The Movie Star and the Professor

A short story

Photo by Felix Mooneeram on Unsplash

“You don’t need to worry, babe. I love you with all my heart and soul and every essence of my being.” Tina dipped her finger in her glass of red wine, dabbed her lips, leaned across their dining room table and kissed John.

John believed Tina because he wanted to, and he trusted the truth glinting in her eyes. He loved her and knew she loved him, but that was in the here and now. What about tomorrow? He worried about the far-away tomorrow of five years from now. He worried about the tomorrow of five days from today.

It wasn’t just that he would be Tina Cullen’s third husband in her twenty-eight years on this Earth—though that was a big worry. Tina was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known—and that wasn’t just his opinion: People magazine voted Tina Cullen one of the top ten most beautiful American women in 2025. 

His biggest worry revolved around Tina working with men as handsome as she was gorgeous. 

Tina is a movie star, but I’m a schlumpy mathematics professor, eleven years her senior. Tina’s blonde hair shines brighter than the sun; my brown hair is thinning like a jungle sprayed with defoliant. Tina’s body is more beautiful than Michelangelo could ever have imagined, while my belly precedes the rest of me when I enter a room. 

And she’s lovely—funny, intelligent, kind, caring. In that, we’re identical. We’re both good people.

It’s not Tina’s fault that she’s a movie star. 

But it is my worry.

A large, framed photo of them stood on the bureau opposite the dining room table in Tina’s house. 

That’s a good photograph, John thought. But is it forever?

“I’ll be your third husband. I fear I won’t be your last,” John said. He glanced at his dinner plate, then back at Tina. 

“Hon, you are the one. We’ll be together forever. I was too young the first two times to know what I was doing.”

You’re still young. 

“What about your handsome co-stars? What if someone makes a pass at you?” 

“They may, but I’ll push them away.”

“What about when you’re on location playing a romantic role? You might—”

“And you might meet a bespeckled beauty twice as smart as me.”

John nudged his peas around the dinner plate, herding them toward the steak and then to the baked potato. He drank his wine and fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, running it through and along his fingers. 

Tina finished her wine and poured another for herself and John. “Are you jealous of kissing scenes?”

“I don’t think so. No, I’m not because those scenes are pretend, and there are a hundred people around you, which is hardly romantic. But I am worried that you’ll tire of me. I’m apprehensive about that.”

“Can I be honest? I mean, I’m always honest with you, but you know that—how do I say this?—you’re not on the shortlist for most attractive men. But if I wanted to marry a man for his looks—”

“That’s what you did with husbands number one and two.”

“Exactly. I’m past that. I graduated from that. Looks are superficial. I don’t want to be married to somebody who wants to talk about movies, producers, actors, and all that shop talk all the time. I’m more interested in talking about ring topology than residual rights.”

“Let’s get married.” 

“Is something wrong?” Scott asked as they settled into their chairs at Mikos, a Greek restaurant two blocks from Palace Pictures studio, where Tina had been filming her latest movie. She wasn’t due back on the set for another four hours so she could take a leisurely lunch. She had asked her uncle and best friend, Scott, to join her. 

The thick, savory aroma of lamb and beef seemed to replace the oxygen in Mikos, letting Tina slip into a hypnotic state of euphoria. As the waiter stood over their table, Tina tapped the menu and said, "A gyro and fries." Scott seconded that. 

Scott Harvey had been a special effects master at Xander Films until the company’s owner fired him for building a machine that, instead of offering a dazzling alien world sunset for a science fiction film, blew up the entire set. 

Scott’s special effects machine had worked perfectly for nearly nineteen seconds before annihilating the set. For that brief interval, deep reds and greens bathed the movie lot as a turquoise sun lingered low on the horizon. The short-lived effect was so powerful that some on the set reported that their skin tingled. 

Although nobody died, the delay and materials lost from the explosion cost Xander millions of dollars—and Scott his job. 

Scott leaned forward. “Something is wrong. I can tell.”

Tears leaked from Tina’s eyes—first a drop, then a torrent like a never-ending waterfall. “You know my fiance?” A question that Tina knew Scott knew the answer to, but one that gave her a few more moments to recompose herself. 

“John.” 

Tina nodded. When Tina could speak again, she said, “I don’t want to lose John, but I fear I will.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m a Hollywood actress, a young and beautiful starlet, and that’s my destiny. I’ve traveled the infidelity road before and know that I will again.” She pushed the hair falling in front of her eyes back over her ear. 

