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8

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Ed stepped into his house, shutting the door behind him. He was so worked up from his time with Howard Brinkley that his judgement was all off, so he slammed the door by accident, causing him to jump from the noise. As he jumped, he tipped over the umbrella basket, which stood next to the doorway. His and his wife's umbrellas toppled out and in front of Ed's path. Having not seen them do so, he took a step forward, but tripped on the umbrellas and fell face first onto the floor.

He stumbled to his feet, rubbing at his jawline. "Honey. I'm home!" He called.

His wife appeared from the kitchen holding a pan. "Oh, hello dear. What was all that noise I just heard?" She looked past him and saw the toppled umbrella basket with the umbrellas lying on the floor then she looked back at Ed who was still rubbing at his jaw. She approached him. "You didn't... don't tell me you..." She placed a hand on his jaw. "Aww, honey!"

"It was nothing," Ed assured her, removing her hand from his jaw and placing it at her side. He stepped past her, took his coat off and draped it over the side of the couch.

Kathy followed him and picked up the coat. "I told you to hang it in the closet. When are you gonna learn?" She asked, walking to the closet, frying pan in one hand, coat in the other. She put the coat away, then walked back to Ed.

"So, what did big shot Mr. Brinkley discuss with my husband?" She asked.

Ed took his hand off his jaw and looked at Kathy. "Well, we discussed the elements of the film I'm helping him with. He wants me to write the script in a month, I can pick out the actors that I want for the parts, and he's even giving me two thousand dollars to start me off for the budget!" Ed explained. He was so excited, his speech was sped up and he was fumbling over words.

"Ed, just slow down. Is what you just told me a good thing or a bad thing?" She asked, looking at Ed with an eyebrow raised.

"Why, it's a good thing, sweetpea-- No... a GREAT thing!"

"Okay... Just don't overwork yourself for this guy. There are more important things in life, you know," Kathy told him, waving the frying pan at him.

Ed placed his grip on the frying pan and pulled Kathy close to him with it. "I know that. I'm looking at one of those things right now." He pulled her head to his and they kissed.

"Oh, Ed," Kathy said, modestly, her cheeks flushing to rose. She giggled and started toward the kitchen. "I'll call you when dinner's ready, you big hunk," she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ed walked to the bedroom, flexing his sore jaw, and opened the closet. He took out his 'Writing outfit': An outfit which consisted of his favorite pink angora sweater, a black skirt, black high heeled shoes, and a blonde wig. He believed that the outfit enhanced his writing skills and truly brought out the best of him.

He grabbed the typewriter from off of the top shelf of the closet and set it on the bed, then he changed into his 'Writing outfit' and along with the typewriter, went back to the living room. He set the typewriter down on the side table, pulled out the chair, sat down in front of it.

He looked at the machine with hardly any clue of where to start on the new assignment. Impatiently, he tapped his fingers on the table. Then he remembered the notebook Howard had given him, and sprung to his feet to retrieve it.

Ed opened the closet, which contained his coat and he reached a hand into the inner pocket, where he had placed the notebook when he was at the diner. Suddenly, Ed's eyes went wide, his mouth dropped: The notebook was gone!

Ed swallowed and decided to try retracing his steps. Maybe he had not actually placed it in his coat, like he had thought? Maybe it was still in the diner? No, he remembered placing it in his coat pocket therefore it meant that it had to have slipped out somewhere along the line. But where? How could a notebook have just--

And then it hit him: He had bumped into a man while walking home.

Ed placed a hand over his mouth and gasped. He had to get the book back! He just had to! He only prayed that it was still there.

Ed placed his coat on and ran out of the house, the tails of the coat flapping vibrantly in the wind, high heels clicking on the pavement, the wind blowing the hair of his blonde wig all around his face. He ran all along the pathway on the sidewalk that he had taken for his trip to McGinty's Diner for his meeting with Howard Brinkley.

He stopped as he reached the diner. He had looked along the sidewalk as he had run, but there was nothing. He stood, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath.

He let out a whimper. "Oh, fiddlesticks," He muttered, snapping his fingers. "Mr. Brinkley's not gonna be too happy with this," He added, shaking his head to himself.

He trudged all the way back home and re-entered the house. Forgetting his wife's demand, he draped his coat over the couch and plopped himself down on the chair in front of the typewriter. He placed his hands over the keys and began to think of what Mr. Brinkley had told him...

'Now, take this down; the characters consist of only five people. There's Robert, a quirky english professor at a high school and he really has his eye on one of the students, Regina, but what he doesn't know is that she's a werewolf! And there are these two police officers and they're onto the whole thing. Regina's grandmother is the only person she's told her secret to, and the police officers are always hounding her for info, but little do they know that she's a werewolf too! So have you got it all?'

Ed nodded to himself and struck the keys of the typewriter, attempting to start the script. But when he looked down at the paper, it was still blank. Ed raised an eyebrow, removed the paper from its slot, and stared at it.

The typewriter was out of ink; He'd have to go all the way back to town to purchase a new typewriter ribbon. "Fiddlesticks!" He said, angrily. He smacked the side of the typewriter and hurt his finger. "Ow!" He yelled, jumping to his feet. As he got up, he hit his thigh on the table. "Owww!" He cried, sucking on his finger and rubbing at his thigh with the other hand.

Kathy came out of the kitchen. "What's all this noise out here?" She asked. She saw Ed, obviously injured yet again. "You hurt yourself AGAIN?"

Ed stopped sucking on his finger and rubbing his thigh, crossed his arms over his pink angora sweatered chest and pouted at Kathy. "My typewriter's out of ink," He said, sounding like a child. "And... and I lost something very important Mr. Brinkley gave me."

He removed his arms from his chest and placed the back of one hand over his forehead, dramatically. "Oh, Kathy. What am I going do?"

"You certainly are quite the drama queen," Kathy said, smiling to herself. "What you're going to do is forget about the whole thing and come have dinner with me."

Ed looked at Kathy and pouted once more.