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I step into her apartment. It’s light and airy. A small hallway opens up into the main living area. Fiona sits at her dining room table, papers scattered across it. Unlike me, she hasn’t changed.
“These are for you.” I hold out the flowers and put the bottle of wine on the table.
The look on her face tells me everything I need to know. “Joe, this isn’t a date.”
“Of course not. The wine is to have with dinner. If you’d like. If not, that’s fine.” Setting the flowers aside, I tuck my shirt in, roll down the sleeves of the white dress shirt I’m wearing and close a button. Hopefully, it’s enough to turn this from dinner with an old friend to the business meeting with food she clearly has in mind.
I’m about to toss the flowers into the stainless steel trash can I spot in the small galley kitchen when she snatches them out of my hand.
“Thank you. These are lovely.” I watch her put them into a glass pitcher that I’m sure usually holds lemonade or margaritas. I’m glad I chose sunflowers and peonies instead of the white roses the florist had suggested.
“I thought this wasn’t a date,” I tease.
“It’s not. But that’s no reason to waste perfectly good flowers. Or a nice bottle of wine. Someone in California has a good influence on you.” She pulls out a bottle opener and sets the Merlot out on the counter to breathe.
“I think it has more to do with the fact that I grew up. We can’t all grow up with a sophisticated pallet, courtesy of an Italian grandmother.”
“Grandma Marie did like to sneak pesto and fresh mozzarella into our snacks when we went over there.” Fiona pushes her hair behind her ear and smiles. It takes me back to the warm summer nights we spent driving out to the lake.
“And don’t forget the wine. I heard about those tiny cups of red table wine from your sister.”
“That’s supposed to be a secret.” Fiona puts her hand on her heart, pretending to be shocked.
I laugh. “Tell that to Gwen. From what I can tell, she shares that little story at every family get-together that involves wine.”
“You seem well informed about my twin for someone who lives clear across the country.”
“My mom calls every Sunday, and she happens to love her future daughter-in-law.”
“That wedding is coming up soon, isn’t it?” Fiona’s expression changes.
“Right. As is our meeting with Dave tomorrow. Why don’t we go over some notes before we order food? Unless you’re starving.” My stomach grows.
Fiona smiles. Her relief at my change in attitude is palpable. “I can wait.”
I take a seat and look at the papers scattered across the table. “Really? A pro and con list?” I pick up a notepad.
“They still work.” Fiona snatches the notepad from my hand.
“They always have for you, haven’t they? Let’s give it a try.” I find a piece of blank paper and a pen.
“Alright. I guess that’s as good a start as any.” Fiona takes her seat across from me.
“Do we agree that it’s coming down to Radiant and The Serpent’s Kiss”? I ask.
She nods.
“Alright. Pros and cons for each.”
We each list the benefits of using one screenplay over the other. The strengths of the story vs. its weaknesses. We spend a solid hour going back and forth.
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I put my pen down, doing my best to ignore my hunger pains.
“Not until you admit that The Serpent’s Kiss is the better choice. It has huge commercial appeal and there’s plenty of potential for sequels. Radiant is more of a one-and-done kind of deal, isn’t it?”
“There are,” I hedge, realizing how much she’s dug in her feet about this.
“Great. We agree then. Ready to order pizza? There’s this great little Italian restaurant downtown. Lucky for us, they deliver.” She has her phone out, ready to call in the order.
