Scott Braddock is the devil. I can’t believe he cut the Attack of the Cornish Game Hens scene without discussing it with me. Our agents only wanted us to polish the beginning and end of the script—Laurie even told me she loved that scene—he just cut it to piss me off. And it did. It pissed me off. He didn’t even mention it when he emailed the attachment to me. He didn’t say anything in the email, he just sent the Final Draft document. Passive-aggressive fucker.

If he had come to my door right then, I would have hate-fucked him until he begged for mercy, and that would just be sad. I can’t believe I hate him again. After New York, and how I’d let myself feel about him. I can’t believe he’s being a dick again.

I typed up an email response to him, all in CAPITAL LETTERS, about how the Cornish Game Hens scene is essential to the script because it happens soon after she’s heard stories from the locals about the property being haunted, before she knows for sure that her husband has been lying to her about drinking and losing things and breaking things—the hens freak her out and it’s a chance for the audience to laugh and relieve the tension that’s been building up because they’re expecting something much scarier.

I trashed the email, because he probably wanted to engage me in an argument.

Not falling for it.

I put the scene back in, of course, when I did my revision.

I do realize how ironic it is that I’m fighting for a scene involving hens, when I’m too chicken to just pick up the phone and have an actual grown-up fight with him.

I sent him the Final Draft document in a blank email that just said: “Current Draft of Untitled Duffy-Dickhead Horror Script attached.”

He didn’t even respond. It was pretty funny, he could have at least texted me a “haha.” He emailed that draft of the script to our agents, with the hen scene, with the proper title, and cc’d me.

And that’s that.

Back to life.

Back to what matters.

Back to Maya.

Maya, unlike most brides who obsess about getting into “wedding shape” for the big day, is fattening herself up to “create a nice juicy belly space for my babe.” I’m feeling so much love for this woman and her future spawn, I can feel my heart expanding, and I am on the verge of tears most of the time.

Every day, she asks me to reach out to Scott. Every day I deny her this one thing. “Anything else,” I say, “I’d do anything else for you.”

I have been channeling all of my energy into being the greatest maid of honor and future auntie in the history of honorable maids and aunties. As an added bonus, it keeps my mind off of the fact that Maya is moving in with Sam, which means that I will have to find a new roommate or move to a smaller place or possibly both. Maybe a little cottage guesthouse. Or a really big cardboard box in Santa Monica. I always wanted to live closer to the beach. And I won’t know until I find out if the script sells and how much money it sells for as to what I’ll be able to afford.

As for the wedding event, Maya and Sam are referring to it as “the weekend in Joshua Tree,” and Maya wants it to be a big party for all of their loved ones, wherein at some point she and Sam will officially become husband and wife.

I’ve helped her choose a few houses to rent out in Joshua Tree, from Airbnb, but she has already made arrangements for the wedding venue and she’s making her own wedding gown, of course. I’ve been in touch with her four bridesmaids, one of whom is her cousin who lives in Canada and the other three are also design students at FIDM. They are making our bridesmaid dresses, and designing and decorating the Moroccan-themed event, so there’s really not that much left for me to do besides organize the rehearsal dinner/house party. Sam’s musician friends and clients will be providing the entertainment. Maya’s classmate’s sister has recently started a catering company, so she will be doing all the food. As a model, Maya has had her pick of friends who were dying to be the wedding photographer, and the videographer is a guy who has shot music videos for bands that Sam has worked with. As Maya would say, it’s as if the Universe had planned this wedding long before she and Sam met.

This coming weekend, my best friend will be married.

And I will have to face the devil again.

I find Maya in her room, at her sewing machine. Half of her things are packed up in boxes, half of them are strewn out around our apartment, but she is somehow on top of everything, knows where everything is, knows that everything will be okay, because she trusts the universe.

“What can I do for you?”

“Call him.”

“No. Do you want me to help you pack things up?” My voice cracks, because I don’t really want to help her pack things up.

“Okay. Thank you.”

I pick up some packing tape and unfold a box. “Why don’t you ask him to call me?”

“Hmm?”

“Why am I the one who has to reach out to him? Why don’t you tell him he should call me?”

She looks down.

“Oh. I see.” She has asked him to and he hasn’t. “Well there you go. At least we’re on the same page.”

“Not exactly.”

