Chapter 57: White Story Workshop & Dirty Talk
Sunlight streamed through Sullivan & Cromwell's wide windows, scattering geometric patches of light across the floor. Bruce, Grace, and accountant Linda sat around a round table covered with documents. The air carried the scent of coffee and the faint rustle of paper.
Grace slid a folder stamped with the New York State seal toward Bruce. "The incorporation of 'White Story Works LLC' is now complete."
Grace opened the file, her fingertip resting on the key page. "Here's the Certificate of Incorporation from the Secretary of State, the Articles of Organization, and the EIN confirmation letter. From this moment,
White Story Works exists as its own legal entity. Congratulations, Boss White! The legal framework is in place—you're owner, manager, and authorized representative, all in one." She smiled, then turned to Linda Martinez. "Linda, next up: tax procedures and future planning. Bruce needs to know how much money this LLC will actually save him."
Linda's notebook, calculator, and sample tax forms lay open before her. "Bruce, the tax savings of an LLC are straightforward: it lets you deduct more business expenses legitimately, reducing your taxable income.
I just ran the numbers using your million-dollar script sale as an example." She pushed two pages of calculations toward him, tapping with her pen. "I'll spare you the tedious math and get to the point. Before the company: $1 million income, minus $200k expenses, taxable income $800k, tax about $493k.
After the company: same $1 million, but we legally deduct, say, $300k, dropping taxable income to $700k and tax to roughly $431k. Incorporating saves you at least $62,000. That's the LLC's core advantage—deduct more, pay less, all completely legal."
Linda expected excitement, but Bruce only frowned slightly, drumming his fingers on the table. "Sixty-two grand? Honestly, Linda, I thought incorporating would save at least a hundred thousand on a million. That sounds... less impressive than I imagined."
Linda blinked, closed her notebook, and—far from offended—gave a knowing smile. Leaning in, sharp and pragmatic, she said, "Bruce, I get it. Everyone hopes tax planning works like magic, but it's precise calculation within the rules. That extra sixty-two thousand means, on the same million, you legally kept that cash instead of sending it to the IRS. It stays in your pocket."
She paused, letting the number sink in. "Don't dismiss $62k—that's more than many New York professionals make in a year after taxes. For you, it's a bonus from one successful deal. One deal saves sixty thousand; two deals, double that; three, triple."
Bruce gave a self-deprecating grin. "You're right. Next to a million, I forgot sixty grand is still serious money. A few years back, a thousand bucks for a script would've kept me up at night with excitement." He shifted forward. "So, what's next?"
Linda handed him a form. "Tax-representation authorization—sign so White Story Works authorizes me to handle future taxes. Then head to Estelle's office and re-sign your agency contract under the company's name. From now on, all script-sales contracts list White Story Works as the party and payee; money goes to the company account."
Bruce signed the letter, then stood. "Grace, honey, don't forget—tonight we're cooking at my place."
Leaving the firm, Bruce carried the folder Grace had prepared and drove straight to Estelle's office.
"Bruce, what brings you here? Didn't you say pulling a script out of your head is as easy as opening a vault? Why haven't we seen any new material lately?"
"No rush, Estelle. I've just set up an LLC—White Story Works. Here are the EIN and bank details. From now on you negotiate with the studios on behalf of the company; transfer my payments to this account." He pointed at the bank information. "We need to update our agency contract to list the company as the contracting party and payee."
Estelle scanned the page, eyes narrowing with approval. "LLC? Smart move, kid—perfect tax strategy. Fine, easy enough."
She called her assistant. "Ruth, draft a new contract with the updated party information."
Minutes later Bruce signed two fresh copies as authorized representative of White Story Works.
Contract in hand, he left Estelle's office at dusk and drove back to his apartment. Soon after, urgent knocking sounded at the door.
Bruce opened it to find Ross standing there.
"Hey, Bruce, is Joey here? I knocked but got no answer." Ross peered inside, looking disappointed.
"He's at Miramax for the Inglourious Basterds table read—won't be back till late. Come in, Ross."
Bruce led him to the living room couch. "What do you need Joey for?"
Ross shifted uncomfortably. "Um... woman advice. You know Joey's the expert—figured he'd have answers."
"What's the issue? Want to run it by me first?"
Ross hesitated. "Sure, why not. I've been seeing this woman from the Museum—entomology department—named Melissa."
"Oh... so you and Kristen are officially done?" Bruce asked.
