Su, ‘nam, me.

Yep, so I knew Su, we were kinda friends. We’d met as members of a group of people who got together in a cafe twice a month. We were writers; we weren’t professional, fully fledged writers. Su and I were two people writing stories and poems who sometimes thought to compare ourselves to writers. Helping to bolster this belief, we attended a collective of like-minded folk.
We barely met outside of the group meetings, when we did, it was at a bar after a meeting had finished. A smaller number of group members would be sat around a large wooden table, chewing over the evening’s feedback session. It served as an opportunity to express views freely, to joke around and get to know each other. As with any social gathering, a few smaller enclaves would form, carrying on with a particular topic of conversation or developing new ones.
If you were like me, well you might fall silent at some point. Like when your day had caught up with you, your arm and leg muscles deciding lethargy the only response. This physical fatigue is matched by a mental dissociation, taking you somewhere else. Naturally, it is an isolated and underwater world you find yourself in. You look around, view people in conversation without registering their words. You hear laughter or see expressions of surprise, fake and real, punctuating sentences. Most profoundly of all, you find yourself alone.
Until that is, your eyes meet with someone carried on the current as far away as you are, heading out east on a gusting jet stream. What happens next, seems like no one else sees what’s happening. We move frame by frame in our very own, two-person populated world. Did he just smile then, did she just smile back? Legitimate questions – but neither likely aired or noted.
Su is young, young enough for me to know not to cross any kind of line with her. Yes, I did smile, fleetingly so. I can’t see my own face, I can’t be sure if it relaxed a little and softened somewhat like hers had, but I’d guess it had done.
“I have a plan.” She tells me; no attempt made to quell a subversive smile.
“You have a plan?”
“A plan, yes.”
“What kind of plan?” I asked.
“Indirectly, I got the idea from George Lucas.”
“Oh?” I said, unsure if she was being serious or not.
“In the early 70s, he’d wanted to make an anti Vietnam war film.”
“Okay.” I knew this to be true.
“He couldn’t find anyone to fund it, the war hadn’t concluded, most people interested understood the U.S. to have lost.” Elbows on the table, Su clasped her hands together in front of her, extending two pinkies with tips touching to form a triangular shape pointing in my direction. “So, after an adaptation,  he took the story he’d developed and threw it far off into space.” A damned good imitation of a frisbee-throw followed.
“Hah! Okay,” I’d said, “I guess with the race into space, America was having more success.”
“That’s right, they were winning and by then,” Su continued, “Sci-Fi had broken away from the previous decades risible attempts. The output of alarmist, little green men shenanigans had ceased and been replaced by a considered approach.”
“The fall-out from the Kubrick 2001 era.” I said.
“Quite,” she said, “and even better, within Star Wars he’d been able to cast America as the evil empire and the Viet Cong as the rebel alliance, without the people who ended up bankrolling the film ever realising.” Su drew in a large mouthful of gin mixed with tonic and watched my reaction carefully.
“Okay,” I said, “So what’s your plan, I’m intrigued.”
“Well, it isn’t to write a screenplay for an actual Vietnam war story, set in space.” Su said, spinning around the last remaining ice-cube inside her near empty glass. “I-don’t-know, when I read about the back-story to getting Star Wars off the ground and also since then, just how long film projects take from inception to the final cut, it got me thinking: What if I learned of blockbuster film concepts earlier enough, so I could write my own imagining of a screenplay into a story and self-publish? Then, I’d sue the fuckers for copyright before their film comes out.”
“You’d have to write something up quickly,” I said, deploying a cautionary tone, “it’d have to be convincing.”
“Wouldn’t you if there was a chance of a $200,000 settlement waiting up ahead? By the time they are all set to go, the film company won’t want to get held up by a battle over artistic copyright. They’ll seek to settle, it would cost them multiples of a pay-out figure if distribution were delayed.”
“Su, could I be your ‘Clyde’ as accomplice to your ‘Bonnie’?”
“In so many words, that’s what I’d hoped you’d propose, a co-supportive collaboration of minds. We’d only need to do it a few times and then retire.” Su said, turning her head to face upwards at the night sky.
“Okay,” I said, ” as long as there is no ‘just one more time’ thing that happens, alright? It’s a trope people always trip-over.”
“Yep, alright,” she said, turning her gaze to me, “we can come to an agreement on the number of attempts. We can eliminate greed.”
“So when do we start?” I asked, edging forward in my chair. We both looked around our immediate vicinity and noticed everyone else had gone home.
“Now seem like a good time?”