Page 61 of Pierced

“What? No! Deep Throat! Like from Watergate?”

“Oh. Right. That guy.”

“Jesus.”

“Sorry. My head’s a little… Come with me.”

“Where?”

I look around to make sure no one else is going to roll up on us, and then take my friend by the arm and drag him over to my McLaren. I open the passenger door and usher him inside. But first…

“Your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Gimme your phone, man. I’m putting it in the trunk. This car is going to be our SCIF.”

“Our SCIF? Why do we need a SCIF?”

“Because the last time I tried to talk with you in confidence, your lady burst in and fucked my head all up. And also because you work for the NS fucking A!”

He pokes his bottom lip out. “Fair enough.” He hands me his phone and I toss it in the trunk along with my own as I swing around the back of the car on my way to the driver’s side. I open the door, slide into the seat, and take off my sunglasses.

“OK,” he says. “So what’s…?”

I put my finger to my lips to silence him. I’m still not sure we’re in the clear. And what I have to tell him today, no one else can hear. No one. I can’t even risk it. For so many reasons.

I turn the stereo on and the speakers start blaring the dubstep playlist that I last had on.

“Ahhh! What the hell is that?” Andrew shouts over the music.

“Knife Party, I think! They’re Australian!”

“It sounds like a grizzly bear with chainsaws for paws trying to hack a tunnel into my brain!”

I turn it down slightly so that the squealing electronic musical effects still cover our voices, but that it’s not loud enough to hurt Andrew’s delicate baby ears. Christ.

“What in the name of jumpin’ Josephat is going on, man?” he asks.

“Um, well, couple things. Remember how excited I was about what happened with me and Myrtle?”

“You mean do I remember what you told me yesterday? Uh. Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, less excited today.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“I dunno, man. I mean… dude…” I don’t even know how to go about expressing the things I need to tell him. So I start with the facts. “She made me get naked.”

He nods. “Right. Yeah. Well. I mean, you’re doing some weird BDSM shit with your old secretary—”

“Executive assistant, man! Jesus, join us in the twenty-first century. Hey, did you hear women can drive and vote and shit now, too? Fuck, bro.” Honestly, Andrew is a great guy, but there’s a lot of that old South rearing that must’ve gotten stuck in there. I mean, get woke, friend. Sheesh.

He shakes his head. “Fine, man. OK. So, you’re doing some weird BDSM shit with your former executive assistant, and yet you didn’t think getting naked would, at some point, be part of the drill?”

“No. No, I did. I just didn’t…”

“Just didn’t what?”