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Mason.”

Chapter Three
     
    That night
     
    Knock, Knock, Knock.  Oh, no.  I was on a roll with this script.  It wasn’t a bad script, but it was written by a man who obviously had an oversized ego and thought that anything a man said, a woman would just sigh and say, yes dear.  He’d obviously watched too much fifties television with those perfect mom’s, Donna Reed and Mrs. Cleaver.  I glanced at my watch.  One o’clock in the morning.  Definitely not going to the door.
    Knock, Knock, Knock.  Whoever it was could just go away.
    When the third set of knocks came, I realized if I didn’t answer the door, Marian would stagger out of her bedroom and grumble, “Who the hell is at the door and can I kill him?”  I threw my pencil down and went to look through the peephole. 
    Michael.  Of course.
    I opened the door a crack with the chain lock in place.  “Michael, what are you doing here?”
    “I came to see how your audition went.”
    “How did you know I had one?”
    “Marian told me.  I saw your light was on, and I thought I could stop in for a second so you could tell me what happened.”
    I was perfectly respectable in my robe and pajamas and he stood there radiating that beauty that seemed to say, “I’m harmless,” so what could I do but let him in? 
    As soon as he walked through the door, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.  He had on jeans that looked well-worn and a crew-necked polo shirt in a shade of blue that made his eyes look iridescent and his muscles look yummy.  He was just too darn delectable to be real. 
    “So.  How did it go?”
    I hadn’t been able to share my good news with anyone.  Marian had been asleep when I came in, and there was no one else, really.  Or there had been no one else until Michael. 
    “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
    “A cup of coffee sounds good.  I have become quite addicted since I…came to America.” 
    “I thought they drank a lot of coffee in Ireland.”
    “They did.  I did not.”  He got that look on his face again, that too-innocent-to-be-for-real look.
    I led him to the breakfast bar and pulled out a stool, indicating he should sit down.  With the coffee maker turned on to heat the water, I asked him what flavor he would like.
    “You have flavors?”
    “I have Hawaiian Blend, Santa’s White Christmas, Café Mocha, that’s a really chocolatey one, and…”
    “Café Mocha.  I love chocolate.”
    “That’s…” I wanted to say odd, but stopped myself just in time, “different.  Most men don’t like chocolate so much.”
    “I am not like most men.”
    “I had noticed that,” I said, and smiled at him.  Something about this man made you want to smile at him every chance you got.
    “Is that good or bad?” he asked.
    I tilted my head to one side, giving him a considering look.  “Good, I think.  I came to New York thinking most men would be like my brothers.  Upright, honest, truthful.”
    “Did you discover how wrong you were?”
    “Yes.”  What had made him say that?  Was he a mind reader?  I didn’t want him reading my mind.  I turned away from him and in my case-closed voice said, “Your coffee’s almost ready.  Would you like cream and sugar?”
    “No, I’ll take it black.  I do not like to dilute the caffeine.”
    I started the coffee machine to drizzle water into his cup, and turned around to lean against the counter.  “How about you, Michael?  You’re an attractive man.”  To say the least. “Why aren’t you married?”
    “The opportunity never arose.”
    “I find that hard to believe.”
    “It is the truth.”
    “So.  Are all the girls in Ireland blind?”
    “No.  Is there a reason you’re not telling me about your audition?”
    “I’m not going to be considered for any part.”  I handed him his coffee.
    “Leslie, I’m sorry.”
    “No, wait.  It’s all good.  Melville offered me a job as his assistant writer.  I’ve just been going over his script and making