Reeves is the first to arrive for dinner at Suite 55 in the Chateau Marmont on Sunset Boulevard. He looks a bit dazed from a run-in with the paparazzi at a Hollywood screening. “I just stopped on my bike to ask the guard, like, what movie was playing,” he says. “And suddenly all of the guys around me are yelling ‘Keanu, look up!’” Did he? “No way, man. I beat it out of there. It was weird.” He grins, and then offers to grate some Parmesan cheese for the pasta, first asking what side of the grater to use. Soon Phoenix shows up. Immediately, he’s at Reeves’s side in the kitchen, peeling garlic. Within minutes, though, the two escape to the balcony. Phoenix lights up a Camel. He cocks an eyebrow: “Doesn’t figure, huh?” Then he exhales. “I know. I should quit.”