He has a strange obsession about home security and my total lack of it. He stopped by the hardware store on the way to my place today, and has brought me a bunch of locks for the sliding windows in my apartment, the kind you screw in place, and a security bar for the front door, that you rest against the bottom of the doorknob. I can’t use it unless Maya is home at night too, which is rare now, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. He doesn’t want anyone breaking in here and stealing my computer with our script on it. I don’t blame him. It’s pretty great. And it’s done!

We’ve finished the first draft, a few days earlier than expected. It’s amazing how quickly we got work done once I’d figured out how to get Braddock to shut up. Thanks, duct tape and my mouth skills! I can’t wait for our interview in the Writers Guild’s monthly magazine. I’m such an inspiration for female screenwriters everywhere…As a feminist, I’d just like to make it clear that I gave him really impressive, powerful, socially-progressive blowjobs—with integrity—because I wanted him to shut up and show him who’s boss.

Well anyway, he totally let me write dialogue the way I want to write it, and he says we should celebrate by ordering in from the good Italian place in my neighborhood, and having a great bottle of wine, because he knows I won’t want to go out with him and to his surprise I agree.

“But…no sex until we’re finished with the rewrite.”

“Define ‘sex.’”

“No touching each other in any way.”

“Can we be naked while working and not touching each other?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if we’re—“

“Even if we’re in different rooms or blindfolded! I’m serious, Braddock, we need to finish this script and get it out there.”

“Do you need money?”

“Of course I need money.”

“I can loan you money for rent if you need it. I know you’re good for it.”

“Oh my God. No. I do not accept personal loans, especially not from people with penises.”

“Well—you should know by now that I only have one penis.”

I am in so much shock over his offer to loan me money that it takes me a few seconds to get his joke. I don’t even laugh, I just slap his arm.

“What if I give the money to Maya and she gives it to you?”

“No! I’m fine, I just need more money coming in, in like two months, that would be great.”

“Well, it can take a while to get a check from the studios.”

“I know, but as long as I know a check’s coming then I won’t have to get a job at a restaurant. I can eat ramen and drink tap water, cancel Netflix and HBO Now, downgrade my internet speed, sell clothes at a consignment store.”

“Are you that close to getting a job at a restaurant?”

“Yeah. I’m very close.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Okay. No sex until we’ve finished the rewrite…Or how about this…No sex until New York City.”

“What?”

He straightens up and leans in towards me. “Come with me to New York in two weeks. I’m going to my cousin’s wedding and a lot of my family will be there, and I need a date. My usual plus-one is preoccupied with your go-to plus-one. It doesn’t mean we’re dating and I’ll explain to everyone that you’re just my temporary writing partner and not my girlfriend, but…I’d really like you to come with me.”

He just said so many things in those few sentences, it takes me a while to process a response, but all I can really say is this: “Shit. I love New York. Especially at the end of Spring.”

“Then come with me.”

“Do you have a hotel room?”

“I booked a room at the Parker Meridien.”

“And you want me to stay with you?”

“Yeah.”

“In the same room?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds an awful lot like a really big date.”

“Think of it as a work date. A workation. We can polish up the script when we’re there and celebrate Manhattan-style when we’ve sent it off to the agents.”

Temporary writing partner. Not your girlfriend. It’s fine for me to say it but when you say it it’s mean…“Family, huh?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, a lot of them are rich assholes. I mean I know you think that’s what I am, but they’re ten times worse. My mom’s mostly sweet. My cousin who’s getting married is great. Natalie, she’s awesome, you’d like her. She’s marrying a British guy. It would mean a lot to me if you were there, so I could actually enjoy it, and I think it would be fun for you, to hang out in NYC. Take a break.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“Okay I’ve thought about it. I’ll go. But only because it’s New York.”

This could be dangerous. I always feel like I’m in love when I’m in New York, because I get so caught up in the energy of it. What if I get confused and think it’s Braddock and not Manhattan that’s making me feel that way?

Still, it’s a sweet offer. I put my hand on his thigh and lean in towards him.

He looks down at my hand on his thigh, and then up at me. He shakes his head. “Work. No fooling around until we have an amazing second draft.”

“Well. We don’t have to start on the next draft tonight.”

“Yes we do. We need to sell this thing ASAP and make you some dough.” He seems very earnest. It’s cute. He removes my hand from his thigh. “Get to work, you little sex maniac. We can’t work our asses off and fuck each other’s brains out at the same time, we aren’t in college anymore.”

This makes me laugh. “Okay, Gramps. Should we have a bowl of oatmeal and some prunes with Metamucil for dinner instead of Italian?”

He doesn’t even riff on my joke. He’s opened up his laptop. “How about I type up the next draft?”

“Seriously, we need to order something now I’m starving.”

“Grab some trail mix from the kitchen, I’ve got an idea for the opening scene I want to run through with you before I forget it.”

He’s not joking.

“Hurry up—let’s work on the opening and then we’ll break for dinner.”

I have created a monster. “Fine. But the second draft will have an Attack of the Cornish Game Hens scene, and it will scare the pants off of you. And not in a sexy way.”

His eyes don’t even leave his laptop screen. “Open for discussion. Opening scene first. It needs to be killer. Let’s do this.”

The next morning, I call my parents, to let them know I’ll be going to New York for a weekend. When I tell them that I will be going with Scott Braddock, and that I have written a script with him, I can hear my mother almost fainting.

My Mom will never forgive my first love for dumping me, but she adores Scott Braddock. Ever since my first month at Emerson. He’d seen me walking around campus, giving my parents the tour, and he came over to introduce himself and said (drum roll plus eye roll please): “Erin, you didn’t tell me you had a sister.” Plus, he kept calling my Dad “sir.” My mom said, as soon as he left, that that was the kind of young man I should be dating. I didn’t tell her about the Brianna situation years later. I definitely haven’t told her that he and I have recently been sexually intercoursing. But she is actually starting to get emotional in fantasy anticipation of my upcoming nuptials—which is why I have avoided calling her and telling her about my professional involvement with Scott until now.

“Oh sweetheart,” she’s making an effort to sound less than ecstatic. “You sound happy.”

“What? No I don’t.”

“You do. You sound happy and satisfied. I can picture you smiling.”

“I’m not smiling right now.”

“You’re smiling on the inside.”

“He treats you right, this fella?” I had forgotten my dad was still on the phone. He’d gone quiet as soon as I mentioned I was going to New York with a boy.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Of course he does, he’s a gentleman, you remember.”

“I mean, he’s using his frequent flyer miles for my ticket, and he booked a really nice hotel in Midtown.”

“But he’s nice to you?”

“Yeah. He is nice to me.” He’s very attentive as to whether or not I have an orgasm. I fully realize, as I’m thinking about it, that he really is nice to me, this Scott Braddock. He treats me well. He always has. I was just pissed off at him. I see the difference now. Maya, as always, was right. It seems like so long ago that we went to my agent’s wedding and I was dreading seeing him. If this was what I was so afraid of—creative productivity, hot sex and a free trip to the Big Apple—well I guess I’ve conquered my fears! That was easy!

“Okay.”

“It’s more than okay, sweetheart! You have a wonderful time! You deserve to have some fun!”

As much as I love to make my Mom happy, I have to get off the phone fast, because I don’t want to get her hopes up and I can’t possibly explain to her that I’m just doing my former nemesis/temporary writing partner/fuck non-buddy/best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend a simple favor by joining him at a wedding in Manhattan, and that I have done crazy things to his magnificent penis, just to prove to myself and to him that I could.