“Let’s worry about that in two weeks then.” Walker pushed them over to the couch. He cupped Cameron’s cheek. They made out softly, slowly, savoring the small bits of time they had left. “We’ll cry about it later.”
Cameron wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but he was positive that he loved seeing Walker in front of him. Maybe he could make an exception to his good-bye rule. Because technically, this wouldn’t be a goodbye.
“So we’re going to do anEverybody Loves Raymond,” Cameron said.
“Huh?”
“Everybody Loves Raymond, the sitcom from the 2000s.”
Walker rolled off Cameron. “Please tell me I’m not Brad Garrett in this scenario.”
“They didn’t do a ‘final’ episode. Their last episode was a normal, run-of-the-millRaymond. No big changes. No characters moving or getting married or having babies. They didn’t want to get sentimental and sappy.”
“So we’reEverybody Loves Raymond?”
Cameron nodded, proud of his off-the-cuff TV metaphors. He pounced on his boyfriend, for two more weeks anyway. His hands massaged Walker’s chest and traveled south.
Then the doorbell rang again. No door pounding this time.
“Crap.”
“Who is that?” Walker asked.
“This guy buying my bedroom furniture off Craigslist.”
“You’re selling everything?” Walker sat up.
“My life is a firesale.” Cameron shrugged. He kissed Walker’s ear. “Maybe we can pick up once he leaves.”
“I need to get home. And anyway, you got me thinking about Doris Roberts now, so I doubt I’ll get an erection for the rest of the night.”
Φ
Professor Mackey smiled at her desk and motioned for Cameron to come inside her office. She placed her red pen atop her piles of papers. Other students’ scripts awaited feedback.
“I have some good news.” Cameron told her about the job and the quick turnaround.
“Cameron, that’s great!” She stood up and gave him a hug, but Cameron sensed she wasn’t 100 percent on board. He felt a part of her hold back.
“How will it work with me missing the last few weeks of class?”
“The only thing left is your final script. I can accept it via email. I’m looking forward to reading it.” She sat back down in her chair and tapped the pile of papers on her desk. “Intro to Screenwriting.”
“I’m afraid to ask what reading all those are like. I have to write coverage for Arthur, but at least I can be brutally honest in my opinion.”
The edges of her mouth crinkled with laughter. “It can be a challenge,” she said diplomatically. “But every once in a while, I come across a writer with raw talent, and that makes the job all worth it.”
He still couldn’t fully accept that she was talking about him. He never stopped being scared to show someone his writing. A part of him kept thinking it was a fluke, and he wondered if all writers felt that way.
“You’ll see it when you read more scripts for him,” she said. “You’ll read some junk, a lot of stuff that’s fine and that works, and then a few scripts that grab you and announce in big letters that you’re reading good writing. You’ll know it. A gut feeling, and it’ll light you up inside.”
There was no way she was still talking about him, he thought. She was a professional screenwriter who knew other professional screenwriters. She knew actual good writing. Cameron only managed to beat very low expectations.
Cameron wiggled in his chair. “I don’t know how much writing I’ll be doing. Mobius has this policy where employees can’t write on the side. They can’t pursue agents while working there.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Wow. Things have gotten stricter since I was in the business. Everyone hates when their assistant wants to write or act because they’ll never be as committed to the job, but I haven’t heard of a studio doing this. How can they enforce a No Writing rule? Will they bug your apartment?”
Cameron wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to play chicken with a multi-billion-dollar company.