“He probably doesn’t even care, does he? About me?”

Maya snorts. “Please.”

“Is he seeing someone?”

“Of course not.”

“Is he bringing a date to the wedding?”

“Erin. No. Of course not.”

“Does he seem even the slightest bit disturbed by the fact that he hasn’t seen or spoken to me since LAX?”

“You should ask him this yourself.”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“Are you saying I should apologize to him? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He didn’t say anything about how you were, I just—I love you, you know I love you, and I know that deep down you’re a sweet little angel, but sometimes with guys you can be…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just—are you sure Scott knows how you really feel about him?”

“He knows I’m mad at him, yes.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Maya. I told you, I was different with him in New York. I was nice to him. I acted like his girlfriend in New York, and he was…he was amazing. He really was amazing, and I saw him differently, and I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I don’t know. I thought wrong. Or I behaved wrong. I don’t know. It’s over.”

“It’s not over.”

“Whatever we had in New York is over. I’m sorry I brought it up. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine at your wedding. I mean, I can’t speak for him, apparently, but I myself care more about making sure you have an amazing weekend than I care about him having a terrible one.” I force a smile.

“He’s still your writing partner.”

“I think that’s over too.”

“What’s going on with the script, anyway? Have they sent it out yet?”

It’s Tuesday afternoon, which means our agents will be sending our script out to producers any minute now, so I’ll have a good idea about my future very soon.

When I get a call from Laurie’s office, I expect she’s going to confirm that they’ve sent the script out and let me know whom they’ve sent it to.

When she gives me the news, I literally fall out of my chair.

“So I have some good news…Jeff and I were going to call you and Scott together, but I figured we should keep things separate first.”

“Is that the good news? Because you’re right.”

“No, the really good news is that we have a pre-emptive offer on the script.”

“What?”

“So, we decided to sneak the script to Adam Gold yesterday morning because he’d been asking us about it for weeks. He read it immediately and sent it to our favorite execs, Beth and Chris at Universal…”

“Oh great, they’re great.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a big Uni kind of project, so you know, they have a deal with Uni and had to send it to them first, but he asked them for a quick pass.”

“Oh.”

“Which they gave—they read it quickly and passed, but they both said it’s great and they love that you’re dipping your toes in a new genre and think it was a great move and they want to meet with you to throw around some ideas about other hybrid movies.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“And then Adam sent it to a pretty new financing company with big New York investors.”

“Uh huh…”

“Called AVR, it’s the initials of the last names of the founders. Anyway. They’re hungry for genre product and they already have three movies in production, a lot in development, they’re working with A-list people. Scorcese has a project with them. So do the Insidious people. ”

“Uh huhhhhh…”

“And they flipped for it. We told them who we’re planning on sending the script to today and they have put a really good offer on the table if we don’t send it to anyone else. And when I called the execs at Universal they said that’s a great idea and they want to be in business with AVR so there’s a chance that Uni could still release the movie once AVR finances development and production.”

I can’t even believe what I’m hearing—it’s so surreal. This is not how these phone calls with agents about spec scripts usually go. At all. Ever.

She tells me how much they’re offering to pay us and I see stars. And dollar signs.

“You still with me?”

“Yeah. Yes. So that’s the good news?”

“That’s the good news. Here’s the other news. They want to buy the script, but they don’t want to hire you guys to do any rewrites. It has nothing to do with you guys, it’s just that they want to fast-track the project so they already have an A-list horror writer in mind for the next draft and then they want to go to directors immediately after that. You’ll still get the credit, obviously, but you and Scott should talk this over. If it’s important to you to stay on the project, then we can turn down the offer and send the script out to see who else bites.”

“I accept. Take the offer.”

“Babe, I know you need the money, but think about it for one second.”

“I don’t need to. It’s more important to me to get the check and to have a produced movie credit than to do a rewrite on something that might never get made.”

“Okay. That is actually smart. But we still have to see what Braddock wants.”

“Hang on,” I say. “He just sent me a text.”

I open up the message on my phone.

From Scott Braddock: Congrats! I’m leaving the decision up to you re. accepting this offer or going out to other studios. I’m fine either way. See you in Joshua Tree.

He’s fine either way. Well good for fucking him.

“He says he’ll leave it up to me.”

