Ron Weaver was still nervous. He'd never not be.
It had been several months since "The Fashion Icon" had completed filming, but Ron was still so overwhelmed by the presence of Kirsty Kirby, the film's glamorous star. She had asked him to dinner after they had finished the last day of ADR sessions, and as uneasy as she made him feel, he couldn't say no.
In the film, Ron played Michael Dawson, a young aspiring fashion designer hired as an aide to Alexandra Blair, the most powerful name in the women's fashion business, played by Kirsty. The two-time Oscar winner stayed in character during filming, not speaking to Ron between takes and maintaining a snobbish, stuck-up demeanor every second she was on set. On the last day of filming, she immediately left the set in a limo, not even bothering to speak to the director.
Ron didn't know what to think as he looked at Kirsty across the restaurant table. Was this the "real" Kirsty, or another character she played when she wasn't working?
"You know, I never had the chance to say this before," she said in her quiet, beautiful Australian accent, "but I thought you did a phenomenal job as Michael."
"Really?" said Ron. "That is very high praise coming from you. I appreciate it."
"You'd better," she laughed.
Ron had never heard Kirsty laugh, not even in the movies.
"You have...this power...this grace...in every take you were electric, you were on point," she continued. "Powerful stuff!"
"Thank you."
"We've got to find something else to work on together."
"Yeah, I guess we should."
Kirsty took a sip of wine. The room became uncomfortably quiet.
"I loved your album too."
"What?" Ron responded, so loudly that other diners looked on.
Kirsty laughed again. "You seem surprised."
"Well, uh..."
"What, you didn't think I'd like hip-hop?"
"Well, I..."
"Ron, what do you think I listen to all day, Rodgers and Hammerstein?"
"Well, no, but...I mean, you're, you know...classically trained and all that-"
"Oh, classically trained," Kirsty smiled, waving her pale hand in the air. "Come on, Ron, I'm still in the real world."
"OK."
"I must say, your lyrics...they're pretty sensational."
"Oh, man."
Kirsty laughed again. "I mean, I figured you'd get some-I mean, you're a really handsome guy-but boy, you must get a lot!"
"Oh, boy. Look, I hope that...uh..."
"You hope what?"
"Well, look, uh, 'Risque Business' came out a while ago, and I wouldn't say the same things I said on that album in the same way..."
"Oh, come on, Ron."
"No, no. I'm serious. Look, I've been doing a lot of reading about...you know...the male gaze, and uh..."
"Look, Ron. And I can say this. Do you know what the male gaze is?"
"Why, yes, it's-"
"You're a male, and you gaze."
"Oh, man!"
Kirsty took another sip of wine and playfully kicked Ron's leg. "Look, I wasn't offended by your lyrics at all. A woman can tell the difference between a guy who writes about fucking because he doesn't like women and a guy who writes about fucking because he actually loves women. You're the latter."
"OK. I hope so. I aspire to be."
"Well, you've already achieved your goal."
There was another brief bit of uncomfortable silence. Ron took a sip of water.
"Look, I haven't had the chance to tell you this previously, but I want to say it was an absolute honor to work with you. You are my favorite actress. I have literally seen all of your films-all of them. Not just the American ones. The Australian ones, too. You are a living legend."
"Ah, not that again."
"No, no. I'm serious."
"OK," Kirsty smiled, as she gave him another playful kick under the table.
"Mind if I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
