"Come here," his voice is gentle again.
She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
The carpet crunches underneath his shoes as he steps through the lobby of the run-down Chateau Marmont, having just returned from the ski resort. He stops at the front desk to check his messages and gather any mail. The man behind the counter wears a burgundy velvet jacket with cigarette burn marks that grew more apparent the closer you stood. Keanu had earned plenty of money by this point, after the success of previous films. Still, he remained at the seedy, long-term stay hotel. He hasn't changed much about himself: no closet full of fancy designer clothes, no vanity plates on a row of fancy cars. He nods his hello to the concierge, Stan, and made his way up to his room. He likes feeling like he was still hungry, still in need of fighting for his chance.
He inserts his key and opens the hotel room door, flipping on the yellow-tinted lights. Tossing his bags in the corner, he walks into the bathroom to check out his reflection. He sees his buzz cut is slowly growing out, pushing it back a bit with his fingers and noting the prickly sensation. He is clean-shaven and growing more chiseled each day, not in the way a body builder or model might be, but in the way of a man whose career was spent lifting innocent civilians out of dangerous predicaments and wrestling the bad guys to the ground.
He takes his art seriously, preferring to dive into his characters as though it were his own life. He reads what they'd read, eats what they'd eat. He is determined to change the focus of Jack Traven from a Die Hard, wannabe wise-guy to the types of men he has gotten to know while training with the LAPD SWAT team. These guys have their faults, in fact some of them should be put out on their asses, but the overwhelming goal of most is to do good. Get the bad guy. Save the good guy. Rescue the damsels in distress and then get up the next day to do it all again.
Damsels in distress...he isn't sure Sandra is going to fill that mold entirely. She is strong, independent, confident, a little awkward, but in an endearing way. And she is holding back for something, uncomfortable allowing someone to help stand her up or support her.
The time in Colorado worked the way Jan had hoped. He feels closer to her, like he knows her better. He has developed an affection and knew he would want to protect her from "the bad guy." The bad guy. Is that what this Nathan character is? Is it his job to protect her from him? She isn't Annie. He isn't carrying a bomb.
He makes his way to the corner of the room where the patterned armchair sits, next to the desk. Sliding onto the seat, he kicks off his shoes, legs outstretched, arms folded behind his head. Again his mind is infiltrated with thoughts of her destruction. Destruction? Don't be dramatic, he tells himself. She isn't the first to put up with a guy that's beneath her and it's not for him to take action.
He likes her. It'll be easy to portray falling for her. Keanu had read the entire script, by now, memorizing most of the parts, not just his own. She already embodies all the character of Annie means to him. To Jack, he reminds himself, all she means to Jack.
The phone rings. It's Justin, asking if they're still on for the gun range. He learned how to shoot playing FBI agent "Johnny Utah" and enjoyed it so much he'd continued even past the last day of filming. There is something cathartic about holding that cold metal between his hands, squeezing the trigger, contracting his muscles to push against the recoil. It was the same feeling he got surfing a big wave or taking a demon ride on his bike. It felt like an explosion of all inside his brain, released and setting him free. He went to the range now whenever something was on his mind, and today is no different.
