I’m a born romantic.
Take tonight when I asked my wife, the poet Patricia Smith, to join me in watching a scene from The Hitman’s Bodyguard. In it, the hitman (Samuel Jackson) is telling his body guard (Ryan Reynolds) how he met his wife (Salma Hayek.) Cut to a flashback in a bucket of blood bar in Honduras.
A creep grabs Hayek’s ass, so she tussles with him. Jackson starts to get up to help her but then settles down and watches, his cigarette dropping from his lips in astonishment as she proceeds to beat the hell out of the creep and his friends.
She finishes the last one off by tearing his throat out with a broken bottle, the scene unfolding with Lionel Richie’s song “Hello” playing in the background. Then Hayek slides up to Jackson, takes the beer out of his hand, and drains it.
THAT, I told Patricia, is the same way WE first connected. She was standing in front of a crowd of 800 at a writing conference I’d organized, began to speak, and absolutely slayed them! Like I said, I’m a born romantic. The scene in question begins a few seconds into the video below.