Page 31 of The Rom-Commers

“What, exactly,” Charlie asked, “didn’t you like about my screenplay?”

Oh, god. “You know,” I said, shaking my head, “I don’t think we need to get into all that.”

“I just… keep thinking about it,” Charlie said.

“It’ll pass,” I told him.

Charlie tilted his head. “You don’t want to tell me?”

“You’ve already explained to me in very clear terms that my opinion—in your opinion—is pretty worthless. So I just don’t really see the point.”

“What if I’m curious?”

“Why would you be?”

“It’s just—it’s that feeling—when you don’t know something and you just really, really find yourself needing to know.”

I knew that feeling. Of course I did. “An information gap,” I said.

“Right,” Charlie said, like he’d never heard the term before. Then, fainter, like he was mulling it over, “An information gap.”

“Do you not know the term ‘information gap’?” I asked.

“Of course I do. It’s a… gap in information.”

“It’s a writing term for how to create curiosity in the audience by leaving out crucial information.”

“Well, it works.”

How did Charlie Yates not know this term?

“The point is,” Charlie went on, “you information-gapped me—”

“You information-gapped yourself.”

“—and now I need you to fill in the… information.”

I gave it a beat. Then I said, “Why would I do that?”

Charlie shrugged. “Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Because,” and I couldn’t believe I had to say this out loud, “you didn’t hire me.”

Charlie nodded, likeInteresting.

“If you had hired me,” I said then, wanting to be totally clear, “I would happily do that right now.” I gestured toward my backpack in the guest room. “I’ve got ten pages of typed, single-spaced notes. I’ve got Post-its all over the printed screenplay—and comments filling up the margins.” Though, in truth, the margins mostly said things likeWTF??!andFFS!!!—more of a chronicle of horrors than thoughtful commentary. “I spent every free minute,” I went on, “from the time Logan toldme I had this job until I got on the plane to come here breaking down that screenplay and figuring it out—time I will never be compensated for, by the way.”

Charlie nodded, like he hadn’t thought of that.

I went on, “I could spendhoursexplaining what I didn’t like about your screenplay. I could goall night.” Then I concluded with, “Butyou didn’t hire me.”

Charlie nodded, and said, “What if I hired you now—just for that?”

“What?”

“What if I hired you for a consultation? Just for tonight? Tell me what you think, and I’ll pay you handsomely for your time and your thoughts and your trouble.”

“Why would you do that?”

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