Page 1 of Fate Fiction

prologue

. . .

MAIN CHARACTERS:

DANI GRANT: A woman, late twenties, HR manager with a wandering mind, glasses wearer, curly brown hair, shaky confidence.

NICK FEROLLI: Just a man.

SCENE: AN APARTMENT IN CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.

TIME: EARLY EVENING.

ACT V

SETTING: A KITCHEN TABLE, CANDLES LIT, ROYALTY FREE “DINNER JAZZ” PLAYLIST IN THE BACKGROUND.

FADE IN: DANI SITTING WITH HER ARMS PROPPED ON THE TABLE, POSITIONED DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM NICK. HE’S SHOVELING BOLOGNESE INTO HIS MOUTH. HE DRIPS SAUCE ONTO HIS FADED NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS T-SHIRT.

DANI

So, who is she?

NICK STUFFS ANOTHER FORKFUL OF PASTA INTO HIS MOUTH AND GIVES DANI A CONFUSED LOOK BEFORE SWIPING HIS PHONE OPEN AND SCROLLING. DANI TAKES ANOTHER SIP OF WINE. SHE’S VISIBLY TIPSY, A FLUSH HAS SPREAD ACROSS HER CHEEKS AND CHEST.

NICK

What do you mean “she”?

HE REPLIES WITHOUT MAKING EYE CONTACT. EYES GLUED TO HIS PHONE.

DANI

Whoever the far more interesting person is that seems to live in your phone. They’ve captured your attention for the better part of the night, and every night for a while now.

NICK

Babe—

HE STILL HASN’T MET HER GAZE. INSTEAD, HE SWIPES WITH ONE HAND AND CLUMSILY SCOOPS MORE PASTA ONTO HIS FORK WITH THE OTHER.

DANI (V.O.)

Oh boy, here we go.

NICK

There’s no one. Work has been crazy. I told you that.

DANI

Well, babe⁠—

SHE SWALLOWS, LIKE BILE HAS RISEN IN HER THROAT.

DANI

I find it particularly surprising that you’re getting this many work texts at 7:30 p.m. on a Saturday. I’m sure the washed up D3 athlete coke addicts you work with aren’t this dialed in right now.