“It’s not easy to stay in a relationship, especially when temptation in the form of handsome men who know how to deliver a line surrounds you.”

“I should be able to, shouldn’t I? I should be able to remain faithful to one man, married to one man, especially a man whom I truly love. All I have to do is will it so.”

“You should.”

“You’re not judging me now are you, Uncle Scott?” She forced a weak smile.

“I’m judging the human condition. It’s not easy being a human being.”

“What do I do?” Tina placed her clasped hands together and rested her chin on them. “I’m so tired of being me. I wish I were something normal rather than a movie star. Maybe an accountant or a restaurant owner. Yes, I’d like to own a restaurant like this. What do you think, Uncle Scott?”

She dipped pita bread in the hummus and took a bite. 

“I think all things are possible if you want them enough.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Scott took a long draw of his Pepsi through his straw. After he slurped the last of the soda, he looked back at Tina and spoke in a lower tone. “You know that FX machine that got me fired?”

“Of course. It was an awful thing that the studio did to you. They shouldn’t have fired you. Anyone could have made a mistake with special effects because machines malfunction all the time.”

“Not the kind of mistake I made. It was a one-of-a-kind error. A Scott Harvey error.”

Tina scrunched her face. “What do you mean?”

“My special effects machine, which created a magnificent alien landscape, was hyper-realistic—even if it lasted only a few seconds—because it was an alien landscape. I tapped into a wormhole and projected an image from an actual alien world onto the set.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“That’s why it was so brief. The wormhole’s energy overwhelmed the device I built, causing it to explode. Something about exceeding the yttrium capacitor’s limitations. There was no way to know how much energy would come through the wormhole until I flipped the switch. It took five years to build that machine. I thought it would create the ultimate special effect and I’d win an Oscar. But that’s beside the point; we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to fix your problem, and I have a fix.”

“I don’t follow. How can a broken wormhole machine hold a marriage together?”

“It can’t. But the time machine I built can.”

“You made a time machine? I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t have to believe it. You just have to use it.”

“Use it how? How can I use a time machine to ensure that John and I are together forever?”

“You’re going to have to improvise, but hold on a sec, lemme think because changing history is a big deal.” Scott pressed his lips tightly together, leaned back in the booth, and looked up toward the ceiling for a minute while he twiddled his thumbs. “Find your former self as a kid and whisper in her ear, ‘Don’t become an actress.’”

Tina frowned. “You may be a genius for inventing a time machine, but that’s a terrible idea. Why would I listen to an adult whispering career advice?” She huffed. “And besides, I thought the rules of time travel don’t allow me to interact with my former self.” 

“You’ve watched too many science fiction movies.”

“I’ve starred in too many science fiction movies.” Enough science fiction movies to have a very open mind about what’s possible.

“Listen, I don’t know what the rules of time travel are. Nobody knows because as far as I’m aware, I’m the only person who’s traveled in time and that was a single trip to 1810.”

“Why 1810?”

“No particular reason. It seemed like a far enough year to not doubt that I’d traveled back in time, but not too far where I’d be gored by a Mastodon or eaten by a T-Rex.”

Tina nodded. “Makes sense to me. I’ll be taking a far shorter trip to”—she curled and uncurled fingers to count—”2006 when I was ten.” Tina scratched her chin. “Crash with Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, and Brendan Fraser won best picture in 2006, a good year.” She paused. “Or…”

“Or what?”

“Nothing.” 

“One more thing about time travel: You land in the same geographical coordinates from which you left. When you journey from Los Angeles in 2025, you travel back to Los Angeles in 2006. There’s no way to change the spatial coordinates. But, because you grew up in LA, that won’t be a problem. So, are you ready?” 

“You mean now?” 

“Now. The sooner you change the past, the sooner you’ll stop worrying about the future.” Scott reached into the breast pocket inside his leather jacket and removed a brass cylinder with eight rotating wheels like on a combination lock. The cylinder was six inches long and a half inch around. Waves of purple and red washed over the metal.  

“Why does it glow?” Tina asked as she slid her chair back. “Is it radioactive?”

“Not in the usual sense.”

“Do you want to explain that?” Tina took a long sip of her Pepsi. 

Time travel might make you thirsty, she thought.

“Elemental decay is part of the time travel process, but this is perfectly safe. The particles that leave the time cylinder and cause it to glow have too little mass to cause cellular damage.”

