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    Erinn sat back in the driver’s seat but still couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. She knew that reliving all the slings and arrows of the day was probably not in her own best interest, but as a writer, it was her duty to analyze everything that had happened. She had kept an eye on Jude, sitting at the next computer station. He seemed to spend as much time playing video games as he did researching. He caught her eye during one of his games, but didn’t appear guilty in the least. Erinn pointed to her own computer screen.
    â€œThis is a great Web site on the Revolutionary War, if you’re interested,” she said.
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œI guess you already know everything there is to know about the war then?”
    â€œNo,” he said, turning away from his game and looking at her. “But that’s your department. Your job is to find out everything there is to know and write the script. My job is to come in and tell you how to shoot it. This director gig is a wonderful thing.”
    Jude smiled and went back to his game while Erinn stewed.
    Finally, Jude shut down his computer, stretched, and asked Erinn how her research was progressing. She picked up her notebooks, graph sheets, and printed-out articles. She moved closer to him and pointed to a timeline she had created.
    â€œI think it’s important to give the audience a timeline of the war,” she said. “I don’t think all Americans have a real grasp of how long this conflict lasted.”
    â€œErinn, we’re covering one battle. You’re over-reaching.”
    â€œBut people need to understand the ideology behind the conflict.”
    â€œNo, they don’t.”
    They stared at each other.
    â€œErinn, people don’t care.”
    â€œThen we make them care. If you give them something good, people will watch it.”
    â€œIf you give them crap, they’ll watch it, so why kill yourself?”
    She let out a ragged breath. Jude suddenly shot out of his chair to follow a twenty-year-old intern into the office kitchen.
    Erinn continued her research, which she found incredibly stimulating, and tried to envision how the shoot might go. She had so many ideas she felt light-headed. She tried not to let Jude’s words—“My job is to come in and tell you how to shoot it”—nor his philosophy—“If you give them crap, they’ll watch it, so why kill yourself?”—dampen her enthusiasm. She had to listen to him, she knew that; he was the director, after all. A shallow, soulless, superficial director, but the director, nonetheless. She would have to deal with him whether she liked it—or him—or not.
    Her cell phone rang. She jolted upright, and realized she was still in her driveway. Erinn hurried to put the hated earbud in place, but all she managed to do was get it ensnared in her hair.
    Realizing the car was stationary, and California’s hands-free law no longer applied, she left the earbud dangling in her hair and just answered the damn phone. It was Mimi.
    â€œHow was your first day?” Mimi asked. “Why didn’t you call me?”
    Erinn knew instinctively that Mimi had already checked out the situation with Cary, and the fact that Mimi wasn’t walking on eggshells was a good sign.
    â€œI think it went well,” she said.
    â€œWhat did you think of the people?”
    â€œUnspeakably unschooled . . . but salvageable. Most of them.”
    â€œWhat about your partner? Did you like him?”
    Erinn couldn’t resist asking, “How did you know my partner is a ‘he’?”
    Mimi sputtered on the other end, but Erinn took pity on her and continued, “I know that you know that my new partner is that well-muscled egomaniac who came over to look at the guesthouse. You can stop with the subterfuge.”
    â€œSubterfuge?”
    â€œYes, subterfuge. It’s from the Latin,