At Los Altos Hotel & Apts, Frankie J sits by his bed and taps his foot on the floor. He writes in his notebook.
A young woman sits on a chair and looks out the window. She sits at the table and opens her laptop. It reads “You have no new messages.”
He glances at his empty closet and tosses his notebook. She turns a picture frame of them over on the table. He sits on the couch and checks his phone.
He dances in the hallway.
He plays the piano.
The young woman leaves her apartment. He walks down a second hallway up to her apartment. She returns inside to grab her keys.
He stands in the parking lot of the apartment building.
She loads shorts and t-shirt into the laundry room. As she bends down to put clothes in the dryer, he passes by the door. She walks down the second hallway.
He waits for the gate to open while he taps the steering wheel of his car. As he drives off, she opens the door and walks into the parking lot. She presses the button for elevator inside J’s building. He presses the button on his floor and he sees her. He lets the door close.
Frankie J feels his stomach. The constant nausea had gone away. He had seen a doctor and the he prescribed him some over-the-counter medication. His doctor said he could run tests but it seems to be a bug. He told his doctor it had been going on for several months. His doctor tells him it may be stress and says he should take a vacation with his girlfriend. He holds his stomach and excuses himself.
It hadn’t occurred to him the drama of his relationship with her was making him sick. While walking over to his house, his stomach churned. He had to say those words. It was the clean break he needed. Once he ended the conversation with her, his appetite started to come back.
A month later, he was off medication and was eating again without any trouble. He had decided to get some fresh air. It’s been a while since he wanted to go somewhere other than work or the grocery store. In the elevator, he sees her standing, waiting for him. He walks to the other side and takes the stairs. He runs to his car and glances over his shoulder to see if she followed him. “Come on, come on,” he mutters to himself as he waits by the gate. He speeds off once he’s allowed through and heads for the nearest main road.
Director: N/A Year: 2003