Monsters by Liz Kay Page A

lot of fun too, but they’re coming at eight-thirty, so if you want time to shower, you’re gonna have to give in soon.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    When I come out, Daniel is bustling around the kitchen, setting everything up. He fills a carafe with coffee, sets it on a tray with cupsand spoons, a little pitcher of milk, and a sugar bowl, and when he turns around, the tray in his hands, he sees me and smiles. He sets the tray back down and circles the island toward me.
    â€œSo good to see you,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “There’s toast, yogurt, fruit. What can I get you?”
    â€œI’m good,” I say, and he frowns at me. “I’ll grab something in a little bit.”
    He picks the tray back up and carries it across the room. “Meeting’s in here,” he says. “Tommy says it’s more intimate, it’ll bring down their defenses.”
    And it is. If the living room is clean and spare and modern, the overstuffed leather couches by the fireplace are absolutely cozy, positioned closer together than they’d need to be in a room this size, the heavy wooden coffee table weathered-looking, the sort of table where you feel comfortable putting your feet. The fireplace is oversized and old-fashioned and wood-burning, and there’s a small fire crackling away. It’s not like it’s cold here, not compared to Nebraska, but it’s all for show. The ceilings in this room are high enough that the extra heat shouldn’t matter.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Jason and Joe walk in together. I’ve already folded myself into the closest corner of one couch. They’ll have to walk past me to sit down. Tommy greets them both in the kitchen, but I don’t stand up. I just glance over and wave. As Jason approaches, I hold my arm up toward him, and he leans over the back of the couch to kiss me on the cheek. I know he looks straight down my shirt, but it’s okay. I’m kind of inviting it.
    â€œI hear you want to fuck up my book,” I say just as his lips touch my cheek. I feel him startle against me, but he laughs, pats my shoulder.
    Joe does not kiss me on the cheek. He sits down heavily on the couch across from me and says, “Hey. Good to see you.” He says it like he absolutely does not mean it.
    Jason looks like he’s moving toward the opposite couch, but Tommy circles the long way around and steals the spot, so Jason has to sit beside me, close to the fire.
    Joe has already poured himself a cup of coffee, selected a Danish. He looks thoroughly uninvested. Jason looks a little uncomfortable. Maybe the fire’s too hot, but Tommy’s sitting right next to the fire too, and he seems completely relaxed. He has one foot resting on the opposite knee, and the script open in his lap. He’s flipping through the pages near the end of it.
    â€œSo,” Jason says finally, looking from me to Tommy and back again, “if I understand correctly why we’re here today, it’s that Stacey isn’t happy with the changes to the script.”
    â€œCan’t say I’m totally sold either, brother,” Tommy says, but the expression on Jason’s face makes him hold his hand up and add, “No, no. I haven’t made my mind up. I’m here to be convinced.” He looks totally sincere about it, but he’d better be acting.
    â€œGoddamn it,” Jason says, and he looks at me. “You know it’s not that big of a change. It’s one scene.”
    â€œJason”—I keep my voice soft, but I hold his gaze with mine—“you say that like that scene isn’t important, and if it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t be trying to change it.”
    â€œLook, I’m not saying your way wasn’t right for the book. It was great. It was artsy. It was perfect. But we’re trying to sell a movie here. We can’t push the envelope as