I’m being paid to write.

Marie came over earlier and asked to look after Olivia for a few hours. I’d already done most of the chores, so I opened up my laptop and sat down to write.

The words come easily now. Looking after Olivia is tiring—sometimes more so than waitressing—but it’s not as mentally exhausting. It’s hard to describe, but when I sit in front of my laptop, my brain is ready and raring to go. Maybe it’s not dreading the next day that helps. It doesn’t matter what the reason is. All I know is that my script is coming together and beginning to resemble an actual movie.

I hear the door open at six and assume it’s Marie, but the next voice I hear is Parker’s.

“Is Olivia still with my sister?”

“Yeah, she should be back soon, though. Shall I cook you dinner?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. How about a ham and cheese omelet?”

“Sounds good.”

It feels weird sitting down while Parker buzzes around the kitchen doing the work. He’s paying me and cooking me dinner. If I put this in my script it would seem far-fetched.

Speaking of which… I reach out to close my laptop, but I’m too late.

“Are you writing a screenplay?” Parker asks, glancing over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I reply. There’s not much point in lying. Screenplays have a distinctive look about them, and Parker is close enough to the movie business that he’ll recognize one instantly.

“Film or television?”

“Film. It’s just a hobby, and I usually write in my own time. You don’t have to pay me for this afternoon if you don’t want to.”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t care about that. I’m just curious. What’s the film about?”

It was a basic romance about young girl—Amber—who falls in love with a guy who ends up being her law school professor. However, it’s rapidly changing into a story about a girl who discovers her sexual identity through submissive sex with a man she barely knows. I wonder where that inspiration came from? She still goes to law school, though.

Parker can get the edited version. “It’s about a girl who falls in love with her law school professor.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a cheesy romance. It’ll never get made into a film, but I need to practice writing full-length movies.” Voicing my doubts out loud make me feel queasy. I’m right—this film will never get made. No one hits the big time with their first script. Even writers who rocketed to stardom have hard drives full of awful first drafts and abandoned stories. Still, if I think like that then I’ll never finish this script, which means I’ll never write the next one, or the one after that.

“I tried writing a movie once,” Parker says, while he dices ham into tiny cubes with quick flicks of the wrist. He’s not as inexperienced a cook as he makes out, and he certainly knows how to handle a knife. “It’s a lot harder than it looks and I have no imagination. How are you getting on?”

“I’m getting the words on the page,” I reply. “That’s the first step. I need to take a step back and do some research before I keep writing. There are a few scenes in a law school classroom, but I have no idea what that’s like in real life. I’ve seen Legally Blonde, but that’s all I know.”

I did do a bit of research into law schools when I prepared my initial outline, but the law school forums I found were full of contradictions and overly angry, immature people. It’s scary to think that they’ll be licensed lawyers in a few years’ time.

“I might be able to help,” Parker replies. “How do you fancy sitting in on a lecture?”

Yep, law school is crazy, and the students are crazier.

Parker pulled a few strings and got me into a criminal law lecture at the local law school. I’ve no idea how he managed it, but Parker’s rich, and rich people all move in the same circles. I saw evidence of that at the sex party. He probably knows a generous alumnus of the school. It doesn’t really matter. I’m getting a great experience that’s going to help me write a more believable screenplay.

I walk into a large lecture hall. It’s an evening class on criminal procedure. All the students have their laptops out, so I have no qualms about using mine to take notes on what I observe. I take a seat at the back of the class and watch.

The first thing I learn is that most law students aren’t bothering to listen to the lecture. A few appear to be taking notes, but just as many are online shopping, reading the news, or talking to their friends on Gchat. The second thing I learn is that I can’t blame them. Criminal procedure is boring. Really boring. The class topic—Miranda warnings—sounded interesting at first, and I’m a sucker for crime dramas on television. Unfortunately, the professor dived so deep into the weeds, that I quickly lost all interest.

It doesn’t matter. I’m here to observe the atmosphere, not to learn what Law & Order gets wrong about police procedure. One aspect of the experience quickly jumps out as worthy of inclusion in my screenplay. The professor calls on students out of the blue to answer questions. They have to recite facts from the case, discuss the judge’s legal reasoning, and give their own analysis of the law. Some students are clearly well-prepared, while others are caught unaware in the middle of purchasing a new sweater.

The version of Amber I have in my head is definitely the type to be prepared. She’d also be nervous. Speaking in front of one hundred of your peers isn’t easy, but it’s an opportunity to show her progression. At first, she’d be terrified and speak with a stutter like a few of the students here do. However, as she explores her sexuality throughout the course of the movie and becomes more confident in and out of the bedroom, she will give more confident and assured answers in class. Plus, at some point she’s going to be fucking the professor, so that has to help her confidence.

One last thing I learn—some law students are complete dicks. They raise their hand at every opportunity and sound smug as hell when answering questions. I’ll remember to include that. Every protagonist needs a nemesis or ten.

