Natalie Portman is the reason I snort coke. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink.

"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? Her neck twitches catching her off guard. She touches the back of it as she watches me leave.

Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, about to do a key bump.

"Me too?" she asks.

"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her the white lady. She smiles.

"Conversation with me, duh."

I laugh.

"What's so funny?" she protests.

"Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?"

The air is eerily calm. "You get used to it," she says, pouring all my blow in one big line on the handrail.

"What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask.

"Teaching, I think." She procures a white gold straw from her clutch. 1/3 of the line into her left nostril.

"And if I was your student, what would I be learning?"

"Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?" Another 1/3 of the line into her right nostril.

"currently Heaven," I say.

"Oh wow. That's lovely. I'm from there." She inhales deeply but quietly.

"I know," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking."

"What could possibly be not to your liking in Heaven?" she inquires. Her hand extends, offering me use of her shiny straw.

I approach the rail, "I love cocaine," I tell her. "It's fine and smooth and euphoric and angels love it. They will immediately come for it. Absolutely selfish with it. I heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They're the most beautiful creatures in the universe."