I had a break from A.M. classes starting a week before Halloween. I don't know why I clipped them so close, but I was thankful for the opportunity to sleep in. Like an imbecile, I'd scheduled all my non-film classes in the mornings. As if I had drive or determination that early…

Eight A.M. the morning of Halloween, I was dead asleep, drooling, half-naked, and half out of bed. Suddenly, the phone blared the sharp 'brreeeeennggg' that I despised so much, indefinatelyshattering the silence that enveloped the dorm. Why couldn't it just ring like normal phones? And why was it pea soup green? What a repulsive color for a phone...

I listened to it ring about eight times, keeping my head on the pillow. I lazilywatched the green receiver wiggle with each vibration, out of focus and fuzzy without my glasses on. The blanket was tangled tightly around my left arm, cutting off my blood pressure, so I made no attempt to pick it up and stop the noise. I squashed my face into my sheets, nuzzling the crusty shit out of my sleepy eyes.

Groggily I sat up, and talking to a half-asleep Benny across the room, asked, "Benny, why the fuck is our phone so ugly?"

"Mark, I don't fuckin' know. But you better pick it up real soon or I'm going to shoot something."

"God. Why do I get the bed by the phone table, damn. H-hello?"

"Hello?"

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Who is this?"

"This is Mark. Who are you?"

"Yes. This is Michael Wilson from Studio Six…?"

"Oh my God. I mean- hi, hello! How- how are you? Sorry! I just- wasn't expecting a-"

"Yes, that's fine. Listen, Mr. Cohen? Lauren Finn, the executive producer, maybe you remember her?-"

"Yeah! Lauren…yes."

"Yes, anyway, she sent me a memo here- she's interested in seeing your treatment. She's up for a working title. Can you come down, possibly today, and give a presentation?"

"Wh- uh- Uh, yes! Yes, of course I can. Does she need anything specific? Do I need to bring-"

"Mr. Cohen, just bring your script and maybe the clip you showed me."

"Oh. Okay…Um…what time are we looking at?"

"Whenever you can get here. Lauren's in her office now."

"Okay, gimme…gimme two seconds. I'll come right over. I have class at four, so it'll have to be now."

"Great. Thanks Mark. Good luck."

"Yeah! Okay, thanks. See you."

I hung up the phone and then stared at my pillow.

Then it hit me.

"AAAHHH BENNY! I just got a call from an executive producer! She wants to see my treatment! Aahh! Benny, she's based in New York! Do you know what this means? Oh my God. Oh my God. What do I wear? I didn't wash- shit! The only nice fucking shirt I have- I think I left it in the QuickWash…Shit. Oh fuck. Uhh…no, it's okay. I'll keep my jacket on. It's chilly. They won't notice…"

"For Pete's sake Mark. I was trying to sleep but now I gotta get up and bitch you out! Listen. When you go to interviews, in hopes of putting your name out there, and you talk face-to-face with big shots- buy nicer clothes. Make an impression! Honestly dude, when you went in there last Thursday, did you go in thinking, 'Well this is gonna suck?"

"No…I-"

"No. You went in with high hopes and obviously were correct. Tell me why you didn't go shopping for a sport coat right after that?"

"Because…I spent all my money on the equipment to make the film to present in the first place?"

"Ah- You- Okay. You know what? Here. Borrow my vest and tie. You ain't that much skinnier than me. I want my name in the fucking credits of that movie for this though."

"Oh Benny. 'This movie is dedicated to Benjamin Coffin. Without his overcoat, production never would've been possible."

"That's what I'm sayin'. Now go away."

--

"...Studio Six is about three miles outside of Providence. It's a completely random branch of a major New York City based corporation in the theater district. I have no idea to the origins of its existence, except that maybe one day a couple years earlier somebody said, 'Oh, we should plunk a little production studio right here in the middle of nowhere in these here trees.' Watch out for pinecones..."

"Ha, that is weird. Uh, hey-did I tell you that you look pretty spiffy today?"

"No, you hadn't mentioned... Although that compliment would be taken a lot more whole-heartedly if these were actually my clothes."

"They- what?"

"Nope. I'm borrowing Benny's shirt. And...overcoat. Oh, and his pants. In my complete lack of organization, I couldn't exactly find my own dressy clothes this morning."

"Man, and for a minute I thought you might've actually had an ounce or two of fashion sense behind that camera."

"Ha ha. I'm not laughing."

-

-Out of the certain drunken buzz I get from adrenaline, I decided to call June and have her tag along to the interview. That way I'd have someone to celebrate with if it went well, and a travel companion for the long road back if it didn't. And, just be around June in general.

We took public transportation- me, never feeling the need for a driver's license, and her, spending all her gas money on theater props (I adored her dedication) we stumbled onto the bus stop in front of the main building and sat together in the back of the bus, voicing our vicious and opposing opinions all the way there.

The bus's heater was defunct, and even though it wasn't even November yet, our breath puffed out in little vaporized clouds with every complaint and opposition. I shivered, although not visibly. I had to be a man. I wasn't cold... Not with her watching.

June, on the other hand, shook like a tree in the wind. I didn't know if she realized this or not, but her overwhelming need to be poetic in a mere black turtleneck and beret (so sexily cocked to one side over her sweeping bangs) contributed naught to any warmth.

I crammed the portfolio with my screenplay inside between my legs, and jammed my ice cold hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. Suddenly, the bus lurched sharply around a corner, sending me crashing into June. I couldn't regain my balance to due my lack of hands, so she giggled and pushed me back upright with a groan. I threatened to tilt back toward her, but instead she slid closer to me, sandwiching my body between her hip and the window to keep me straight up and down.

"Whoa." I said. "Sorry about-"

"That's okay..." She purred. Ever so slowly, she peered up at me from beneath the brim of her hat. She flickered her eyelashes, dark eyes lingering on my face. I found myself locked in her gaze, staring back, forgetting to breathe.

She leaned in closer, pressing her cheek into my shoulder.

I gulped.

Her arm slid through mine, and she gently took hold of my palm, lacing our fingers together inside my pocket. Nuzzling her thigh up against my leg, she moved our hips closer together. I pressed my feet firmly to the floor and bit my lip. I wanted to squirm. I wanted to thrash. I wanted to wriggle away and get. out. of. here. Alarms blared in my head. The classic Mark Cohen fight or flight response. Oh how I needed to push her aside and stand up. Dear Lord, was this really happening?

Now I began to shiver. The left side of my body was freezing, the cold aluminum of the bus leaking a chill through my clothes, October wind whipping and whistling noisily outside the window above my head. But the right side- that- that was warm. That was nice. A desiccated tremor stirred at my fingertips, and kept moving on down. I shook so hard it sent a vibration through both of us.

I tried swallowing but my throat was dry. "Uh- June?"

"What?" She asked, sounding suprised. She turned to stare innocently into my eyes, sticking out her bottom lip slightly. "I'm cold."

I looked away, sitting perfectly still for a minute. Not even the frequent bumps in the country road broke my statuesque pose. If I didn't look at her, maybe she'd forget I was next to-

She tapped my ankle with the toe of her sneaker, breaking my stupor. She rested her chin on my shoulder, to take me in.

After a brief hesitation, she smiled.

"Mark," She whispered."It's okay..."

And then I remembered to breathe.

Smiling discreetly- maybe even a bit cockily, I squeezed warmth into the hand nestled inside my pocket.