In 2001 i spent 5 months with Kristen Stewart on the set of Panic
Room mostly holed up in a space the size of a Manhattan closet. We
talked and laughed for hours, sharing spontaneous mysteries and venting
our boredom. I grew to love that kid. She turned 11
during our shoot and on her birthday I organized a mariachi band to
serenade her at the taco bar while she blew out her candles. She
begrudgingly danced around a sombrero with me but soon rushed off to a
basketball game with the grip and electric departments. Her mother and I
watched her jump around after the ball, hooting with every team basket.
“She doesn’t want to be an actor when she grows up, does she?” I asked.
Her mom sighed. “Yes … unfortunately.” We both smiled and shrugged with
an ambivalence born from experience. “Can’t you talk her out of it?” I
offered. “Oh, I’ve tried. She loves it. She just loves it.” More sighs.
We watched her run around the court for a while, both of us silent, each
thinking our own thoughts. I was pregnant at the time and found myself
daydreaming of the child I might have soon. Would she be just like
Kristen? All that beautiful talent and fearlessness … would she jump and dunk and make me so proud?.