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“You didn’t like it, did you?” I take another swig and look out the open window, feeling the stinky summer air whooshing across my face.
“Like what?” he asks.
Jeez. What does he think I’m talking about? Is he really that thick? Is everyone this thick and I just never noticed before? “My play. You said you liked it but you didn’t.”
“You said you rewrote it.”
“Only because I had to. If Miranda—”
“Come on, kiddo,” he says, reassuringly. “These things happen.”
“To me. Only to me. Not to you or anyone else.”
It seems Bernard has had enough of my histrionics. He folds his arms.
His gesture scares some sense into me. I can’t lose him, too. Not tonight. “Please,” I say. “Let’s not fight.”
“I didn’t know we were fighting.”
“We’re not.” I put down the bottle and cling to him like a limpet.
“Awwww, kiddo.” He strokes my cheek. “I know you had a rough night. But that’s the way it is when you put something out there.”
“Really?” I sniff.
“It’s all about rewriting. You’ll rework the play, and it’ll be great. You’ll see.”
“I hate rewriting,” I grumble. “Why can’t the world come out right the first time?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
“Oh, Bernard.” I sigh. “I love you.”
“Yeah, I love you, too, kitten.”
“Honest? At two in the morning? On Madison Avenue? You love me?”
He smiles.
“What’s my present?” I coo.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a present, now, would it?”
“I’m giving you a present,” I slur.
“You don’t have to give me a present.”
“Oh, but I do,” I say cryptically. Even if my play was a disaster, losing my virginity could salvage it.
“Here!” Bernard says, triumphantly, handing me a perfectly wrapped box in shiny black paper complete with a big black bow.
“Oh my God.” I sink to my knees on the carpet in his living room. “Is it really what I think it is?”
“I hope so,” he says nervously.
“I already love it.” I look at him with shining eyes.
“You don’t know what it is yet.”
