Page 6 of Lost Memories (Secrets of Mackinac Island 1)

After their drinks came, Elise recounted the events of the meeting to Mia, who scrunched up her nose and cursed “Rex” again and again. After the story finished, Mia called the waitress over and asked for another round of drinks, a cheese plate, and some sourdough and pretzel bread. “Oh, and olives,” Mia said, exasperated. “We’re going to need more fuel if we’re going to get over the idiocy of some of these Hollywood types.”

“Aren’t we Hollywood types by now?” Haley asked, chuckling.

“Not me. I’m not from LA like you two,” Mia insisted.

“Sure. You’ve worked in like ten writers’ rooms and you’re still an outsider,” Elise said, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve committed myself to be different forever. It’s part of my selling point,” Mia said, joking.

The snacks and drinks arrived. After the first bite, Elise realized just how hungry she was. As she tore through another piece of Edam cheese, her phone buzzed on the table. When she turned it over, she discovered that Matt had texted her yet again.

“Jeez. He won’t leave me alone,” Elise marveled.

“I have to guess you’re talking about Matt?” Haley said.

“Of course she is. He’s in love with her,” Mia said.

“And you won’t give him a single chance,” Haley said, clucking her tongue.

“It’s not that. I mean, I did go out for drinks with him a few weeks ago.” Elise said. “To talk about his recent script idea.”

“I love that he uses writing as a way to get closer to you,” Mia said. “Did you like his script?”

“Erm. I can hardly remember. He went on and on about his research and his great ideas and all the stories he’d told in the past. He said that if he didn’t sell a script properly by age forty-five, he would just move to the Alaskan wilderness. I was like, here’s the door, head north,” Elise said, chortling.

“Ha! One of the worst things in the world is getting caught in a conversation like that with an arrogant writer,” Haley offered.

“It’s like torture,” Mia agreed.

“But what did Matt text you?” Haley asked.

Elise clicked open the text and read aloud. “I just wanted to check in on you and remind you that you must keep going. Don’t let this single obstacle get you down. You’re a fantastic writer, and your ideas deserve to be on the big screen. Then, he added a winky-face emoji.”

“Good grief,” Haley said. “He is hungry for you.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “As if you need some guy to remind you that you’re a good writer.”

“It’s sort of nice, I guess. Ugh. It’s not that I’m totally starved for male attention, but...” Elise shoved her phone into her purse and dropped another piece of cheese on her tongue.

“You should download an app or something,” Haley said. “See what’s out there. Calabasas and Santa Monica are filled with hot, divorced men. Oh! Or what if you dated someone younger?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that phase of my life,” Elise admitted.

“Another friend of mine dated a guy in his early thirties for a while,” Mia explained. “She said they sometimes stayed up till dawn talking. She said she was exhausted, but it regenerated her in a way. It didn’t last for long; I guess they just wanted too many different things or were in different stages, but...”

“It would certainly be good fodder for your next script,” Haley affirmed.

“Ha. I could become that kind of writer, I guess. Go out and have weird experiences and write about them,” Elise said. “Like Hunter S. Thompson, but for middle-aged women.”

The conversation continued, grew lighter then darker again—with Mia expressing difficulties surrounding her book writing and Haley describing her teenage daughter’s sadness following a first breakup. As the drinks flowed, Elise found herself falling deeper in love with her friends, counting her blessings for them, slowly coming out of her sadness surrounding her failed script.

“You know what?” Elise said after a natural pause. “I’m so glad I didn’t sell that script to dumb Rex. I thought my agent was going to wring my neck, but honestly? If I let the whole world knock me down—from Sean to my editors, to my bosses, to some production company head with enough arrogance to power a car, then what kind of woman am I?”

“You wouldn’t be Elise Darby. That’s for damn sure,” Mia said, lifting her glass.

Just as the three women clinked their glasses together, saluting their future, their professional prowess, their writing—Elise’s phone buzzed from her purse. She glanced down and recognized the name “Peter Glasgow,” her mother’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

She furrowed her brow and brought her glass away from her friends’.

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