“Did you have feelings for her?”

“Only awe and respect. As long as I knew her I only called her Mrs. Lentini.”

“How did you know how to write a screenplay?”

“I went to the library to get examples. Now, I would have just gone on line.”

“I can’t believe you sat on this for so long without trying to sell it.”

“Because Linda Lentini has an affair with Evelyn Townsend.”

“That was the best part.”

“I didn’t want anyone to associate me, the writer with that lifestyle. Remember, I was in the closet and I made Evelyn up.”

“Well, let me just say this Sis. I was mesmerized, fascinated, I honestly couldn’t put it down. The dialogue was sharp and crisp. The story line made me wonder what was coming next and then when Linda dies in the end, I couldn‘t help it, the tears just kept coming.”

“I’m hoping Terry will like it. It would make me feel good if I could help pay for the house.”

“Well, it’s certainly timely.” she said. “When I was in that outer office, just he and I, I asked him what kind of money screenwriters make. He told me that he’s paid as much as three million for a script by an established writer. I asked him what’s the least he’s paid. He said, $50,000.

“Then,” she continued, “I went to the office and I Googled screenwriters and you know how one thing leads to another, clicking here and there? Well, I learned a few things. If you get offered a low price like 50k, I read that asking for a percentage of the film is a good idea. Some of them ONLY take a percentage because they believe in their work. If the movie is a hit, even with one or two percent of the gross they can make more money than taking it up front and with the money coming in slower, there is less of a tax consequence.”

I smiled. “Can I hire you as my agent?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“How much do you want?”

“How about if I take it out in trade?”

“Shoot, you get that for nothing.” She laughed. “It might be kind of kinky thinking you were paying me off, let’s say, one orgasm per dollar I make for you.”

I laughed with her. “My god, we could be having sex in wheel chairs!”

“All the more power to you, baby. Let’s hope this is the start of something big.”

“Let’s shake on it,” I extended my hand across the table. She took it as we both smiled, squeezing hard and shaking vigorously. In fact, I got up, not letting go of her hand and kissed her on the mouth. It was a long lingering kiss, topped off with a short kiss.

“I love you,” I told her.

“I love you too, Sis.”

“Hungry?”

“Yes, I suddenly am.”

We shared a fine meal and then split off to do desk work, she in the office and me in the kitchen. When we went to bed, we just cuddled up with each other and soon fell asleep.

I delivered the script to Jeff Coulter’s office after I had a lunch interview the next day.

Later, much later, our telephone rang long after Bette and I had gone to bed that night. She answered it on her side of the bed.

I rolled over to see what time it was. It was 2 a.m. Who in the world would be calling so late? I hoped and prayed that nothing had happened to any of our kids.

“Hello?” she said in a sleepy voice. I could hear someone talking. “What’s going on?” she inquired. She waited a moment and then said, “Sure, hold on.”

She handed the phone to me and said, “It’s Terry.”