“So, did you learn anything?” Parker asks.

“Yeah. Never go to law school.”

Parker laughs. “I could have told you that.”

“You’re too old for school,” Olivia says, just before shoving a slice of apple into her mouth. “School is for kids.”

“Adults can go to school too,” I reply.

Olivia looks thoughtful for a few moments, before replying “only if they’re teachers.”

Parker insisted on picking me up from class and taking me to dinner afterward. Olivia was a little grumpy, so she got to choose the restaurant. Hence, I’m now eating ‘white meat’ nuggets and salty fries. I don’t care—I’m starving and it’s been ages since I’ve eaten junk food.

Everything about this job seems too good to be true right now. Olivia is an absolute joy to look after, Parker is ridiculously nice, and he pays me far too much. He’s even handsome. I rarely even think of this as work. It’s like we’re a family, except I go home at night to my apartment with Tami.

She’s still worried about me working in a ‘murder house,’ but she’s agreed that I only have to text her twice a day while I’m at work, and once when I get home if she’s not in. I’ve resisted the urge to talk her ear off about how brilliant this job is, but only just. I don’t feel under any financial pressure to complete my screenplay now, and the lack of pressure conversely makes it easier to finish. It’s a win-win all round. If I had a sex life, things would be close to perfect.

Maybe soon. I told Tami I wanted to go to another sex party, and there’s a chance—a small one—that I’ll see him again. Between him and Parker, I have crushes on two men who are both well out of my league.

“What did you think of the professor?” Parker asks.

“He was good,” I reply. “The subject matter was a little dull, but he did his best to liven it up with real-world examples.”

“He only teaches part time. He’s also a criminal defense attorney. That’s why his classes are in the evening.”

“You know Professor Moss?” I ask.

Of all the ways for Parker to get me into the law school, knowing one of the professors never crossed my mind.

Parker nods. “Walter and I are close. He helped me out a few years back.”

I swallow nervously, and shove a handful of fries into my mouth. A few years back. This shouldn’t bother me. Parker’s wife died three years ago, and I already know he was accused of the crime. That’s not a secret, and neither is the fact that he had a lawyer to represent him. He’d have been crazy not to. Even if you’re innocent, you still need a lawyer.

This minor revelation shouldn’t change anything, however, it does. Something in my head changes. It’s not just a story in the papers anymore. It really happened. He hired a lawyer. He went to court. He was almost charged with his wife’s murder.

But he didn’t do it. There’s no way the man sitting in front of me, teasing his daughter by taking her fries when she’s not looking, is capable of murder.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t know,” Parker says calmly. “I’m sure you’ve searched for my name online.”

“Maybe,” I reply.

“And? There must be a hundred questions you want to ask me. Some of them are probably best answered when this one is in bed, mind you.”

“I don’t have any questions,” I insist.

“You must have one. Everybody has one. They all want to ask: Did you—”

“Not me,” I interrupt. “I don’t need to ask that question.”

Parker frowns and stares at me intently until Olivia distracts him by dropping a ketchup-soaked fry on her lap.

“Okay,” he says calmly, before breaking out one of his impossible-to-resist smiles. He’s acting calm, but I can tell he’s relieved. I’m sure he’s right—everybody asks him if he did it. He’s probably got friends and family he thought he could trust who still felt the need to ask him that question. I’m not going to disappoint him. I don’t need to ask, because I already know.

There’s no way Parker murdered his wife. He doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.

Tami has the night off work, but she’s not in when I get home. I don’t even bother trying to get any writing done tonight. I now have the luxury of only working when my mind is in the right place and today has been far too tiring. I settle for reviewing the notes I made in the law school class and scribbling down a few character ideas.

When Tami does get home, she yells my name excitedly and waves two pieces of paper in front of my face. No, scratch that, not paper. Silk.

“I got the tickets.”

Holy shit. The silk tickets are almost identical to the last ones, except for the date and venue. There are even the same photos and names—Alison and Laura.

“How did you get these?” I ask. “Did you steal from one of your customers again?”

I’m not sure I care, but it’s probably best to at least act like I do.

“No need. Bruce, the guy I met, he hooked me up. He’s on the committee that organizes these little sex… masquerade balls, and he got us the tickets. Apparently, these two women were going to get kicked out anyway.”

“Why?”

“They weren’t submissive enough.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Bruce explained a few of the rules. The women are supposed to be submissive to the men all night. Obviously, there are safe words and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but that’s the gist of it.”

“I got that impression last time,” I reply.

Take off your panties.

“And you’re sure you want to go again?”

I nod eagerly. “I need to let my hair down and have fun. Maybe not ‘fingered on the sofa in front of everyone’ kind of fun, but fun nonetheless.”

“Same.”

“When is it?”

“This Saturday night. Are you free during the day?”

“Sure. Why?”

“The tips at work have been good this week and your new job pays well. I think it’s about time we went shopping.”