“Yeah. I just got a text from Jeff. Okay. So we’ll go ahead with Adam and the finance company deal. Congratulations! Kennedy is over there doing back flips.”

“Hi Kennedy!”

Kennedy’s voice cuts in on the line. “I am so freaking excited for you!” And she’s gone.

“It’s never this easy,” Laurie continues. “Even with this genre. I’m sure you know that. I’d say Braddock’s your lucky charm, but he could say the same about you. And this will be one of the last deals to go through before things slow down over summer. Even with you splitting the take with Braddock, you’ll still be getting about what you got for your first sale.”

“Wow. You’re right.”

“So you guys need to celebrate. Hard.”

“Right. For sure. Thank you, Laurie. You’re amazing. Thank Jeff too. I guess I’ll wait for Adam to call me.”

“Yeah yeah. Your very good lawyer is going to be sending us the deal points tomorrow then, probably. The really awesome thing is that these finance companies can cut a check much faster than studios, you know, because there’s less red tape and paperwork. So we’ll start hounding business affairs for your money right away.”

“Okay, but…do I have to keep writing with Braddock?”

“Why what did he do? Do I need to have him killed?”

I laugh, a little. “I mean, you don’t need to, but if you wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you…”

“Your lawyer is on the other line, I gotta jump. Look, it’s up to you if you want to write another script with him. Are you saying you don’t?”

“I mean. I doubt he’d want to.”

“Really? Because he told Jeff he’s pretty sure you’ll be teaming up again.”

“Oh really? He said that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I mean. You know how he is. He always says what other people want him to say.”

“Oh yeah? I thought he always says things to piss you off.”

“Well yeah. To me. But to everyone else—”

“Which means you’re special.”

“No.”

“To him.”

“What? No. I’m just saying—”

“I don’t have time for your ‘Scott Braddock is my nemesis’ song and dance.”

Sometimes my agent scares me.

“Listen, you can take meetings as a team or go it alone. I can create heat for you either way, just let me know by next week. We gotta strike while the iron’s hot. But Erin…don’t make an emotional decision on this matter, you know what I mean? If you want my opinion—it’s not a great idea to pivot again so soon. You should write at least one more script with him in this genre or a thriller. It’s show business, not show boyfriend.”

The line goes dead.

“Hello? Hello?” I hang up.

Who said anything about boyfriend?

I don’t see how she can create heat for me either way when things have never been so cold between me and Scott Braddock. I find myself longing for the days when I simply resented and loathed him—two simple feelings that I could easily process while going about my business.

Who said anything about boyfriend?!

Maya comes into my room, looking at me expectantly. “Was that your agent?”

“Shit, do they think we’ve been dating?”

“Who?”

“What if he said something to Jeff?”

“What—Erin! What’s going on?”

“Oh. The script sold.”

“What?! Dude! Already?”

“Yeah, they gave it to a producer early, yesterday, and a financing company is buying it.”

“Oh my God! Why aren’t you excited?”

“I am.”

“No you aren’t. What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. This feels weird. Everything feels weird right now.”

“Did you talk to Scott?”

“No! He sent me a text while I was on the phone with my agent saying he’d leave it up to me to decide if we should accept the offer or not. Can you believe him?”

“Well. That’s a good thing though, right?”

“It just proves that he doesn’t care.”

“Does it?”

“What an asshole.”

“Just—let’s focus on the fact that you just had your second script sale—wow!” She hugs me, and I’m pretty sure I’m hugging her back, but all I can think about is strangling Scott Braddock.

“Yay. I mean what kind of a shithead sends a text like that about something like that?! Am I right?”

“Okay.” She pulls away from me. “I’ll leave you to work through this—whatever it is. Congratulations. Be happy.”

She walks out and shuts the door.

Happy. I should be happy. I should be freaking thrilled.

I can’t believe he hasn’t called to congratulate me. Like this isn’t a huge deal. Like we didn’t spent practically every day together for weeks and weeks.

Fine.

If I have to be the grown-up, I will call him.

If he doesn’t answer after two rings I will hang up.

He answers after one ring. “Congrats.” 

“Same to you.” 

“You must be relieved.” 

“I am.”

“Good.” 

“Obviously it was the hen scene that sold it.”

Apparently it doesn’t even warrant a laugh. I hear him blow some air out of his nostrils. “Obviously.” 

