“Go on in,” says Myrtle, before she goes back to lovingly sucking on the straw in her iced whatever-it-is that she’s drinking. I can’t help noticing the red lipstick on the green straw. She smirks and again, my hands go to protect my crotch out of some weird instinct.
“It’s slander!” Pierce is yelling into the speaker phone. I assume he’s talking to… “It’s fucking slander, Derek!” I knew it was Derek.
“It’s not slander,” says Derek. “It meets no legal definition of slander.”
“Yeah? What’s the legal definition?”
“Making a false spoken statement damaging to a person’s reputation.”
“And this isn’t that?”
“No.”
“WHY?”
“Le Man is not a person. And, as far as I can tell, she’s not saying anything false.”
“She’s saying she didn’t steal my concept.”
“OK.”
“She did.”
“You know this how?”
“She must have!”
“Why?”
“Because she’s saying she didn’t!”
I pause where I’m standing to simply appreciate the display of circular logic.
“Sorry, Pierce,” says Derek, “I don’t think we have strong legal footing to pursue an action based on the equivalent of a ‘he who smelt it dealt it’ accusation. Look, we’ve baited her to come out into the open with the threat of legal action, and it’s clearly working. So let’s just keep on with the plan. Until we know who the woman is…”
“I’m on that,” Pierce says, hanging up the call and looking at me like I’m his saving grace. Which makes me feel stressed and sad at once. The mountains outside his windows look different somehow than they did on my floor.
“What is it now?” I ask.
“This.” He points at his monitor and once again, I swing around to see what there is to see. And once again, those breasts. Pierce hits the space bar and I hear the sound of Sultry Siren speaking to me.
“Well, hi, kids.” I have to say, we did a really good job with Sultry Siren. It’s sexy as hell. The breasts don’t hurt. “It’s been an unexpectedly exciting day. First, the Sexpert wants to thank all of you who have been here from the start, and for all of you new fans who are just discovering this channel… welcome,” she purrs. At the use of the word “Sexpert,” Pierce grabs up his golf club. I think he only has the one. I know I don’t know much about golf, but I’m pretty sure you need more than one club to really make a go of it.
The faceless voice continues, “So, if you heard about me on 93.3 this morning, thanks for dropping by. And thanks to 93.3 for getting the word out there. The Sexpert owes everyone at the station there a big. Wet. Juicy. Thank you.” I swear she actually fucks the microphone with her vocal cords when she says ‘thank you.’ Or, I guess, actually, they’re my vocal cords. This whole thing is so strange.
“But unfortunately,” she goes on, “what started as a great day turned into a not very nice day at all.” She pouts that second part. “Because it seems that some very mean man is alllll over the internet saying that the Sexpert—me—is his creation. And that somehow, little old me stole his idea. And I’m here to tell you all that that is simply not true. Cross my heart.”
I have this weird little moment of déjà vu when she says that last bit. It’s curious to hear an expression I use a lot being spoken by a voice I created. It’s surreal. What is very real is the way she accentuates crossing her heart so that her finger grazes her nipple though the fabric of her…
Sleeveless…
Dress.
I blink twice and kind of twist my neck. Suddenly Pierce hits the space bar again and stops the stream.
“That’s not slander?” he asks.
“What? What are you talking about? Which part?”
“She called me mean!”
“Man, I—”
“Am I crazy?” He flops onto his throne.
“What?”
“Am I? I mean, this is nuts, yeah? You were right. I’m looking for something to blame my failure on. It’s me. I’m to blame. It’s all my fault. Shit.”
He drops the golf club to the ground and slumps down, looking almost exactly like what he is. A broken boy prince. My heart goes out to him. I come over and kneel down.
“Highness…”
“Stop,” he says.
“I’m sorry. Look, seriously, no. You are not a failure. Look around, man. This is not what failing looks like.”
“I inherited all this shit.”
“So? There are plenty of people who inherit more and do less with it. Look at me.” He doesn’t. “Look. At. Me.” He does. “You are fiercely capable, and you have vision, and that is special and rare and should be celebrated. Are you hearing me?”
“I dunno,” he mumbles, looking lost.
“Dig this. I was just talking with my lead developer, Dev—”
“Your lead developer is called Dev?”
“Not now. Stay focused.” I snap my fingers at him. “He says we’re in good shape on an app that we’re developing that can…” I trail off. If I open this jar up, there’s no putting back inside what could spill out.