Chapter 6 – Bringing Wine to Crash Dinner
After meeting with Estelle, Bruce locked himself in his apartment for two solid weeks and wrote three screenplays: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Django Unchained, and The Hateful Eight.
These scripts had diverged significantly from their source material—he could only call them adaptations built around core concepts, unlike Inglourious Basterds, which he'd given to Estelle and which followed the original much more closely.
The reason was simple: in his previous life, Bruce hadn't just rewatched his favorite films countless times—he'd tracked down their original scripts and studied them obsessively.
For Inglourious Basterds, one of his all-time favorites, he knew every scene and practically every line by heart.
But for these three new scripts, he'd only seen the films a handful of times and skimmed the screenplays once or twice. He'd had to rebuild characters and dialogue from scratch, guided only by each story's essential premise.
That's why each script still took him about five days to complete.
Now, as Bruce typed the final period and slid the pages into a folder, he caught the scent of Monica's cooking drifting up from downstairs.
It had puzzled him for two weeks: his windows were closed, yet somehow the aroma always found him.
Right now he smelled rich pasta sauce—sweet tomatoes, sharp garlic and onion, savory meat, all woven into the distinctive, mouth-watering signature of Monica's kitchen.
Unable to resist, Bruce grabbed his keys and headed to a wine shop near the building. If he was going to crash dinner, he should at least bring something.
After selecting a bottle, he stepped up to the register—and the clerk asked for ID.
Bruce slapped his driver's license on the counter. "Are you serious? I graduated college years ago. Do I look underage?"
The clerk picked up the license without looking up. "Don't blame me. Owner's rule. Anyone whose age isn't obvious has to show ID—he doesn't want another fine from the liquor board."
Once verified, Bruce paid and hurried back with the wine.
He knocked on Monica's door. Rachel answered.
"Wow, Bruce! Feels like forever—what have you been up to?"
Bruce stepped inside and saw Monica at the stove.
The last time Rachel had seen him was about a week ago, when the power went out while he was writing. He'd gone downstairs to borrow candles from Monica, but everyone had been there, so he'd stayed to hang out instead.
That was the night Rachel met Paolo, her new Italian boyfriend who lived in the building—leaving Ross visibly crushed.
"Still writing upstairs," Bruce said. "Finally finished tonight, so I can breathe for a minute. Where's Paolo?"
"Back in Italy for a while."
Bruce nodded and turned to Monica. "I smelled your pasta sauce from upstairs and couldn't resist!"
"You're always welcome!" Monica called over her shoulder. "Just a few more minutes!"
"But I couldn't show up empty-handed, so I grabbed a bottle of red. Should pair nicely with dinner."
Monica glanced at the bottle on the table. "Bruce, thank you! Everyone else just walks in and raids my fridge, but you actually brought a gift. I'm impressed. Have a seat—dinner's almost ready!"
Just then Joey pushed the door open—Rachel hadn't closed it all the way.
He walked straight to the fridge, pulled out a soda, took a long drink, and only then said, "Hey, guys!"
Monica looked at Bruce. "See? That's what normally happens."
Joey looked confused. "What?"
Bruce smiled. "Monica, I'm sure your cooking is incredible. Honestly, the hardest part about writing upstairs is when you start cooking at night—the smell drifts up and it takes forever to stop thinking about dinner and get back to work."
"Well, from now on, if you smell food, just come down. Oh, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? I'm making a big dinner here if you want to come."
"Really? Who else will be there?"
Monica lifted pasta from the boiling water to drain it. "My parents will be in Puerto Rico." She switched to an annoyed tone. "Can you believe they just decided that and told Ross and me at the last minute? Didn't even ask if I wanted to go!"
She continued plating. "Anyway, Ross will be here, and Chandler, though for him it's just another Thursday because he doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving."
Joey piped up. "Oh yeah, Thanksgiving dinner! Count me in!"
Monica brought the pasta to the table where everyone had plates and silverware waiting.
As she served portions, she asked Joey, "Aren't you going to your family's?"
"Uh... ever since I did that VD awareness poster, my picture's everywhere. My family thinks I actually have something, so I can't really go home right now."
"Okay, you're in. So we've got Monica, Ross, Bruce, Joey, Chandler, and Phoebe."
While they talked, Bruce opened the wine and poured everyone a glass.
"Rachel, are you spending the holiday with your family?"
"Yeah, we go skiing in Vail every year. This year's no different." She paused. "Bruce, won't your family mind if you don't come home?"
Bruce shrugged. "My parents are pretty chill about Thanksgiving. I'll just call and let them know. Actually, Monica, maybe I could contribute a dish? Something I learned from my dad?"
Monica's eyes lit up. "I'd love that! I remember meeting your parents once in high school—your dad had a restaurant, right? How's that going?"
"Yep, Dad's place is still running strong. It's called Lucky Dragon."
Joey swallowed a mouthful of pasta. "Wait, your family runs a restaurant? Now I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving!"
Bruce turned to Joey. "By the way, have you talked to Estelle lately?"
"Just two phone calls: one about that VD poster, another offering me a part in Al Pacino's new movie."
Bruce's eyes widened. "Wait, really? Are we going to see you on the big screen?"
Joey hesitated. "You didn't hear about this?"
"Sorry, I've been locked upstairs writing for two weeks. I'm out of the loop."
Monica burst out laughing. "Let me answer for Joey: you won't see Joey in the movie, but you will see Joey's butt!"
"Yep," Joey confirmed. "I'm Al Pacino's butt double."
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