Page 28 of Flipping the Script
Because I'm watching you, Quinn thought but didn't say. Because I'm learning what it feels like to want something while being terrified of losing it.
"Research," she said instead, but her voice came out softer than intended.
As evening approached, the soundstage grew quiet around them. The distant sounds of production winding down on other stages faded, leaving them in their bubble of artificial domesticity and very real creative intimacy. Quinn had filled twelve pages of her notebook with new dialogue, and Solen had brought each line to life with a naturalness that made Quinn wonder how she'd ever written characters without this kind of collaboration.
"I think Maya would touch Sarah's hand here," Solen said, indicating a moment in the new scene where the character was struggling to find words. "Not romantically, just... anchoring herself to something real."
Quinn wrote the stage direction, acutely aware that Solen's hand was resting on the couch between them, close enough to touch. The parallel wasn't lost on her—they were writing about characters learning to bridge the gap between fear and connection while sitting in their own space of possibility.
"Quinn?" Solen's voice was quiet. "Can I ask you something?"
"Why is control so important to you? Not for the script, I mean. For you."
The question should have felt invasive. Instead, it felt like a natural extension of the creative vulnerability they'd been sharing all afternoon. Quinn set down her pen and considered how much truth this moment could hold.
"My mom has bipolar disorder," she said finally. "Growing up, our house was either perfectly calm or completely chaotic, and I never knew which one I'd come home to. Writing became this space where I could make sure things turned out okay."
Solen's expression grew gentle. "And letting someone else into that space feels like giving up the guarantee."
"Yes." The admission felt enormous in the quiet soundstage.
"But Maya learns to trust Sarah with her chaos," Solen said. "Even though it's terrifying."
Quinn looked down at the pages they'd created together—her structure and Solen's instincts woven into something that felt both planned and discovered. "Are we still talking about the script?"
"Are we ever just talking about the script?"
The question hung between them like a dare. Quinn closed her notebook and found herself really looking at Solen—not as an actress interpreting her work, not as a fake girlfriend performing their arrangement, but as someone who'd spent the day making her art better by making it more honest.
"I don't know how to do this," Quinn said.
"Write collaboratively?"
"Any of it." Quinn gestured at the space between them. "The not knowing. The improvising. The letting someone else change things."
Solen shifted on the couch until they were facing each other fully. "What if we just figured it out as we went? Like goodimprov—you listen to your scene partner and build something together."
Outside the soundstage windows, Los Angeles glittered with its evening sprawl of ambition and dreams. Inside, Quinn felt the careful boundaries of her world reshaping themselves around this woman who'd somehow become essential to both her story and her understanding of what stories could be.
"Okay," Quinn said. "But I'm keeping the notebook."
Solen's laugh was warm and surprised. "I wouldn't expect anything else."
Quinn opened to a fresh page and wrote: "Some of the best art happens when you let someone else into your creative space." She paused, then added: "Some of the best everything happens then."
When she looked up, Solen was watching her with an expression that felt like being seen completely—messy creative process, control issues, and all.
"Same time tomorrow?" Solen asked.
"Same time tomorrow," Quinn agreed, and realized she was looking forward to not knowing exactly what they'd create next.
13
BETWEEN THE LINES
The penthouse elevator opened with a soft chime, releasing them into the marble foyer of their temporary sanctuary. Quinn's blazer hung loose around her shoulders, her usual armor of precision slightly askew after three hours of performed intimacy that had felt anything but fake.
"I can't believe you made Henderson blush." Solen kicked off her heels the moment they crossed the threshold, her laugh echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "A man who's interviewed every A-lister since the eighties, and you had him stammering about his own love life."
