Fluffy(16)

“Only when we’re in public,” I protest. “If we’re hanging at your place or Perky’s, I party down.”

“Drunk Trivial Pursuit is not exactly living on the wild side.”

“You like Drunk Trivial Pursuit!”

“I do, I do,” she assures me. “But c’mon, Mal. You live in a bubble. Always have.”

“Do not! Just because everyone else knew what a fluffer was on a porn set doesn’t make me a weirdo! Plenty of people have no idea what that term means.”

Perky stands and walks over to the coffee counter where Raul, the barista for this shift, is cleaning out a frothing pitcher. Long dreadlocks flow down his back, looped together by a multi-colored scrunchy. Raul is the size of a linebacker with the heart of a cuddly teddy bear. When he smiles, those whiskey-colored eyes light up and spread sunshine throughout the coffee shop.

Too bad he’s taken.

“Raul!” Perky calls out. “You know what a fluffer is?”

“Perky!” I hiss.

“Is that some kind of sandwich?” Raul asks, genuinely puzzled.

I really love him.

“You know,” Perky says, snort-laughing. “Come on.”

“No. Really. What’s a fluffer?” Raul says without looking at her, wiping down the gleaming Pavoni espresso machine that was imported from Italy. It’s big and shiny, glistening as it rises up to make all my fantasies come true.

And now I’ve triggered memories of Beastman gleaming and, uh, rising up.

“Porn,” Perky says, drawing out the word, as if there’s a secret code she knows and Raul just needs to hear the right word.

Raul’s eyes widen, the whites turning into cue balls. “I know you didn’t just say porn, right?” His Brazilian accent is light, but when he's surprised or upset, it deepens. His dad, Thiago, opened Beanerino about four years ago, and the coffee is divine.

Raul isn't hard on the eyes, either.

Perky’s face goes slack. “Oh, my God. You’re serious. You don’t know what a fluffer is.”

“Remember the conversation we had in sexual harassment training, Perky? How my father told you to stop with the depraved innuendos?”

Fiona and I share a look.

And then we lean closer to them.

“I’m not harassing you!” Perky sputters.

“No, of course not,” he says, nose flaring. “You’re just starting a casual conversation about pornography with me in a work setting.”

“I’m not on shift!” she protests. “And I was just trying to prove a point.”

“That you’re utterly inappropriate, have no boundaries, and crave constant attention?” Raul replies calmly.

As Perky sputters, Fiona murmurs, “Wow, he figured her out fast.”

“And that was just during her first training shift,” he mutters, turning back to the machine.

“Never mind,” Perky fumes, flouncing.

“See?” I gloat. “Not everyone knows. I’m not a weirdo.”

“You’re a weirdo, all right. And this proves nothing,” Perky insists.

“I think it proves that a certain percentage of our generation knows what these dirty terms mean, and a much larger number has no idea because they aren’t addicted to porn.”

“You know what, Mal? I love when you showcase your nonjudgmental nature like this.” Perky rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee.

“I’m not being judgmental. I'm defending myself. Just because I don’t spend my days on Urban Dictionary keeping up on all the newest terms doesn’t mean I’m weird.”

“You keep saying weird. Must mean you have a deep fear of it.”

“If that were true, Perk, I wouldn’t be your friend.”

Perky grabs my laptop and opens it, clicking on a browser window and typing.

“What are you doing?”

“Proving a point.”

She taps my screen. “Here we are.”

Horror turns the coffee in my mouth to poison.

“We’re in public!” I hiss. “You can’t watch porn in public!”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone! It’s indecent! Isn’t it illegal, too?”

Fiona shakes her head slowly. “You are really holding onto some outdated notions, Mal.”

“I think not watching sex videos in a public place isn’t some nineteenth-century ideal. I mean, if they had sex videos then… I just–what if someone sees?”

Perky opens a second window and types “Mallory sex tape Beastman spit.” She hits Enter.

“That is a horrible search term!” I practically scream.

But it works. The first link is to the porn-industry gossip blog Spatula sold the picture to.

“Oh, God! My entire social media presence is ruined forever.” I swallow my coffee like it's laudanum. I’m single-handedly reviving “the vapors” as a medical condition.

Perky gives me a look and snorts. “Poor baby. That must suck so much, having one picture of you circulating among the thousand people here who give a shit.”

“I know it’s nothing like what you went through four years ago with Parker, but come on. This sucks, too.”