The Sexpert

Suddenly I remember that we are standing in front of a room of mumbling, confused people. Myrtle has been hauled off somewhere. And I am starting to get the sneaking suspicion that this whole circumstance may constitute an overreaction on my part.

Pierce remembers as well because he turns to the Le Maniacs and says, “OK! Back to work!” It’s a thing he does. If you pretend something didn’t happen, maybe it didn’t. As everyone is filing out, more confused and mumbly than before, he looks back at me, smiles, huffs out a laugh, and says, “Did she owe you her secret, man?”

“What do you mean? Why’s it feel like I’m suddenly in the hot seat?”

“Did she. Owe you. Her secret?”

I think about that for a beat. “Owe.” Did she owe me? Then I decide, “Yes!”

“How long have you known this chick?”

“I dunno. Two weeks. Why?

“Two weeks?”

“Almost three.”

“And when did you start suspecting her?”

“I dunno? Like day two.”

“Day…?” He sighs. “So you thought… you really thought she owed you her most private secret after two days?”

How is Pierce the rational one all of the sudden? “What are you asking me right now? What do you want?”

“I’m just trying to get my head around it. Because this whole morning is now a goddamn nightmare. I have camera crews here, for the love of fuck.”

I look at the camera guys filming people walking out, presumably trying to get footage they can piece into something. “Yes, I see that. What the hell is that?”

“PR, my friend. Don’t change the subject.”

“Change the…? Wha—? Who—? Wha—?” I’m getting, I dunno, ruffled now. Or something. I’m sort of waving my arms around more than usual. I don’t typically find myself in a state of flustration (is that a word? I dunno. I’m ruffled), but here I am.

Pierce slaps me.

“What the fuck?” That’s me.

He grips my shoulders. “Look at me.” I do. “You like her. Yes?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Yes. I like her.”

“And you did this to her?”

“I didn’t… this isn’t even my fucking fight, OK?”

“No, it’s mine.” And then he sighs. “And I get what you were doing. But… what you did to her… dude.” He’s shaking his head at me.

“What?”

“Jesus, friend. C’mon. This wasn’t about helping me.” I open my mouth to protest, but he goes on. “Yes, obviously I asked you for help. Yes, obviously you commenced wanting to help me. But this, all this”—he gestures sort of generally to the air—“you were just testing her. I mean… in what world does a virtual stranger up and admit their deepest, darkest secret? Especially when the consequences of such a thing will result in her being sued, or fired, or both? Does that sound like a reasonable thing to do?”

My eyes go wide and my jaw goes slack. “You’re lecturing me about what is and what isn’t reasonable behavior? Fuck you, man! I can’t believe you’re taking her side! After she stole your idea!”

He sighs and lowers his head, as if somehow my craziness has sucked all his craziness right out of him. “Did she?” he asks.

“Don’t,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “Do not even go there. I’m the one who was the voice of reason in this whole debacle! I’m the one who said you were overreacting. I’m the one who said it was probably just a stupid coincidence!”

“Oui.” He sighs again. “You were. Listen, I’m fine with it. I mean, I suppose we have to hire another social media whatever-she-was, and I have to see where in the world I can find another executive assistant like Myrtle, probably. Spoiler: I can’t. But other than that, I’m cool with it. And I mean…” He bows his head a little. “Your loyalty is awe-inspiring. Completely fucked up, really messy, and kind of selfish, actually. But awe-inspiring.” And then he smiles, crosses the distance between us, and pulls me into a hug. “Sturdy and chaotic at the same time. Fuckin’ rock-climbing artist freak,” he says into my ear. Then he claps me on the back, pulls away, and says, “I gotta go find Myrtle. If she quits…” He shakes his head at me. “No. I can’t have her quitting.”

One last clap on the shoulder, and he’s gone.

So… Like I said… I thought I knew how I was feeling about all this.

But I don’t.

Because he’s right. That puzzle I was solving wasn’t the one I thought I was.

I was looking for my secrets, not hers.

I practically jog over to Sunset Towers. Don’t even bother waiting for the elevator, just take the stairs up to the second floor and knock on her door. “Eden?” I say. “It’s me. Can you please open the door?”

No answer.

“Eden?” I say, knocking again. “Please?”

I take out my phone, find her contact—which says Cupcake and seeing that word kinda makes my heart hurt—and press send.