She wipes her eyes. Her hand moves under her shirt, fingertips rest on scar.
THE BRIDE:
Yes. Can she hear us?
BILL:
Not now, she's in dream land.
THE BRIDE:
How old is she?
BILL:
What do you mean by that?
THE BRIDE:
How many years has she been alive?
BILL:
Don't ask how old she is, ask, if she's five.
THE BRIDE:
Is she five?
BILL:
Aren't mothers like God, aren't you supposed to automatically know?
THE BRIDE:
I did and I do.
(pause) I want to meet her.
BILL:
Have dinner with us at my hacienda tonight. She's expecting you.
THE BRIDE:
What do you mean?
BILL:
I knew you were on your way, so I told B.B. Her mommy was coming to see her.
THE BRIDE:
(confused) What have you told her about me?
BILL:
That you were sick, that you were asleep, but one day you'd wake up and come back to her.
And she asked me, "If Mommy's been asleep since I was born, how will she know what I look like?" To which I replied, "Because Mommy's been dreaming of you." And she said, "Then I'm gonna start dreaming of her." So I gave her a picture of you --
THE BRIDE:
-- which one?
BILL:
The one I took of you in Paris, sitting on the steps with the baguette in your hand. Since she was one and a half years old, she's slept with that picture of you next to her bed.
The EXACT PHOTO DISSOLVES OVER The Bride's face, then DISSOLVES AWAY.
THE BRIDE:
You know, prettier photos of me do exist.
BILL:
And she's seen them. But the one she wants looking after her while she sleeps is the one of you holding bread.
(pause) We normally have dinner around seven, is that convenient?