Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Q: As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital." Question: Who took the box?

A: Darby
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Q: He had a 12" Sony black-and-white, tuned to MTV, sitting on a chair at the end of the bed. He could barely hear it over the fan in the window. He sat in the middle of the bed because of the sag, drumming along absently to Steve Winwood's "Higher Love."
The sticks were Regal Tip 5Bs. They were thinner than 2Bs--marching band sticks--but almost as long. Over the years Stan had moved farther out over the ends. Now the butts of the sticks fit into the heels of his palms, about an inch up from the wrist. He flipped the right stick away when the phone rang.
"Stan, dude! You want to work tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably. What have you got, Darryl? You don't sound right."
"Does the name Keven Stacey mean anything to you?"
"Wait a minute." Stan switched the phone to his other ear. "Did you say Keven Stacey? As in Foolsgold, Kevin Stacey? She's going to record at CSR?"
"You heard me." Stan could see Darryl sitting in the control room, feet up on the console, wearing double-knit slacks and a T-shirt, sweat coming up on his balding forehead.
"This is some kind of bullshit, right? She's coming in for a jingle or a PSA."
"No bullshit, Stanley. She's cutting a track for a solo album she's going to pitch to Warner's. Not a demo, but a real, honest-to-Christ track. Probably a single. Now if you're not interested, there's plenty of other drummers in LA..."
"I'm interested. I just don't understand why she wants to fuck with a rinky-dink studio like yours. No offense."
"Don't harsh me, bud. She's hot. She's got a song and she wants to put it in the can. Everybody else is booked. You try to get into Record One or Sunset Sound. Not for six months you won't get in. Even if you're Keven Stacey. You listening, Stan?" He heard Darryl hitting the phone on the edge of the console. "That's the Big Time, dude. Knocking on your door." Question: Who was listening to the TV

A: Stan
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Q: Emily Nagoski is a badass Ph.D. who teaches human sexuality. She wrote a book – Come As You Are. Here's a secret: the entire sexology community was eager to get their mitts on her book, it was very exciting. I can't recall the last time there was that much hullabaloo about one book.
In this important book, Dr Nagoski explains the interplay between sexual desire and stress — a concept that gives us a unique insight into what is going on in women's sex lives.
THE ACCELERATOR AND THE BRAKES
This concept is a big deal. Think of the accelerator and the brake of a car. Each pedal acts independently from one another; you can press on the accelerator and you can stomp on the brakes. You can even press both at the same time. We don't often press them at the same time – in fact, I was specifically told NOT to do that in driver's ed – but anyhow, pretend you do. If you press both pedals all the way to the floor of the car, do you stop or go?
That's right, you STOP!
Ok, now get this, your brake pedal is all the stress you have and your accelerator is your sexual desire. In the same way that the brake and accelerator of a car are two separate pedals yet also inextricably linked, so are your stress and your arousal. They are not the same things, yet have everything to do with one another.
If your stress level is high, the majority of women have brakes that turn on, meaning, no matter how much sexy stuff is going on around her, she does not want sex at all. It is like she is pressing down the brakes and the accelerator at the same time.
This isn't the case for all women; some women have extremely sensitive brakes or extremely sensitive accelerators. And as Nagoski has found, while this correlation between stress and sexual desire is more common for women, men experience it too (just not quite as often). Question: Who wrote the book "Come As You Are"?

A:
Emily Nagoski
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