Quiero mi Plata

Of course I live in Argentina and the money’s not ready from Monday’s all-day shoot. Horacio hasn’t received the list from Fernando, who was supposed to pay us the day of… but this is Argentina so what do you expect? But $50 is a lot of money, in Argentine or elsewhere, and now I have three people to harass until Coppola pays up. And if it doesn’t happen, well it was a cool experience with free food and bad coffee, but I’d still like my money. 12 hours at less than $5/hour; yep, I’ll take that.

But today we were supposed to get our money, so I waited for Jenny to get out of class and drank some coffee after my first run in 6 days.

David Sedaris says that to write, “All you need to do is live.” So I’m living and trying to recall anecdotes. But my journal has been neglected. There is no documentation of Saturday night when I accidentally handed a cheto man a bottle of Ecco Andes con gas. “I asked for sin gas,” he told me minutes later. So I swapped bottles with him after scouring the shelves for an agua sin gas, then poured my mistake into a coffee mug with two limes. I suppose if the night hadn’t been so busy I could’ve added vodka. Jenny’s upset because someone posted pictures of her making out with Matias. I say if you can’t handle the consequences, don’t do it. She plays with boys’ emotions too much, and she expects us all to believe she’s Polly Purity. I think she’s more concerned in being caught. In a lie. Or by Fernando. She still plans to visit him in August, and yet she’s been dating this Colombian Polo player. I guess she doesn’t have to be exclusive, but that’s just too complicated for me. I’m to the point where the boys’ attention is almost annoying: I’d rather flirt, dance and be on my way. But I’m sure I will miss it when I’m gone. I have now resorted to ignoring text messages from Ezequiel. It seems childish, but also easier than explaining I’m not interested, nor should he be. I didn’t even get to practice my Spanish with him. One of the girls from the movie set (was it Chulie or Laurel?) said she calls those dates “descartables” or throw-aways. The ones where you go out, speak Spanish, have a nice meal and bail. You discard them. I suppose that’s what I did with Carlos back in April. If Jenny doesn’t call me I suppose I just won’t go with her and Alan to pick up our paychecks. I doubt either of them has called Horacio. And I don’t want to wait around the Brazilian embassy for her visa. She says it will only take 15 minutes. But nothing in this country only takes 15 minutes. I went for my first run since Thursday, and although it was short, I already feel better. On Monday Jenny was teasing me for not wanting to stay out late at Museum on Wednesday nights. “You don’t even have class!” “Yes, but I like to run.” She rolled her eyes. “Because if I don’t I get cranky, and I didn’t run today,’ I warned her. So yes, the run today and private coffee was much needed. Annemarie and I decided over coffee at Maru Botana that the reason Jenny gets all these boys is that she’s not intimidating in the least. She’s very approachable, even when she tries not to be. And she says she talks to them (at length) because she’d never want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but she can actually be quite mean-spirited: She told me that the Pope decreed that only Catholics were going to heaven. “So you believe I’m going to burn in hell?” “Yes.” “Then why don’t you try to convert me?” “Because I don’t care.” Ouch. Gillea says the Pope didn’t say that. And she’s Catholic. Also, her Spanish teacher taught Francis Ford Coppola. He’s a very hands-on director, I think I already wrote that somewhere. I’m interested to see the film. All these different angles and components. It’s about two Argentine-Italian composer brothers born in New York. Our scene was a flashback to 1978 in New York’s Chinatown. But it was shot right off the railroad tracks at Todos Contentos on Arribeña y Mendoza. The just told us the address and the restaurant name; so when we showed up at 6:58 am and walked inside to see Francis Ford Coppola sitting at a table in his blazer with his scarf just so, I was floored. I don’t know if I’d ever seen a picture, but I knew it was he. “Who are you with?” my bubble was burst as I was told to head over to wardrobe. I am but a lowly extra. (At least they gave us blankets between takes.) So we sat upstairs in a sushi restaurant and drank bad coffee with cheap facturas and jam. I need to buy more jam today.

“A riggoletta. Down and dirty. Small orchestra. Rented scenery.” The older brother asks his more successful brother for a loan so he can present his symphony. The younger brother is worried it will taint his name, and he asks him to compose under a pseudonym. “But I had the name before you did!” He exclaims before putting on his hat and walking out the door. The back of my head is in that scene. I’ve never been so concerned about the back of my hair. I kept running my hands through it between takes. I was a bit bummed I didn’t get to have it done. Everyone else had theirs teased out and lacquered down with hairspray and bobby pins.

Yesterday I had planned to get my paycheck in San Telmo, but Horacio was out sick or at the doctor’s. So I still met up with Annemarie and Damian at the Pura Vida in Microcentro. Had a Purificadora smoothie (I forget the combination, but I know it had wheatgrass, pineapple and organic honey) and a Mediterranean wrap. Ordered the first in Spanish and the second in English. My headache got to me and the pronunciation wouldn’t come, so I ordered in English. I heard her speaking English earlier (it’s owned by two Californians) and since it’s frustrating for me at the bar to receive orders in broken Spanish (or English,) I figured I’d give her a break. It’s a cognate. She understood fine. The food was good. Felt healthy. And apparently wheatgrass has magnesium, so hopefully it will prevent future Charlie Horses. Damian had to head back to work after lunch (he liked it. He should fit in to The States quite well,) but Annemarie and I wandered around a bit. Tried to find Laurel’s coffee shop recommendation, but since she didn’t know the name of it or its location that proved difficult. There are a lot of cafes with circular signs. So we stopped in Gallerias Pacificos to view the murals (I didn’t like them) then grabbed some coffee and cake at Maru Botana. Annemarie needs to sample a lot of cakes before her wedding in November. Argentine weddings have multiple cakes, a whole dessert section of the evening. So I helped her sample over coffee. As we were walking back toward home and I was talking about my wheatgrass smoothie, Annemarie was like, “Wow, you really are a hippie.” I must confess, sometimes I am anxious to get back to Austin and be near all of my hippie foods. But I’m sure there I will miss my café con leche y alfajores. I bought an electric milk whisk at Morph for $19.90; so maybe someday I can make my own café con leche at home. It won’t be the same though. Unless I start baking teeny-tiny cookies and serve it with a little glass of sparkling water. I’ll stick to the café life for now.