Ross sighed. "Yeah, but I get it—after all, I left her sitting alone at our Valentine's dinner while I went off to talk to Carol." Then, as if defending himself, he added, "Talk about bad timing: New York's huge, yet somehow my ex-wife and her girlfriend, plus me and my date, all got seated in the same restaurant on Valentine's Day..."
Bruce said, "To be fair, any woman in that situation would've walked out."
Ross nodded. "You're right. If I were Kristen, I'd have walked out too—but hey, Chandler and Joey both got dumped that night as well. Who'd have thought the only perfect Valentine's was you and Grace, right, Bruce?" He gave Bruce's shoulder a light pat.
Ross's mention of Chandler and Joey's breakups referred to the previous week: on Valentine's night, after he'd run into Carol and ignored Kristen, she stormed out of the restaurant feeling invisible and insulted.
Meanwhile, Janice blew up at Chandler because he hadn't booked the Four Seasons penthouse she'd somehow expected as her Valentine's surprise, accelerating the breakup he'd been planning anyway.
As for Joey, he asked his Valentine's date Rebecca if he could check on his drunk ex Audrey—promising to come right back. Rebecca predictably kicked him out; only later did she realize it was Joey's apartment, so she marched back, slapped him, and left for good.
Hearing that, Bruce said, "Since you're dating Melissa now, just make it work with her—then next Valentine's will be perfect for you too. So, Ross: you said Melissa's your colleague in the Museum's insect department and you two are dating—what happened?"
He paused, choosing his words. "She... she's great, smart, really knows her Coleoptera taxonomy..."
"Get to the point, Ross," Bruce interrupted. He had zero interest in beetle classification. "What went wrong?"
Ross swallowed hard. "Last night... the mood was good, at my place... then she suddenly asked me to talk dirty."
Bruce blinked, then grinned. "Nice—she asked for dirty talk, great for building anticipation. So what did you say?"
Ross said, "I wish... if I'd actually managed some good dirty talk, that would've been great, but I... totally blanked. After what felt like forever I blurted out, 'Exoskeleton?'" He closed his eyes, reliving the mix of shock, disappointment, and stifled laughter on Melissa's face.
Bruce snorted, then composed himself. "Got it. So you came to Joey to learn bedroom dirty talk, right?"
"Exactly! Joey's got experience—he'll know what to say." Ross's eyes suddenly lit up as he stared at Bruce. "Wait—Bruce! You've written tons of adult film scripts; you're the real expert. Teach me!"
Bruce thought of lines from his old scripts. "No, Ross. You fast-forward through those and never listen to the dialogue. Adult film dialogue is a blunt-force barrage—raw demands mixed with crude language, pure sensory overload. That's nothing like the flirty, mood-building 'dirty talk' you need. Using that on a date is like setting off a fire alarm during a candlelit dinner—Melissa will run for the door."
Ross's hope fizzled. Noticing this, Bruce mused, "But 'dirty talk' is really just... describing the things you want to do with her, letting her feel the chemistry through your words."
Ross brightened. "Describe, imagine, build the mood... that sounds doable!"
Bruce slapped his thigh. "Practice makes perfect. Ross, pretend I'm Melissa right now."
"What?!" Ross almost jumped. "You want me to treat you like Melissa?!"
"Exactly!" Bruce struck an awkward pose against the arm of the couch, completely serious. "Go on, Ross—say to me whatever you want to say to her. Eye contact, tone, emotion! Imagine I'm the entomologist who makes your heart race."
Ross's stomach churned at the absurd sight. He took a breath, tried to superimpose Melissa's face over Bruce's expectant expression, and croaked in a dry, lecture-like tone, "Melissa... I want to trace my fingertip along your... smooth back," each word forced out painfully.
Bruce fought to keep his expression neutral, maintaining his 'seductive' pose. "Eyes, Ross! Look at her like you've discovered something amazing. Voice—breathe it, don't lecture her. Whisper it."
Ross closed his eyes, then leaned closer, voice trembling: "Your eyes sparkle like... like faceted gems in the light. I want to explore every... every part of you... with my lips..." He felt like he was cataloguing a museum specimen, not flirting.
"Stop! Stop, stop!" Bruce sprang up, abandoning his pose, rubbing his arms. "Smooth back? Faceted gems? Ross, are you trying to seduce her or give a museum tour?!"
Ross looked hurt. "I'm describing what I want to do! I admire her expertise—isn't that a unique compliment?"
"Unique enough to kill any spark!" Bruce groaned. "Look, suppress the entomology appreciation. Think universal—think passionate. Like... your beloved dinosaurs: the raw, powerful intensity of a predator. Translate that into human desire.
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