do you come off growing up like that? One minute you're like a grade-schooler, the next you're a young woman with huge tits, nice legs, and sweet curves. Scarlett Johannson is a fox too, and she is "fantastic" as well. But I've already seen The Island. I know what she can do in the sack. movie-wse anyway. Shame on Michael Bay for keeping that movie at a PG-13 rating. I hope Brian DePalma doesn't make the same mistake with The Black Dahlia. Given the nature of the subject matter, I'm aware that it's unlikely he will disappoint.
Anyway, Scarlett Johannson is hot too, and if you and her are on speaking-terms, you can tell her so from me, without worries. Now Christina Ricci is different. Even by the time I saw her in Casper, I knew she was going to become a beautiful woman. And her body was delicious up the wall in Buffalo 66. I'll take Christina in Buffalo 66 over Lindsay Lohan in Prairie Home Companion any day, and thrice on Sunday. I don't know, I guess I just like some extra cushion for the pushin'. I know she was still a teenager then, but again, so was I. And if you know Christina too, tell her she's in the clear. I'm not nuts, just horny.
Anyway, getting back to cushion and pushin'. Hmm, no, I think that's it. Oh, wait. As opposed to Ricci, I never thought I'd be typing your name into a search engine, trying to find nude pictures of your twins, but those things are big enough to have their own social security numbers. One minute you are annoying the shit out of Harrison Ford, and the next thing you know, I want to titty-fuck you. Anyway, have a nice life. Hope you win an Oscar, but I doubt it. Get stoned, get married, get kids, and get lost.
Yours Truly
-R. Blojadevich."
Roman finished the letter. Before he new it, he had spell-checked it. After a few minutes, he had hit print. Researching the right address took more time than walking to the mail box outside his building.
For the next few weeks, Roman was a little nervous. He went back and forth to class, and back and forth to his job at the arcade with a little apprehension, wondering if he was going to hear any police sirens or ambulances coming to take him to Mayview. He kept thinking he was going to get a call from the lawyer or agent of Thora Birch, telling him to empty out his pockets or pray that a relative died soon and left him lots of money to help pay the legal fees.
One Friday, almost two months later, he had ordered his large pepperoni pizza to be delivered. He answered the door slowly, wondering if it was going to be the real pizza dude but some undercover cops coming to make a bust. He wondered if he'd get the Dennis Franz type of cop from NYPD Blue or the classic Joe Friday version. Maybe he'd get the Dirty Harry Callahan and that .357 Magnum blowing a whole so big into his chest you could toss a puppy through it. But nothing happened that night. He ate his Pizza, and watched a copy of Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow that he rented from down the block. Man, Christina looked hot in those post-colonial dresses. Too bad Washington Irving was too dead to know it, but he could have gotten rigor mortis all over again. Just about half way through the movie, there was knock on the door. He went up to it and looked through the keyhole.
Yee Gads! It was Thora Birch standing outside his door. She was dressed in the same outfit from Ghost World, only now it looked smaller on her. It seemed to have trouble containing her features. Roman stepped back, blinked, and looked through the keyhole again. She was still there. She looked a little impatient, and she looked delicious. Finally, she looked straight at the keyhole and blew a kiss.
He undid the chain and lock faster than you could say, "jailbait", and swung the door open wide. She was standing there. Good god: those hips, those legs, and of course, the jugs. If she had any fat on her, it was all in the right places. He looked her up and down.
"I'm glad you're impressed, but could you let me in before you get out the A-I sauce?"
"Um, yeah, please, come it." Roman responded, and she complied. She sauntered passed him, swing her stuff like a pendulum. She turned around, feeling his eyes.
"Are you going to close the door?" Thora asked.
Close it? Roman slammed it shut with a loud bang. "My, My, grrrrr." Thora said, mockingly.
Roman kept staring, "Thora Birch?"