“Kind of funny that New York investors basically bought it. You tell your family yet?”

“Not yet. Not until the contract’s signed. But yeah. Hilarious.”

“Right. So are you going to celebrate or anything?”

“I’ll celebrate in Joshua Tree. You?”

“Yeah. Same.”

“Right. Because you’re in your writer’s cave.”

“Right. I am…Is that why you haven’t called me?”

“Sure.”

Sure? You total asshole.

There is a long pause, wherein I wait for the other Scott Braddock to speak—the one who’s nice to me.

I might have to wait forever.

“So I just wanted to touch base with you about the rehearsal dinner thing or whatever we’re calling it. I mean, I’ve been told you’re the best man.

“Right good yeah I was going to email you about that.”

“Oh. Well you know maybe I should just send you an email, good idea. Bye.”

I hang up and throw my phone on my bed. It doesn’t break or bounce or make noise. It’s very unsatisfying.

I can’t believe I called him.

I can’t believe he didn’t call me.

I can’t believe how cold he’s being.  

I should have gone to his apartment and punched him in the face. 

I pick up my phone again and call him back.

Again, he answers on the first ring. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a dick to me.”

“Really? I thought your whole world view centered on the belief that I’m a dick to you.”

I hang up on him and drop my phone again. This time it falls on the carpet. Again, it is unsatisfying. I wish I were unstable and irresponsible enough to just hurl my phone at a wall, but I can’t not have a phone, especially while I’m helping to organize my best friend’s wedding.

I let out a loud, deep, frustrated groan.

My eyes are stinging with hot, repressed tears.

I call him back.

“Hi.”

“Fuck you Braddock.”

“Back at you Duffy.” 

“What is your problem?!  Is this really how you want things to end between us?”

“Things aren’t ending between us.”

I exhale. So relieved by his reassuring tone, it’s embarrassing. “They aren’t?”

“Not possible. You never even wanted to start, remember?” He hangs up. 

He hung up.

Maya knocks on my door and pokes her head inside. “You okay?”

“Did he just hang up on me?”

“What? I’m sure he didn’t. Just call him back.” 

I drop my phone onto the bed and run my fingers through my hair. “Oh my God it’s happening. I’m turning into Brie. I have become my own crazy roommate.”

“Honey this is so not the same thing.”

“That fucker. This is exactly what I was afraid of and it has become a reality.”

“Okay you know what. You go ahead and create whatever reality you need to, I have to meet Sam for dinner.  I love you please don’t lose your mind.” She starts to close the door again.

“No no no no no! Wait! I’m not doing this! I’m not obsessing!”

“It’s okay, you can obsess.”

“No I’m not going to—I’m not going to be a blight on your beautiful wedding week.”

“It’s just the weekend, it’s fine. Get it all out.”

“Okay go meet Sam for dinner, but the next time you see me I promise I will be sane and totally focused on you.”

“Um also—hello? YOU SOLD ANOTHER FUCKING SCRIPT, ERIN DUFFY! Do you want to come to dinner with us? Wait a minute, we should be celebrating this. Come with us.”

“Nope! It’s bad luck to celebrate before I’ve officially received the deal memo or signed a contract. Go. Enjoy your sweet man. Love you.”

“Love you. I’m celebrating your sale anyway you weirdo.”

I am going to beat this Braddock-Anger-Obsession. I’m going to be the boss of my mind. I will control my own mind, and my body and heart will follow. I go to the kitchen, open the “mess” drawer, and find a rubber band, which I place around my left wrist. Every time I have a Scott Thought, I will snap it. Furthermore, I will pretend I’m playing a video game. Every time I have a Scott Thought, I will shoot at it and win points every time I make it explode and dissipate. Every time an image of Braddock’s mouth or penis enters my brain—POW! One hundred points! Level up!

I expect to garner approximately fifty billion points by the end of the day.

By then, I will have called my parents, to give them the good news. By then, I will be excited and so grateful to be a paid screenwriter who can still afford to pay her rent. By then I will be able to kiss the tender pink skin around the inside of my wrist, and not feel sad that it’s my lips on my skin instead of his.

I wish I liked scotch, so I could hold a tumbler of it while staring out my window, thoughtfully.

I also wish I had a view.

And tumblers.

And Scott.