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Written and directed by Emilio Estevez

Can’t you imagine it? Frazzled, sitting around in a housecoat at a motel outside of Los Angeles, writer/director/actor, Emilio Estevez, puts out his cigarette and picks up the phone.

“Can I get an outside line?” Moments later, he dials the number and swallows nervously while he waits for her to pick up.

Finally, the phone is answered but it isn’t her. “Whadup,” says the man’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Uh, hi. Is, uh, is Demi around?”

“Yeah, hold up.” He drops the phone clumsily to the floor. The sound of his bellowing can be heard getting more faint as he walks further away from the dangling telephone. “Baaaaaaabe! Phone!”

Emilio is waiting. This isn’t unusual, he thinks to himself. We’ve had some good times. There’s no reason why I should be nervous. He hears the phone being handled.


There’s the voice he’s been waiting to hear. “Demi, hi. It’s Emilio.”


“No. No, it’s Emilio Estevez.”

“Jesus! Emilio! How the hell are you?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer. “What has it been already?” Again, she doesn’t wait. “I heard you moved to some motel to become a hermit or something.”

“Well, not exactly. I am at a hotel but I’m writing.”

“Writing? Wow. That’s … Wow. God, you haven’t written a movie since ‘Men at Work’.”

“Yeah, I know. This one’s different though, better, much. I’m writing a movie about the Ambassador Hotel, on the day that Bobby Kennedy was shot.”


He was hoping for a little more but this would have to do. “I’m having a bit of a hard time getting the money together to make it though.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not looking for a project to invest in right now.”

“No, no. I’m not asking you for any money. There’s a part I thought you might like. And I figured if I get enough people on board, the funding might come a little easier.”

“A part? Hmmm. Well, who else is doin’ it?”

“A few people. Heather Graham, Bill Macy, Helen Hunt, Larry Fishburn, Sharon Stone.”

“Wow. Anybody else?” He could tell she was coming around.

“Uh, yeah. Tony Hopkins, Christian Slater, Dad.”

“Aw, I love your father. What’s the part?” He knew he could tell her almost anything now. It didn’t matter. He had her.

“You would play Virginia Fallon. She’s a popular singer who frequently plays the hotel. She’s a total drunk too.” He hesitates for a moment. “And she’s concerned that the public doesn’t really care so much for her anymore, y’know, because of her … age.” He waits for it but it’s oddly quiet.

“Ageing, hmmm.” Suddenly, All Emilio could hear were the teenagers hitting the ice machine down the hall. Then, she finally spoke. “I bet you I could get an Oscar out of this. An actress not afraid to play her age, or at least close to it. And a drunk! I’m as good as there!”

“Yeah! There’s this great scene between you and Sharon. She is going to play the hotel stylist. She’s doing your hair and your nails. You’re drunk. She’s tired. And the two of you just talk about how nobody wants you when you’re a woman of a certain age.”

“Yeah, that sounds great but I have the better lines, right? I would hate to see her walk away with my nod.”

“Demi, please. You know she’s got nothing on you.” He didn’t know he could be such a convincing liar. Even more so in retrospect, given that Stone is the only actor featured in BOBBY to be getting any Oscar attention.

“Aw, Emilio, thanks. I’ll have to check my schedule but I should be good. So, what’s the whole thing about?” she asks after the fact.

“Well, it’s really about the death of all the necessary social and political change that Bobby represented. The last 15 minutes are gonna have everybody ballin’ their eyes out. Bobby gives his speech at the hotel and then gets shot in the kitchen. People won’t know what hit ‘em. I mean, they’ll know it’s coming but it’s still gonna be rough.”

The level of excitement in his voice is like that of a young boy. Demi is familiar with this enthusiasm. She is also wise enough to know to scale it back. “Ok but what about the hour and half that comes before the end? What happens there?”

Emilio snaps out of his zone. “Well, stuff obviously.” He hears the defensive tone in his voice. “I mean, there are so many people in this movie and so many hotel guests. It’s got so many possibilities for different things going on.”

“Alright, that’s interesting. It’s got an Altman-esque quality to it. And I guess all the different stories somehow connect with each other or have some deeper level of significance. It will be an indirect criticism on today’s society, right?”

He had not thought about bridging the divide between the centuries for his wide variety of characters. He always thought Kennedy himself would take care of that. Having the cast involved in topical and symbolic plots complicates things. Having them involved in more random, dramatic situations was a lot easier. When he thought of tying everything together in other ways than just through Kennedy’s assassination, it made him feel that his script might be weak. He didn’t like to think about that. He also didn’t want to admit it.

“Of course. Plus I managed to sign that Lindsay Lohan everyone talks about and that guy who played Frodo. There will be so many faces in this film, people won’t know where to look. And I’m planning all this moving camera aesthetic. People will be so dizzy, a good dizzy of course. And there are the costumes! I’m thinking big hair for you.”

“God, I love big hair.” You could hear her smile through the phone. “Alright, I’ll have my agent call you, on one condition.”

“Name it. I really want you in this.”

“Can you put Ashton in the picture? I need to separate him from his PS3 for a while. Y’know, give the kids a chance to play.”

“I need a stoner drug dealer part filled still. Do you think he can do that?”

“Yes, I think a stoner would be fine,” she said flatly.

“Great, than it’s settled. One last thing … Do you think you could give Bruce a call?”

“Don’t push it, Emilio.”

The call now made, Emilio sits back down to the blank page in his typewriter and stares out the window.

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