I can’t believe I’m in New York with Scott Braddock.

From the time we were in the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car driving from JFK to Midtown, I was already mainlining the city’s energy and I am now the best version of myself—the Me that feels like she can do anything. The Me that feels beautiful and witty and talented and a part of something infinitely bigger than myself. The Me that wants to fuck. Honestly. What is it about this city that makes me so horny? Everyone is just so sexy here, because they’re all walking around with intention and purpose. These are people who know who they are and what they’re doing and where they’re going. In L.A. everyone’s so concerned about how they look and who’s here that’s important and famous and who’s looking at them and what are people thinking about them. I’ve become one of those people, and it’s exhausting.

It’s after ten on Saturday morning, the day of the wedding. I’m in bed, in the Parker Meridian hotel, on an upper floor with a view of Central Park. Scott went out a couple of hours ago and told me to stay in bed, to catch up on sleep, he’d be “back with breakfast and stuff.” I really needed to sleep. And this is the most comfortable bed I’ve been in, in a very long time.

We took an early morning flight so we could arrive here Friday afternoon, I had had about three hours sleep in the past 24 hours. Scott was so excited to take me out, to a show and dinner and drinks. He is determined to show me a good time this weekend. We’ve earned it.

We actually finished polishing up “Untitled Duffy-Braddock Horror Script” on the flight, and emailed it to our agents from JFK. Now it is in their hands, literally and figuratively. I am grateful that I will be kept busy all weekend, because normally when I’ve turned in a script I just stay home and stress out and wait for my agent to call to tell me what she thinks.

But I am determined not think at all this weekend.

I will feel and I will do.

And I have. Last night, I felt and I did.

After we checked into our room and freshened up, Scott took me to an early performance of Sleep No More. It’s a long-running show that I’d wanted to go to for years, and it was his idea to take me. It’s a performance piece that’s staged in an old hotel (actually remodeled adjoining warehouses) in Chelsea and mostly based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, but also inspired by gothic romance and noir films like Rebecca. The guests stay on their feet the whole time and wander through the many rooms of the five floor building at their own pace, where they can spy on the simultaneous ongoing action, and the audience wears creepy white masks so we can remain anonymous and also to distinguish us from the performers. The performers are dancers. There’s hardly any dialogue. Everything has a sexy glamorous 1930’s vibe. It’s visceral and there’s nudity and fog and recorded music and lighting effects, and I got separated from Scott pretty early on, but let me just say that it was the most stimulating and arousing theatrical experience I’ve ever had, and when I met up with him outside the venue, I grabbed him and kissed him and would have dragged him back to our hotel to fuck him if he didn’t have reservations at Balthazar in SoHo.

We made out in the cab all the way to the restaurant. He massaged my tired feet while we ate steak and perfect fries and drank delicious red wine while talking about our separate experiences at Sleep No More and how it had inspired us to write another sexier scarier movie. I had completely forgotten that I’d vowed to only write that one script with him and then get back to my own thing. I so deeply wanted to go back to our hotel and fuck him, but he’d made plans to meet up with his friends at the bar at the Public Theater.

His friend Alex is directing a play at the Public, so we had drinks with him and his cast and crew after their rehearsal. I mostly watched Scott interacting with everyone, and marveled at how cool and talented his friends are. I mean—other people really like this guy. What was my problem? I like him now. I really like him. I was so determined to fuck him when we got back to the hotel.

When we finally made it back to the room, I was so tired, I think I’d fallen asleep before my head even hit the pillow. Scott must have undressed me and pulled the sheets over me. It was the first time we’d spent the night together in the same bed, and we just slept. Which is a shame, because I really really really wanted to have hot hotel bed sex with him. But it’s also not a shame, because—sleep.

I guess I fell asleep again, because I wake up to the sounds of Scott unpacking a big bag of takeout from Zabar’s.

“Wake up,” he grumbles. “I spent forty minutes in cabs to bring this back to you, don’t ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a great breakfast that you can’t get anywhere else and I didn’t want to make you get up to have it.” He is grumpy and it’s adorable and the coffee smells incredible.

He places a to go coffee cup on the bedside table next to me, without looking at me. I sit up and notice a brand new yellow notebook on the bedspread on top of me. I gasp. “For me?!”

“For you.”

It’s better than a dozen roses. I open it up. Squared pages. He remembered. “Thank you.”

“I went to my favorite stationary store in Midtown.”

“Scott, that’s so sweet of you.”

“I’m just glad they haven’t closed down. I bought myself some notebooks too.”

Inside the notebook is a small envelope. Written on the envelope, in excellent penmanship, are the words: Thank you for being here.

Scott continues to unpack bagels and lox and cream cheese and potato pancakes and coffee cakes. I have already gained five pounds just from looking at all that food.

“Open the envelope,” he says, still not looking at me.

“Yes sir,” I say. I carefully open the envelope and find a gift card to Henri Bendel department store.

“Don’t be mad, okay.”

Oh I’m furious. You got me a gift card to the coolest fancy department store in Manhattan—how dare you. “What’s this for?”

“I knew you wouldn’t want me to take you shopping and pay for things because that would be gross.”

“Correct.”

“But…I don’t want this to sound asshole-ish.”

“You want me to buy a new dress for the wedding.”

“Is that bad? I love that dress that you wore to Jeff and Laurie’s wedding, but I remember you wearing that back in Boston. I just want you to have a nice new dress and I don’t want you to spend any money.”

“Okay. I’ll get something decent.”

“The balance on the gift card is seven-fifty.”

I blurt out “Seven hundred and fifty dollars?!” I wonder if I can trade it for cash.

“American dollars, yes.”

I start coughing. “I thought the wedding venue was a zoo.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the San Diego Zoo, this is midtown Manhattan, it’s still gonna be pretty formal. Black tie optional, it said. And no black tie is not an option for most of the men in my family.”

“Got it.”

“Also, you should probably get a larger dress size than usual, because when we’re done eating this deli food I want to take you to Mary’s Fish Camp. Their fish sandwich and fries are amazing. And there’s a place on Bleecker that has the greatest ice cream you will ever have.”

“Sounds like I should get a fancy pair of black stretch pants.”

“I wish we were staying here longer. I want to take you to Babbo too.”

“I’ve actually been to Babbo! The Tuscan white bean spread!”

“Oh my God. The risotto I had there was the best I’ve ever eaten. I’d be so fat if I still lived here.”

And I would still probably want to have sex with you all the time.

I crawl across the bed towards him. As relaxed and happy as I am here, he is equally as tense. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so tense and grouchy before. Why does it make me want to fellate him? I reach over to unzip his jeans.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Um. I’m about to put my mouth on your sexual organ.”

“Hold that thought until we’re back from the wedding. We gotta eat this and then you gotta get to Bendels and then we gotta go downtown for a late lunch and then come back here to get ready and walk to the park and be there before five.”

I unhand his zipper. “Yes sir.”

“Sorry. My parents called this morning and I guess I’m just anxious about seeing everyone.”

“Okay. I understand. I mean—obviously I’m deeply disappointed that I don’t get to give you a blowjob until the end of the day, but I’ll get over it eventually.” I take a big bite of bagel.

He laughs. He comes over and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”