“Sorry to say, you would have been disappointed. I’m boring online. Not a single scandalous photo out there.”
“No? Come on. There’s got to besomethingscandalous out there. Maybe some naughty photos with a male stripper at a drunken twenty-first birthday party?”
She grabs a shaker for Henn’s martini. “Nope. Your online presence is way more scandalous and naughty than mine.”
“Uh oh. What photos of me did you see?” I gasp in mock horror. “You saw my crown jewels, didn’t you?”
She freezes mid-shake on the shaker. “You’re telling me there’s a photo of your crown jewels out there, and I missed it? Shit on a shingle! I’m embarrassed to call myself an aspiring investigative journalist.”
I chuckle. “No, no. I have no idea if anything like that exists. I’m just saying itcould.I’ve jumped fully naked off more than a couple yachts and divingcliffs in my day. Gone surfing and kayaking and waterskiing buck naked while shitfaced. I even went snowboarding naked down a private bunny slope once, after losing a bet at a party. Almost froze my ass, dick, and nuts clean off.”
She giggles.
“It wasn’t a laughing matter at the time. Unfortunately, the shrinkage factor was off the charts.”
She laughs even harder.
“After all the crazy stuff I’ve done,” I say, “God only knows what photos of me couldbe out there. I haven’t googled myself in a long time to find out, so I really don’t know.”
She slides Henn’s martini onto the bar. “Why haven’t yougoogled yourself in a while? Shouldn’t a guy like you keep up with what the world is saying about you?”
I take a long swig of my beer. “I used to keep up with that stuff, back when I was first coming up. I considered myself a student of the fame industrial complex. The cult of celebrity. I was ahead of my time, well aware the secret to my success was positioning myself as an ‘influencer.’ But once I got to the top of the heap, I realized keeping up to date on what people think of me—or, rather, of the online avatar theythinkis me—is a colossal waste of time. I’m not real to them, so who gives a shit what they think?”
She bends over to grab something behind the bar, and, as she does, I peek at her outrageous cleavage. Goddamn, I can’t wait to suck those incredible tits. That’s the first thing I’m gonna do when I get her to my house: peel off that shirt and absolutely devour those?—
Oh. She’s straightened up again and is staring at me—fully aware I just got hopelessly lost in fantasies about her tits for a minute there.
“I looked at your Instagram,” she says, running a rag across the bar. “Looks like your avatar is having a pretty exciting life.”
“He is.”
“Sadly, though, I saw no evidence he’s gone naked-snowboarding recently.”
I finish off my beer and shrug. “Partying is an important part of my job.”
“Poor, poor Reed has to worksodamned hard.”
I laugh. “I’m not complaining. I have fun. But make no mistakeabout it: I really do work hard. Very hard. You might have read on my Wikipedia page, I’ve got a few businesses to run?”
“Honestly, I was too focused on drooling over photos of you in your swim trunks to read too much about what you do for a living. And it’s a good thing I didn’t waste my time reading about all that stuff, anyway, seeing as how you’re only planning to ‘seduce’ me. Who gives a crap what either of us does, or likes, or dreams about, or feels passionately about, when the only endgame is you getting me into your bed, right?” With that, she slides a refilled beer glass in front of me, even though I didn’t order it. “A gift from me, Mr. Rivers. Because I can only imagine how thirsty seduction makes a guy. Especially when he’s trying to seduce a young, stupid thing like me who’s running around in her mommy’s heels, play-acting confidence.” With that, she turns on her heel and strides to the other end of the bar to tend to another customer.
And I’ve never been more determined to make a woman say yes to me in my entire fucking life.
“You’re still sitting here?” Georgina says, sidling up to me.
“I’m still sitting here,” I reply. I toss two hundred bucks onto the bar in front of her, right next to the two untouched drinks I ordered for Josh and Henn mere minutes ago. “Let’s make it three martinis this time, Georgina. All of them made extra slowly. Keep the change, like before, as long as you take your sweet time making my order.”
“You got it.” She scoops up the cash, thanks me, and gets to work.
“Can I ask a stupid question?” she asks. “Are you famous? I can’t tell. You were the biggest star on the panel. And you’re all over the internet, hanging out with rock stars and celebrities. In some photos, you’ve even got a bodyguard or two. And yet, here you are, at Bernie’s Place on a Thursday night, with no bodyguards, acting like a regular dude. Well, a very well-dressed regular dude with an extremely nice watch.”
I take a sip of the Scotch originally intended for Josh. “I have what I’d call ‘situational fame.’ People in the music industry know who I am. At music festivals, I have to roll with at least two bodyguards, so I don’t get attacked by wannabes. But just living my life in the world, like tonight, I can hang out with no problem. It’s the best of both worlds.”
“Meaning you wouldn’t want to be more famous, if you could?”
“Hell no. I’ve seen massive fame close up, with some of my artists and past girlfriends, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. That’s what doomed a few of my relationships, actually. The woman being too famous, or wanting to be. It’s a drug for some people. And, as we all know, drugs don’t lead to a happy ending.”
“Fameis the culprit in your failed relationships? You’re sure about that?”
