unadoptable: a strawberry kisses you good night
One Sunday afternoon in May, while Ted Hartman and I were working on a new television project at my place, Jimmy turned up unexpectedly and asked if I wanted to take a drive to the beach. I jumped at the idea. I explained that Ted had to get home soon, so we’d be breaking shortly, if Jimmy didn’t mind waiting. Jimmy nodded and said he’d listen to some of my records in the other room.Ted and I went back to work, but after few minutes, we became aware of some rather mournful music from the other room, and I remember wishing that Jimmy had selected something a bit more upbeat. We were writing a sitcom. About ten minutes later, Jimmy turned off the music, said he had somebody to see, and cut out, leaving as abruptly as he arrived. It bothered me somehow because I had the feeling he wanted to talk to me. I dismissed it, however, and went back to work.About fifteen minutes later, Ted and I decided to call it a day, and he left, as well. It was a special day, and he was eager to get home to his family. I stepped to the window to watch him go and was surprised to see Jimmy still sitting behind the wheel of his car in the street below. He was just sitting there, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. Was he waiting for me, or what? Then it hit me, and my heart sank. Suddenly I understood everything, his mood, his need for company.I hurried downstairs and outside. But by then his car was roaring off down the street. I called after him, but, of course, he couldn’t hear. I kicked myself for not realizing it sooner. It was Mother’s Day.- Bill Bast, Surviving James Dean 

qbrix: New York Until 1953 Dean was often difficult to locate: He rented a dozen hotel rooms in midtown, none of them for more than a few weeks at a time. There was, he thought, good reason to be elusive, for his private life was often unconventional and messy. (x)
ternuras: imaginaceu: que coisa fofa haha que lindinhooooo
pixieneverland: by Emily Dove
install theme