0027: Jetson Ayers

Jetson Ayers. Everly had first seen him at the Santa Barbara film festival. His feature film won the highest honor and Everly watched him stride up the aisle of the theater, stopping so the slender actresses could drape themselves around him with congratulations. Everly tried to ascertain if he was dating any of them, but Jetson presented each same warm aloofness to each.

On stage, he and a tall woman with dark hair and an accent accepted the award. The woman did most of the talking, her hands gesturing wildly, as if directing air traffic. Jetson‌, on the other hand, just stood there. The trophy dangling nonchalantly by his side.

Everly admired his chiseled jawline, his kind, triangular eyes, and his tall stature. The most attractive part of him, however, was his divine ambivalence to the whole situation.  As if the award was something he had already won the moment he was born.

Months later, an internet article detailing out the winners of this year’s Nicholl fellowships presented the second time. The image contained five filmmakers all lined up. Jetson’s towered over the brown haired fellow next to him, and his perfectly sculpted profile took up a majority of the image. 

Everly found him fascinating. It wasn’t just his movie star looks, or his statuesque physique, it was...something else. 

After six months of writing to an “Info@” email address for Jetson’s production company, he finally wrote her back. “Have something that might be right for you. How’s Monday, October 31st at 4pm?”

Everly read those fourteen words over and over again and then spent the next twenty-seven days, twelve hours and thirteen minutes looking forward to it. Jetson Ayers was going to cast her in his next film. She could feel it. 

Something jabs the soft skin of Everly’s side.