Max nods sagely.
“Anyway,” Lamé goes on. “He insisted it wasn’t possible. ‘Zero percent chance,’ is how he put it.” The words are said in a decent imitation of Zion’s accent. “Twyla’s a good girl.”
I sit still for a few seconds, in a weird limbo of shock and hurt and annoyance. Just who does Zion Mason think he is to write me off like that? I’m shaking my head, huffing out angry little noises as I picture the dead certainty on his handsome, arrogant face. The number of times I’ve been written off or typecast or pigeonholed is astounding and that Zion would do it?
Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
“A good girl,” I finally mutter. “Well, if by good girl, he means that I fantasize about letting men do very dirty things to me, then I guess he’s right.”
“Wooooooooo!” says Max.
Lamé’s dark eyes stay focused on me, their expression more curious than anything.
“But I am far from the repressed, vanilla person he apparently assumed. And, frankly, I resent that he wrote me off like that.”
“So, you’ve always been like this?”
I take another sip as I consider Lamé’s question, letting the booze warm me, loosen me up, open my mind to something fresh and new and sort of light in a way I’ve never looked at it before. I feel better now, though my irritation at Zion still simmers close to the surface.
Maybe it’s how casual these people are about their desires and sexuality. Or maybe it was therightnessI felt in the glory hole, before recognition kicked in. And maybe even a little bit afterward. Whatever it is, it’s important. A self-discovery.
“Yeah.” I nod, almost surprised at my own answer. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Have you considered delving deeper into that side of yourself?” Max asks, sounding like a therapist, but looking like an extra on the set of some post-apocalyptic film.
“Not really. It’s pretty incompatible with the life I’m trying to build.” Orwasbuilding, before Zion “Wrecking Ball” Mason shoe-horned himself in and blew it all wide open.
“Well, you’re here now,” says Lamé, almost casually.
I am, aren’t I? I’m here, my professional life’s probably a write-off and there’s truly nowhere else I need to be.
“Can’t think of a better place to dip a toe into the lifestyle.”
The lifestyle. It sounds almost wholesome put that way. But also big, all-consuming. A lot more than trying out a sexual fantasy or two.
And then I think of Zion, who’d assumed he knew me, scoffing as he wrote off a whole facet of who I am. Unexplored, maybe, but still, a part of me.Twyla’s a good girl.
This time, his words don’t irritate or hurt, they feel like a challenge.AmI good girl? Is that it? Sweet, innocent, boring Twyla, studying hard and following the rules and never giving in to the baser urges andnonetheless, getting shafted in the process?
“You know what? Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” I’m all bravado now. Fuck Zion for assuming he knows the first thing about me and then for dismissing me. “Maybe I’ll dip a toe.”
“I knew it. The Black Hole worked its magic on you.”
“Broke on through to the other side.” Max laughs, turning to look at Lamé. “That placeismagic.”
“Remember Tara and Clive, after the breakup?”
“That’s right. Meeting in the Hole every night.”
“I heard they had no idea until she waited around to see who left.”
“It’s pure fantasy, you know? Head into the Hole, close your eyes, you could be fucking anyone.”
“Beyoncé!” Max squeals.
“Idris for me. Always and forever.” Lamé closes their eyes with a wicked smile. “I’d picture those huge brown eyes, looking up at me. Begging.”
“Oooooh, I’d do that freckled British actor.”
