Late at night, long after I bid my sunny San Francisco friends adieu (and I almost didn't want to let them go - good conversation is so hard to find) my little dingy-dingy phone went off in my ear. It was my imaginary assistant Amanda, drunk on cheap midwestern beer, and she had something to say to me.

"Please send help. Stop. Send train fare. Stop. Must leave Illinois immediately. Stop. Need to go clubbing immediately. Stop. I am fucking begging you. Stop."

"Amanda, why are you talking like a telegram?"

"Because I'm living in the land that time forgot."

"That's actually pretty witty, Amanda. What happened to you? You never had time to be clever before."

"Well I've got all the time in the world. I can't even go shopping. There's like two stores here and it's cold out, anyway. So all I do is sit and watch movies because Will is on the computer all day, writing and IMing people."

"So you've been watching..."

"All of Woody Allen's films. And Steve Martin's. Whatever is lying around the house."

"Huh."

"Don't huh me. Get me out of here. If I don't listen to techno soon, I'm going to have to kill Will, and I think I can take him pretty easy."

I laughed. I liked this new Amanda, funny and far, far away. I knew that I wouldn't like her once she was back in New York, but at the same time I felt sympathy for her. After all, I had spent 17 years of my life in Illinois, and I, at least, had been in the suburbs of Chicago. Amanda was stuck in a podunk town. Then again, she had asked to go there.

"Why do you need my help anyway? Don't you have some imaginary assistant credit card?"

"You made me, you have to move me. If you place me with Will, I stay here, so that I can document your relationship with Will when he's out of town. I'm a fucking literary device, boss lady. If you want to make a statement on your own life, then I'll come back."

"I see. Well, my life isn't so hot right now, and I don't know how much I want to discuss it."

"Well I think - Wait, hold on a second. Will wants to talk to you."

I strummed my fingers on my thigh. I was cozy under my covers. I wasn't in the mood to make any decisions.

"Hellooo Ms. Attenberg, how are you?"

"Fine, Will. How are you?"

"Drunk."

"Fabulous."

"Yes indeedy."

"How's everything going with my imaginary assistant Amanda?"

"Great, great. I love having here."

"I'll bet you do. Listen, she's not too happy there. I think she wants out."

"But she's my muse! She can't leave, she just can't. Say, did you get that chapter I sent you?"

"Yea, I did. I sent you notes. And thanks for the namecheck and everything on that fortnight dating theory, but I never said that. Well I said some of it, but not all of it. I think you're starting to make stuff up."

"Perhaps. But is it funny?"

Sometimes I feel like Will is the Willy Loman of comedy. He's got these old school selling techniques, except instead of asking for the business, he asks for the laugh.

"It's ok. I'd rather talk about Amanda."

"There's a switch."

"I think she needs to come home."

"No way."

"I control her, Will. Not you."

"I'm her boyfriend."

"Right now you're the guy who ignores her because you're so driven by your art. That only works if you're Phillip Roth, and guess what, kiddo, you're no Phillip Roth."

"So what you're saying is you didn't like the chapter?"

I sighed. What a selfish jackass. I said, "Put Amanda back on the phone."

I heard grumbling noises and then Amanda's voice appeared again.

"I want you here," I said.

"It doesn't work if you just want me," she said.

"I'm having trouble writing. I can't face certain things. I'm in desperate need of a literary device, and only the best will do."

"Cool. I'm outtie. See ya in a few days."

And just like that, my imaginary assistant Amanda was back in my life.

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