Julianne Moore

A completely true story.

The following was published originally in the Sarah Lawrence College magazine The Croaker in May 2017.

I walk down a Miami street and approach a Walgreens. Julianne Moore is standing outside of the Walgreens. She sips a strawberry protein shake through a straw that didn’t come with the bottle. Julianne Moore says, “Hi, Derick,” and so I say, “Hello, Julianne Moore,” and so she says, “Pretty hot out today,” and so I say, “Good day for a swim,” and so she says, “My thoughts exactly.”

We step out of the cab. Julianne promised she would cover the fare, but I notice that she does not tip our driver. I explain to her why this is wrong and she apologizes. I say, “Don’t apologize, Julianne, just tip your cab drivers from now on.” She nods and lights a cigarette and I hold my tongue.

The beach is crowded. As we make our way closer to the water, I notice heads turning, murmurs of excitement. A little blonde girl laying on a towel is prodded by her mother, who says with her index finger, “Look, look!” The little girl looks and waves at us shyly. Julianne kicks sand in the little blonde girl’s face and keeps walking. We find a place to lay our towels.

“I need you to put sun lotion on my back.”

I get out my sunscreen and as I am about to rub the lotion onto Julianne Moore’s back she grabs my wrist and exclaims, “That doesn’t look like broad spectrum sun lotion,” and so I say, “It’s not,” and so she says, “You do realize that there are two types of ultraviolet rays, don’t you? You know that, right?” Sadly, I don’t. And this shows on my face. She takes another strawberry protein shake and straw out of her bag.This time I realize that the straw is from Starbucks.

“UVA rays penetrate deep into the dermis, the skin’s thickest layer. Unprotected exposure can lead to premature skin aging and wrinkling, and suppression of the immune system. UVB rays will usually burn the superficial layers of your skin.” She sips her protein shake and watches the gull picking at a burger wrapper next to us.

“It plays a key role in the development of skin cancer.” She kicks sand in the gull’s face.

Because we don’t have broad spectrum sun lotion, we leave the beach. We take another cab to Julianne’s hotel, and on the ride she asks me about the difference between a credit card and a debit card. I explain this to her with patience. “A credit card is a little thinner but they serve the exact same purpose.” She doesn’t say thank you, only nods. Her eyes may be closed, but she is wearing sunglasses. It’s a long drive along the coast. When I step out of the cab, I notice she lags a little, but this is to tip the driver.

It is very warm when we arrive at the hotel, inside and out. I propose that we go swimming, but this is a touchy subject. Julianne’s mother broke her foot next to a swimming pool. There are also several, disheveled white men with cameras trying to snap pictures of Julianne. I wonder if they’re allowed to use these pictures when she’s holding her brand-name strawberry protein shake. Anyway, the pool is a short-lived idea. Most ideas are short-lived with Julianne.

Now the night is growing old and Julianne is cranky because she doesn’t usually spend this much time with one other person and by this point I think maybe she’s just not a huge fan of intimacy. We’ve been scrolling through ifunny.co on her Kindle Fire tablet with a bag of lime Hot Cheetos between us for about an hour, and no one has said anything. Sometimes she will huff in lieu of laughter. But finally she cracks the soft silence.

“I hate getting Cheetos powder on my fingers.”

“I think some people use chopsticks,” I tell her.

“That’s stupid.” She sucks the Cheetos powder off of her index finger and scrolls to the next meme. It’s not a very good one. She walks into the next room. I hear her draw a bath. She returns in an open robe, leaning against the door frame, her hair up now.

“I think you should go,” she tells me.

“I had a fun day.”

“Okay.”

She would kick sand in my face if she could. I roll my beach towel, which is still sandy, and shove it in a plastic bag from Walgreens. Her hotel is right on the beach, but we’re so high up that I can’t hear the waves. Also, she has turned on 20/20 to watch while the bath fills.

I stand at the door. “Will I ever see you again, Julianne?”

She turns the volume up. Co-anchors Elizabeth Vargas and David Muir are screaming at me. When I lay my hand on the doorknob, she says, “Derick,” and I say, “Yes?” and she says, “Grab me a shake from the fridge before you go.”

I don’t mind I’m ten feet farther from the fridge than she is. I take my time to walk over to the fridge and scan the shelves for a protein shake, but I see none, not strawberry, not even chocolate. I look over the half-wall dividing the kitchen and the bedroom area, and there is Julianne Moore, covered in white, blankly watching 20/20. How do I tell her there are no more strawberry protein shakes? That her refrigerator is an empty and cold place? Simply, coolly, like she would want.

“There are no more protein shakes.”

For the first time since she’s told me to leave, Julianne looks at me. She sees a bottle sitting on the half-wall.

“Then what’s that right there?”

“It’s an empty bottle.”

Derick Edgren was raised in Rockford, Illinois and is a graduate of Sarah Lawrence College. He has exactly one strand of red hair.