“Okay.” The look on Tina’s face showed that she didn’t understand what Scott had said. But how many people would? And did it matter as long as the device posed no harm to her? Tina took the time cylinder from Scott and shivered. “It’s cold. I didn’t expect that.” 

“You’d think that something glowing would be warm, but this device is the opposite of warm; I believe the inherent contradiction is part of the time travel mechanism.”

“How does it work?”

“Go into an enclosed space, like a closet or a windowless bathroom. Dial in the day, month, and year to which you want to travel then click off the light to make it pitch black. Instantly, you’ll pop into 2006. You’ll automatically return to this time three hours and three minutes later. Three hours and three minutes will give you ample time to complete your mission.”

Yes, it will, Tina thought. I can finally be happy. 

“I’m ready.”Tina slipped the device into her big, blue Burberry bag. She rooted around the bag for a minute, confirming its contents. Makeup, check. Credit cards, check. Moisturizer, check. Glasses, check. Tissues, check. Mints, check. Phone charger, check. Most importantly, passport, check.

“Thanks, Uncle Scott.” She stood and headed toward the door. 

“Wait! You can use the restaurant’s bathroom because it’s windowless. Just turn the light off after you dial in the date.”

Tina smiled broadly. “I have another plan. I promise I’ll return your time travel cylinder in a few days.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to whisper in the ear of your younger self?”

“No. I’m going to Paris.”

“When?”

“Eighteen-ninety-five, December twenty-eighth.”

“Why?”

“You know, my dear Uncle.” 

“The Lumière brothers. Auguste and Louis Lumière invented the process of intermittent motion and showed it off in Paris in the first public viewing. La Sortie des ouvriers de l’usine Lumière, ‘Workers Leaving the Lumière Factory.’ It’s considered to be the first movie. But to what end? What will you do when you arrive in Paris in 1895?”

“Stop them.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll think about that on the plane. I have to fly to Paris and then travel back in time once I’m there.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve got eleven hours on the plane to think of a plan. I figure if I can prevent Auguste and Louis Lumière from showing the first movie, then perhaps I can stop or dramatically alter the movie industry enough to save not just myself from the heartache of Hollywood marriages, but other actors, too. I’ll make a lot of men and women happy.  No film industry, no Hollywood, no Tina Cullen, twice-divorced movie star. I know that I might not be engaged to John Morrison in the altered future, though who knows, I might be because perhaps destiny is more powerful than we imagine. I might still be married to my first husband or somebody else entirely. The point is that I’ll still be married—or at the very least, have good odds of falling in love and staying in love.”

“That’s your plan, to end movies before they begin?”

“Yes.” Tina narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to try to thwart me, are you?”

“And what? Put me out of a job as an FX guy? Nah. Do what you need to do. Who am I to argue against that, especially with my favorite niece? Besides, I’m sure I'll get a job as a train engineer in the alternate history you create with no movies. I love trains.”

Tina kissed her uncle on the cheek, her heart trilling with anticipation and fear, and said, “Wish me luck.”

Tina didn’t need eleven hours to figure out a plan. As soon as her uncle explained the process, she knew what she would do. 

This is the only way to ensure I don’t become a movie star. 

Before heading to the airport, Tina stopped at Vintage Film, a West Hollywood shop that converted DVDs to old-style film. While most people want to preserve movies shot on film digitally, a growing number of film enthusiasts like the look of film, in the same way that many music lovers prefer listening to music on vinyl rather than hearing soulless tunes streaming on Spotify. 

Tina bought the DVD she needed.

She arrived in Paris early the following morning, flying first class on Air France’s Airbus A380, wondering whether she could afford first class in whatever new life she’d lead. On the plane, she excised the fifty-five-second scene from the reel she’d made at Vintage Film using the steak knife included with dinner. It didn’t take long because she knew exactly what she was looking for.

Tina took a taxi from the airport to Quai Louis-Blériot, a street in the 16th arrondissement, where the theater, La Scène du Nouveau Siècle, her destination, was located. She found a restroom in a Starbucks across the street, dialed in December 28, 1895, and emerged onto Quai d'Auteuil, the name of the street before it had been changed—would be changed—in 1937 to honor the French pilot, Louis Blériot, the first person to fly across the English Channel in 1909.

Poof. One moment, she was in 2025, and the next, 1895. There were no lights, noise, or sensation of speed or passing through an amorphous wall of energy. It was like being asleep and the next moment, awake; unable to perceive a transition from one state of consciousness to another. 

