Robert De Niro’s waiting, at a bus stop in Brixton. He looks around 10 years older than he does in those films of his. It must be because there’s none of that moody lighting in the broad daylight and I don’t remember him wearing high waisted slacks on the silver screen. Here in south London he’s worn them every time I’ve seen him, so I guess they’re more comfortable due to that forgiving elastic waistband. Although the creases down the front of each leg are unforgivable. If you want to know the truth, he’s let himself go a bit but that’s probably because he’s out of the limelight here and there’s no one to notice him. Except me. Don’t think that means he's no longer handsome though. He still carries himself with a gentleman’s dignity and the lines on his face communicate every human expression of warmth, even when he’s staring vacantly into the distance.
I see him waiting at the bus stop at least once a week, when I’m on my way here and there. Not sure where he goes; one day it’s the council estate, next the fried chicken shop. He’s not a taxi driver now but a bus rider, an OAP with the freedom to hop on and off whenever he likes. He never talks to anyone or asks if they’re talking to him anymore, as he wants to remain incognito, you know. The 432 bus to West Norwood is the last place people would be looking for Oscar winning actor Robert De Niro, which is obviously the point for nowadays he prefers to be the spectator, watching out the window on the lower deck (as he can’t get up the stairs anymore), focusing on the blur of human tragedy and comedy through the murky glass.
He’s probably getting inspiration for his next role, studying the South London Street Gangs - I saw a programme about them once on TV. Yet instead of looking mean and moody he glances timidly at the teenagers when they get on the bus, not wanting to look them in the eye and if he’s standing, he shifts nervously along to get out of their way. Maybe he’s worried they might recognize him and then confuse fantasy with reality, thinking he’s the leader of the Mob, when in fact, he’s just an old man. But they’re harmless teenagers anyway, as far as I can see. Well, they’ve never given me any trouble and I often travel home, alone.
I used to wonder if he was really lonely, playing this new part of his. I couldn’t imagine many of his Hollywood friends coming over to join him, or that wife of his. And you can feel quite alone in London when your friends aren’t around. I often thought I should go up and talk to him, you know, for a bit of company. I mean it’s nice to have a little chat every now and again isn’t it? But he always gave me the impression that he didn’t want any attention. Funny how he's travelled thousands of miles so everyone doesn't notice him while I wait for thousands of days for anyone of the opposite sex to notice me. If the truth be known, a cheery 'hello', little wave or perhaps one of those friendly winks would have satisfied me.
I respected his privacy and kept my distance, sitting a couple of seats away. On the odd occasion I sat directly behind him, I tried to communicate with him telepathically. I didn't think that was such an invasion of his privacy, as I'd do away with all that tedious small talk by reading his inner thoughts and reassure him with words sent by my mind, such as, 'No Bob, Meet The Fockers was not your fault. You made it bearable. I promise.'
Then one day, this olive-skinned, good-looking kid of about 12 came clattering onto the bus with all his young friends, cutting through the silence (I’m so used to the sound of that bus’s engine, I don’t hear it anymore!). His friends all clambered up the stairs, but this one kid who stood out from the rest went right up to Mr. De Niro and started talking to him in Italian. At least I think it was Italian, yet some of it sounded a bit Spanish. I’m no good with languages without subtitles, so I assumed it was Italian since it was De Niro. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was Robert De Niro chatting and laughing away with this young boy, his face and body all animated, which was strange to me considering I’d never seen him talk or even smile in real life.
This boy was obviously pretending to be his grandchild to try and not blow his cover. Obvious only to me of course, no one else was paying any attention. To be honest the way De Niro interacted with this young kid was some of his finest acting, and I was deeply affected by the fake intimacy between them. I couldn’t stop staring and wished that other people could see what I was seeing, so if nothing else, I could talk about it with someone over a coffee afterwards. Then they both got off the bus together. Just like that. It made me feel so happy to realise he wasn’t lonely after all that I went back to my flat and put on one of his films. The Deer Hunter, my favourite movie. Even though I was happy, I cried and cried. I ran out of tissues and had to start using toilet paper.
That was the last time I saw him. I really wish I’d had the courage to go up and talk to him, but I was too late. Robert De Niro isn’t waiting for my bus anymore. He must be back in New York, hailing a cab instead.
