“Whiskey, please!” Elsie says while she clicks her computer shut.
Placing my laptop on the floor, I bring over two glasses and the bottle to the small coffee table. I pour us each two fingers, and then, on second thought, just a splash more.
Elsie holds out her glass to me. “Cheers.”
“Slàinte.”
“Oh, I love that.” Elsie tries out our Scottish Gaelic way of saying cheers, not doing too bad a job of pronouncing it.
I point at her laptop. “Are you working on the script they’re going to start filming?”
She shakes her head. “No. Not tonight. I’m sure I’ll have some rewrites after the table read, but I was working on something new.”
“Why aren’t you at the table read?”
Her eyes look haunted at the prospect. “I can’t. It honestly gives me a panic attack just thinking about sitting there while they read the entire script. I get defensive. I correct them if they skip lines or change little words. And I hold a grudge, so Natalie tapes it for me and I make all my edits in the morning.”
“Aye, that makes sense.”
“I’m sure you get it. You’re a writer.”
“Not published or anything,” I’m quick to add. I don’t want her to think I’m pretending to be something I’m not.
“Being published doesn’t make you a writer. Writing makes you a writer. What are you working on?”
I’m going to tell her the same lie I’ve been telling Miles, that I’mworking on a new murder mystery, but instead I say, “A romance novel.”
My cheeks feel a little warm at the admission, or possibly the whiskey.
“Oh, how fun. I love romance novels. Have you read any Natalia Jaster?”
I shake my head, and Elsie goes on. “She writes romantasy, and the chemistry sizzles off the page.”
I nod and make a mental note to check it out. “I only recently got into romance—novels, I mean. Obviously, I’m a grown woman and have had my fair share of actual romance.” My cheeks burn hotter than the roaring fire. What am I saying? “Not my fair share, but a handful of relationships—well, one meaningful one.” I clear my throat and get back to the safe topic of books. “I’ve read mostly contemporary.”
Elsie nods, a small smirk on her face, probably from my whiskey-muddled ramblings. “Have you read any Lynn Painter? She’s one of my faves in that genre, so cinematic. I can never figure out how she puts so many song lyrics in her writing. Her publishers must have deep pockets.”
I shrug. “I haven’t read any of hers either. I’ve just dipped my toe in, really. Up until recently, I exclusively read mysteries and thrillers.”
Her eyes light up. “How fun! A genre switch. What’s your book about?”
I take a long sip of whiskey so that I don’t say Miles Casey. “It’s about two people from different worlds who fall in love.”
“Sounds intriguing. I’d love to read it sometime.”
If Elsie read my pages, she’d instantly see it was about Miles and me, or would she? It might be a good test to see how thinly veiled I’d made his character. I give her a half smile. “It’s not ready yet, but I’d love that when it is. What is your new script about?”
She tells me all about it. This one takes place in the Pacific Northwest. There’s bigfoot and a love story, but she hasn’t quite worked out the plot yet.
An hour and two whiskeys later, we’re sitting on the floor by the fire, me reading from her laptop and her reading from mine.
Screenplays are a different beast, but her writing is wonderful. Her dialogue is heartfelt without being sappy, and there’s an undercurrent of mystery. The more I read, the more nervous I get about what she thinks about mine. We both agreed we’d just read the first five pages. When I look up after finishing hers, she is still intently reading mine. My pulse is banging wildly at the side of my neck. She must hate it. She must be having to reread parts because it doesn’t make any sense. My thoughts swirl until I feel dizzy. “It’s just a very early draft—in fact, it’s the first draft. I know it still needs a lot of work.”
Elsie nods but still doesn’t look up from the screen.Cursed whiskey. I would never have shared pages so early if I hadn’t been drinking. Well, except to my writing group, but that is different.
She’s smiling. “This is great. The voice is so fun. Really good stuff, especially for a first draft. Forgive me, I’m a slow reader. I’m only about halfway through.”
She likes it. I let out a sigh of relief. “It’s fine. Take your time.”