Tina entered La Scène du Nouveau Siècle theater through the leftmost arched entrance and scanned the cavernous room with its impossibly high ceiling and ornate marble columns. The stall boxes, orchestra, dress circle, grand circle, and gallery of the gods' seats were still empty. 

Good.

The two hundred or so people who would soon watch the first movie in history huddled close together on the theater’s stage, drinking wine. Men puffed on cigars and pipes, creating a thick smokescreen for Tina—an unexpected but beneficial help for her mission.

Women topped with tall floral hats blocked the guests’ view of Tina even more than the smoke. 

The guests engaged in animated conversations, a cacophony of overlapping voices. 

They have no idea what kind of show they’re in for.

The area around the projector, about twenty-five feet from the stage, was a wasteland. 

More good luck. 

Tina flicked her wrist to look at her watch. 

Nearly three hours; plenty of time to do what I must.

Tina held the thirty-second splice from The Exorcist in front of her, eyeing the moments when Regan MacNeil levitated above her bed, her eyes possessed, her face grotesquely distorted. Although this audience in 1895 wouldn't hear the groans and screams ripping apart Regan's twelve-year-old soul because the first movie with sound was still thirty-two years in the future, they would feel Regan’s terror. If Tina’s plan worked, there would be no movies with sound, no movies at all. Maybe the scene would be even more frightening without sound because the silence would fuel the nascent fear that lives inside everyone. 

From the audience, perhaps even from Auguste and Louis Lumière themselves, there would be only one conclusion: movies are Satan’s creation.  

Tina wished she could stay for the audience’s reaction to The Exorcist’s most frightening scene, but she’d be back in 2025 before then, a paradox that gave her the kind of headache only time travelers experience. 

After splicing the film onto the Lumières’ reel, Tina hugged the shadows next to buildings along Quai d'Auteuil, trying to avoid stares from horse and buggy drivers and their passengers. She thought about ducking into a clothes shop, tempted by the idea of buying several dresses (with what money?) to take back to the future with her for movie costumes. But that life was over, or about to end. 

As she walked along the wide boulevard, Tina blinked. She was back in 2025. Smooth concrete replaced the cobblestones of 1895. Car engines rumbled, and horns honked where horses had neighed. An airplane approaching Charles De Gaulle Airport cast a fast-moving shadow over her. 

Before Tina had departed 2025 for 1895, a cinema showing the latest David Fincher film stood on the street opposite the La Scène du Nouveau Siècle theater. Tina turned toward where the theater should have been, but a Le Bon Marché department store was in its place. 

It worked! 

Cascading electricity tingled her skin. 

I think it worked.

Tina pulled her phone out of her bag and Googled “movies,” tapping as swiftly as possible. Google returned several results that referred to moving sidewalks at airports. 

Tina Googled “Sunburst Stars,” “The Road to Istanbul,” “Lovers Who Date,” and “Mission Black Widow,” movies she had starred in—also, nothing.

It did work! 

A calm that Tina had never experienced filled her, like floating in a warm, azure ocean. 

When Tina searched for her name, no mention of her being a film star returned. But she did find a wedding announcement for Tina Cullen and Louis Louie, her first husband. On Tina’s hand was a gold wedding ring. 

When did that appear? No matter, I am married. I’m still married to my first husband, Lou. 

As Tina held her left hand high to admire her wedding band, her brain processed the scene in the background. Where the La Scène du Nouveau Siècle stood in 1895 and previously in 2025, there was a sports arena—or something like that, best her bad French could decipher. She pointed her phone at the facility’s marquee and fired up the translation app: Paris Gladiator Arena.

Gladiator?

She let her subconscious puzzle through that peculiarity while she Googled her uncle. She wondered what he was doing now that movies didn’t exist.

She thumb-typed Scott Harvey on the virtual keyboard.

Tina dropped her phone, which landed on the concrete sidewalk with a loud bang. Then she picked it up and reread the result through the spiderweb of broken glass.

His name appeared once in a Los Angeles Times obituary column dated thirteen years ago. It read, “Scott Harvey died following wounds he received in the twelfth annual Los Angeles Trophy Gladiator Competition. He is survived by his wife, Matilda, and son, Albert, age seven.

What’s happened to the world?

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If you liked this story, I think you’ll also enjoy my short story, Leila’s Secret.