“This is my yogurt,” I said, my eyes daring her to wrestle the Yoplait container from my grasp. My heart started racing; I was jacked up on enough caffeine that I could totally fight her. Shooting me a dour look, she turned in the doorway and left. I shivered. A few months ago, Azita had told me she’d seen Evil Janet shaking a coffee can in the office kitchen. She then put the coffee can in the back of the freezer and left. Curious, Azita waited until she was gone and then opened up the freezer. Inside the coffee can were some twigs and herbs and three names written on small scraps of paper: my name, Steve Jacobs’s, and George W. Bush’s. Azita got scared and threw the can away, but she was convinced that Janet was trying to place some sort of spell on us. This totally scared the shit out of me and I tried to give Evil Janet a wide berth when we crossed paths in the halls. I always wondered how I ended up on a short list with George W.

I meandered back to my office, carefully trying to avoid my boss. Spying Azita, I mouthed the words to her, “Where’s Steve?”

She smiled and mouthed back, “Gone home early for the Jewish holiday.”

“Cool.” I smiled back.

“Very cool.” She parroted.

Knowing I wouldn’t have to go all ninja to get out of the office early undetected was a huge relief.

Steve Jacobs could be an exacting boss, but he was also a very nice guy. I’d first met him when he taught a television-writing course at the UCLA Extension, and he gave me my first break four years ago on his bikini jiggle fest High Tide. Cheesy, but incredibly successful, it was the top-rated syndicated show in sixty-nine countries, and it made Steve a very rich man. I started by photocopying scripts and quickly worked my way into the writers’ room to become a writer’s assistant. Being a writer’s assistant entailed filling the latte orders, but I also had a chance to learn something. Every day I would take notes of all the script changes and make sure the scripts got out on time to the crew and actors. When I got home (late) I would stay up working on my own scripts, with Court TV playing in the background, until I passed out.

Flesh and Bone was my first “official” gig as a staff writer. I was kind of a late bloomer; most of the writers on staff were in their twenties, not “just turned thirty” as I liked to think of myself.