The phone call

When I was a freshman at NYU two years ago, I skipped a boring writing class in the fall. I took a cab up to Lincoln Center and purchased one $65 ticket to see Steven Spielberg speak at an event called “An Evening with Steven Spielberg.”

It was, perhaps, the first time I didn’t feel guilty for not going to a class. And it was, for sure, the most I’d ever spent on a ticket—to anything. But I couldn’t resist.

On my 22nd birthday last week, I received many phone calls.

Most of them were expected: birthday wishes from my parents, family members, high school friends and even an ex-girlfriend. It had been a nice day. I tend to enjoy most of my birthdays.

My friend Josh bought me a chocolate cake and led a monotonous version of “Happy Birthday” in one of the crowded common areas at school. (I blew the candles out early, cutting the song short, saving us both from embarrassment.) My friend Gil took me out to dinner for some gourmet sushi. And even though it was a Monday night, I convinced a group of my friends to come out to my favorite bar for a small birthday gathering.

The bar is on Avenue B and 12th Street and there is an outdoor garden with picnic tables tucked between a playground and a church. It’s decorated with colored Christmas lights and tiny potted plants. I was having a good time.

My phone rang at 10:30 p.m. and, expecting a few more birthday phone calls, I picked it up immediately. On the other end of the phone was a guy I know from working as a PA.

“Zac?” he said loudly. I could hardly hear him over the music and talking.

“Hey, one sec, let me go outside.” I said over the commotion.

“Are you at a bar?”

“Uh... yeah.”

“That’s funny, it’s Monday.”

Before I could explain that it was my birthday, he continued. “Do you want to work next week? I have a pretty big job coming to town.”

I answered almost immediately,

“I don’t think so. I’m back at school now and the semester is just starting to pick up, I’m getting pretty busy, but thanks for calling.”

“Let me just tell you about the project,” he said. I glanced into the bar and saw all of my friends laughing and having a good time. My attention faded.

I had dressed nicely for the “Evening with Steven Spielberg.” It was my first time at Lincoln Center. A critic who I don’t remember was interviewing Spielberg. He spoke of his life and career as a director. They showed clips of all of his movies and he told behind-the-scene stories...

“When we were shooting Indie One, I turned to Harrison...

“Stanley called me every month to try to persuade me to direct A.I...

“The robotic sharks on Jaws were a nightmare...”

I thought about all the movies that this man sitting in front of me had directed, realizing that many of them were classics and most them were good. How does one man do that? I smiled slyly and shook my head. He seemed so human sitting small on the grandiose stage. It was an amazing night.

Back on my birthday, the phone chirped me back to reality.

“It’s the Spielberg movie. It’s going to be in...”

I interrupted, “Did you say Spielberg?”

“Yeah, they’re coming to town for four days next week, just thought you might be interested.”

What I remember most from the night at Lincoln Center was the end of the program. The crowd had risen to its feet and the applause was unwavering. Spielberg stood up and did a sort of bow and a wave of his hand. He walked off the stage in what seemed to be slow motion. He swept one of his hands casually through his hair as he waved with his other.

I only saw this action once but I feel like I saw it hundreds of times. It’s crystal clear. The position of his hand, the way that his fingers waved back and forth through the air, his eyes gently passing over me and the crowd. I can remember every detail, and the ones that I can’t remember are easy to make up.

“I’ll do it,” I said quickly.

“Great, I’ll put you in. Do you want all four days?”

“Absolutely,” I answered.

“I’ll call you tomorrow with more details.”

Back in the bar, I disappeared into the crowd of my friends. I let my thoughts of Spielberg fade into the night with a sly smile and a small shake of my head.