“What I want to know,” Max said, looking at the other students around the circular seminar table “is who does your character want to fuck?”
On the last syllable, he turned to face Sara.
She did not look away. “Who do you think?”
The students all looked from Sara to Max, and back again to Sara. They wondered, ’Had they slept together, or were they going to now?’
“Okay, let’s take a break,” said the teacher. “James’ “Beast in the Jungle” up next when we reconvene.”
Sara walked quickly out of the class. She couldn’t breathe with the intensity of her feelings. She had a sense of shame – why did he intuit that her character wanted to sleep with anyone, much less articulate that desire so explicitly? She was also flattered. He cared who her character fucked. Or, he just wanted to be provocative and really didn’t care. No, Sara decided, Max, or anyone for that matter, wouldn’t use such a strong expletive if he wasn’t serious. The crudity of his gesture, the daring of the proclamation, excited her. No one had ever wanted to know who her characters wanted to have sex with. No, to fuck. She could learn to use that word.
After that class ended, she walked the few blocks from the Columbia campus to the Cape Cod Sandwich Shoppe on Broadway and 112th. Max Mogilner came in right after her.
“Hey,” she began awkwardly as they waited on line for deli sandwiches, already holding the accompanying bag of chips and black cherry soda.
“How was it for you?” he asked. Max’s question seemed appropriate; what preliminaries could there be after the experienced moment of public intimacy? “Having your...
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