Page 32 of The Rom-Commers

“Because you just taught me the term ‘information gap.’”

Well, at least he could admit it.

He could see I was considering it. “What’s your going rate? Two-fifty an hour?”

I had no idea what my going rate was. “Three hundred,” I said.

“Okay. Let’s cover three hours tonight, give or take, and whatever time you spent last week. Plus your time, your stress, your inconvenience, your fainting spell. How’s three thousand dollars?”

“Five thousand,” I countered, not skipping a beat.

That was reasonable, right? We were negotiatingin his mansion, after all.

“Sold,” Charlie said.

Wait—what?

Wow. Three cheers for information gaps.

“Sold,” I echoed back. “You write the check. I’ll get my notes.”

Eight

ASTONISHING, REALLY—HOW Afive-thousand-dollar paper check can perk a girl up.

The second Charlie handed it over, I tucked it in my bra for safekeeping.

Which felt like a power move.

We cleared the dining table, and then Charlie sat across from me with a fancy Moleskine notebook and a pen. Like he might—good god—take noteson what I was about to say.

Notesfororagainst, I wasn’t sure.

He watched while I unloaded my backpack. My pen bag, my laptop, my stack of notebooks, my printed notes, all building to the grand finale of his screenplay, bound with brads and a card stock cover, absolutely bursting with Post-its, annotation tabs, and dog-ears. Not to mention a few coffee rings and a wrinkled corner where I’d accidentally dunked it in the bathwater.

A well-read script, for sure.

Charlie stared at it.

“Let me ask you a question,” I said next when I was all set up. “Doyou want me to be honest? Or do you want me to blow smoke up your ass?”

“I want you to be honest,” Charlie said—no hesitation.

But that didn’t mean much.

Writers always want you to be honest—but only if you love it.

“Because I didn’t love it,” I said.

“I figured that out when you called it ‘apocalyptically shitty.’”

I squinted, likeI guess you heard that?Then I nodded and said, “Can you handle it?”

“Handle what?”

“Not being loved.”

“Sure. Easy. Peopledon’t love meall the time.”

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