It has been three days since Laurie’s wedding, two days since I’ve seen my roommate who texts that she’s “With Sam. He’s amazing.”, and twenty-five seconds since the last time I’ve slapped my forehead and said out loud “WHAT. THE. FUCK?!” when my runaway brain conjured up images of myself making out with Scott Braddock in a public bathroom.

I’ve eaten a lot of cheese, because Maya isn’t around to tell me not to.

I’ve done five Jillian Michaels and Tracy Anderson workouts on YouTube to try to compensate for the dairy calories and to force my body to remember a kind of physical anguish other than that of Braddock’s Hammer of Thor erection against my aching nether regions.

I am trying to come up with one line pitches for a new romantic comedy and writing Fuck you Scott Braddock over and over on my yellow legal pad when my phone rings and I see Laurie Metzger’s office number. Laurie is on her honeymoon, so I assume it’s Kennedy calling to talk about scheduling a meeting. But it’s Kennedy calling to tell me that she has Laurie on the line, from Kauai.

“Please tell me you’re calling me from an infinity pool.”

“Oh my God I’m so tired of relaxing, it’s exhausting.”

“You’re rolling calls on your honeymoon, I love you.”

“That’s why we make the big bucks, baby. So listen…Jeff and I were just watching the wedding video that this guy put together.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, and we saw you and Scott Braddock together…”

Holy shit. Please tell me there wasn’t a hidden camera in the men’s room.

“You know, where he says we don’t make enough money for you guys.”

“Oh my God—he was not speaking for me, he’s so obnoxious.”

“But it’s true, we haven’t made you guys enough money—not considering what you’re worth in terms of talent and the number of scripts you’ve written.”

“Oh I don’t blame you, Laurie.”

“Good, because it’s not my fault.”

“Oh.” Are you calling to drop me as a client? Are you taking a break from your honeymoon to break up with me?

“It’s this business, it sucks right now. But we were thinking—how great would it be if you and Scott Braddock could partner up and write a script together! Since studios aren’t really making romantic comedies right now, at least not the kind you write, and not the kind that Scott’s written. You guys should team up to write a horror movie, but a fun date movie kind, that women would love…Hello?”

“Um.”

“Thoughts?”

“I have a few. I mean, it’s an interesting idea, but…I mean he’d never want to do it.”

“Scott? Yeah he’s into it, Jeff just got off the phone with him. He’s a big fan of your writing, Erin. You’re great at dialogue and character, he’s great at structure and finding a hook, and obviously he has experience with horror.”

And I have experience with the horror of knowing him.

“You’d really complement each other, and you’ve got overlapping fans at studios, plus your writing would be introduced to new people because of him. And vice versa.”

“But I’d only get half the money.” And you and your husband would split the commission so it’s not a big deal for you.

“Half of something is better than all of nothing, sweetie.” To her credit, she says this in the nicest way possible. “Unless you have a brand new slam-dunk rom com that Judd Apatow can produce, ready to go out before the script buying season ends for the summer...”

“Um. No.”

“It’s not a marriage, you don’t have to be a writing team forever, but it would create some heat for you and hopefully some money.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I need you to do more than think about it. Listen…I’m telling you this as your friend now, not your agent—because it would seriously not be cool for me to say this as an agent.”

“ What?”

“The agency is making us drop our bottom tier movie clients—you know how much of a struggle it’s been—and we’re all trying to sign TV show runners. I don’t want to stop taking your calls or returning your emails, Erin, and I don’t want to lose you to a smaller agency who’ll give you more attention but doesn’t have as much clout or resources as we do. There, I said it. I believe in you, I believe in me as your agent, and it is not our fault that the film business sucks right now. So either start over and work your way up from the bottom as a TV writer or write a fucking awesome feature script with Scott Braddock.”

“Wow. When you put it like that…I have a good idea for a horror movie, we can just base it on my life right now.”

Why don’t I want to start over as a TV writer, one might ask? My head has always known that it’s the smart career move, but my heart will always belong to feature films. As much as I love to binge-watch shows, I crave the calm-inducing satisfaction of a closed-ended movie with a resolution. I also crave the calm-inducing satisfaction of being able to spend most of my days working home alone in my pajamas. But more than that—I truly believe that the only way to revive this dying industry of original filmmaking, is to ensure that all the writing talent does not flee to television. Because that’s what has been happening. Maybe I’m stubbornly holding out to be the last woman standing, and maybe that’s what Braddock is doing too.

“Aw. Poor Erin has to write a script with a hot funny rich guy. I wish we were FaceTiming so you could see me playing the world’s smallest violin over here. Just meet with him and throw some ideas around—what have you got to lose?”

My dignity. My self-respect. My born-again virginity.

“I know you think you hate him, but that could work in our favor—it’s better than if you were dating and writing together—that never works out. You barely even have to see each other. I’ve got writing team clients who live on different coasts and barely talk to each other except at studio meetings. You can do everything over email now. But I mean, you guys live like ten minutes from each other and you might not hate him as much as you think. I have to make some more calls, but just meet with him and throw around some ideas, okay? I’ll have Kennedy reach out to him and she’ll set up a time. Love ya, bye.”

She hangs up before I can tell her ‘no.’ That’s what makes her a good agent.

I get it. Okay. This is a work decision. It’s a career-move. I have to weigh the pros and cons with my brain and not my heart or my soul or my vagina. Aside from the obvious con of half a paycheck (and Laurie is right about half of something versus all of nothing) and the added con of potentially having to deal with people assuming that Braddock did most of the work since it will be a new genre for me—it’s really all pros. And I am a pro. I’m a professional screenwriter and I will never forget how lucky I am to be one. So yes. I will branch out into a new genre, and hopefully a new phase of my career.

I’ll just have to keep reminding my heart and soul and vagina to be open-minded and forward-thinking. No wait—I don’t want my vagina to open-minded. I need my vagina to stay boarded-up while I’m open for business with Scott Braddock.

Do they sell chastity belts on Amazon?