Page 72 of Loathing My Boss
The clatter—it’s deafening.
I… How morbid. And yet…
“This is very good imagery, Crisis. Have you written anything before?”
She laughs, highlights, deletes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She typestrepidation. “What was the next part you said?”
“Technically, I never put a stabbing in my outline.”
Her lip juts. “How else will the readers know they are in love?”
“By the detailed fade-to-black we’re about to concoct. Together.” This might kill me, but at least I’ll die happy.
Her nose scrunches, and she types:They then proceeded to engage in bedroom activities. Like Minesweeper. Definitely Minesweeper. Does this computer have Minesweeper?
She clicks on the search tab and typesMinesweeperinto the bar. No results. “My disappointment is immeasurable.”
“I can always take over and type left-handed.”
“No,” she murmurs, deleting the paragraph. “It’s fine. Narrate your filthy bedroom scene, in front of me, a young and impressionable girl.”
“Here I thought you were young andspry.”
“And also impressionable, as well as innocent. But for how much longer? Who can say.”
I run my fingers through her hair before trailing back to the bed and my outline. “Movie night starts soon—”
She closes my laptop, rises, and stretches her arms above her head, effectively stealing my breath as her body just…yeah. “Wow!” she cheers. “What ashame! We have to go get ready for movie night! I hope there are all kinds of snacks. For a place crawling with newbies, soup night was professionally elegant. My standards have elevated. An entire popcorn and candy bar is not only expected, but also required.”
Smiling knowingly, I put up my writing things and follow Crisis from the barn to the ranch house, then into the belly of it, where an ice cream bar fills the kitchen right outside a private theater.
I knew this place had events regularly. I approve or deny requests to use the facility several times a year…but this spread exceeds even my expectations.
“Can this be an annual thing?” Crisis murmurs as we meld into the forming line. “Look,” she whispers. “They’ve got adairy-freeselection.Selection.As inmultipleflavors. How much did this retreat cost per person?”
Five thousand dollars, give or take several hundred.
For two weeks inSunset, five thousand dollars is a baseline.
It’s why everyone here is so determined to make things work and have something to show for it. You don’t pay five thousand dollars to largely sit alone in a room and write while surrounded by full-service support unless you’re serious.
It’s this kind of passion for the art that I severely lack,considering my reason for being here involves…a different sort of passion.
“Evening!” the woman manning the ice cream bar chirps. “What can I get you, sweetie?”
I lean toward Crisis’s ear. “See?Everyonecan tell you’re sweet.”
She swats at me, smiling bright. “Hi! Stupid question: do you have any teeny tiny scoops back there? Like, for making little cantaloupe circles? I’d like a teeny tiny scoop of everything. If it’s not too much trouble. I can wait until everyone else has gone through if it’ll hold up the line.”
“Hm…” The woman’s lip juts. “I’m not sure I have a smaller scoop, but I can absolutely give you a sample of everything. Let me get a spoon.”
I interject, “The roundness is important to her. Can you put the normal size scoops in a popcorn bucket? We’ll share.”
“Yes, of course!” the woman chirps again. “Right away, Mr. Bachelor.”
Crisis turns toward me, looking up at me, incredulity upon her pretty face. “We’ll…share?”
I lift my booboo hand. “Less for you to juggle, while I’m injured.”
