Thank You for Listening(38)

Doug’s sincerity, while perhaps fleeting, reminded Sewanee why she had felt some little something for him way back when. Even if that something had been just as fleeting. “Thanks.”

“When’d it happen?”

“Seven years ago.”

His silence got to her and she found herself reaching for words. Any words. “Did you enjoy recording–”

“Don’t give up,” he said suddenly. “The business has changed. You know what I’m sayin’? People are more open to . . . you know.” He waved a hand. “Diversity.”

She knew he meant disability, but either way he wasn’t wrong. She had considered it herself. She still wanted to act, sometimes so desperately she had to go lie down until the yearning passed. But she knew that doing so would force her to face the truth, or at least her truth: she couldn’t reclaim who she once was when who she once was no longer existed.

After a moment of gazing at her, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug. It wasn’t sexual, fortunately. It was delicate. A bit careful. The way you might hug someone you felt sorry for, but who also might be contagious, you weren’t sure. Better safe than sorry. Still, it was Doug’s version of trying. Of being a good guy.

She pulled back first, anything that could give her the illusion of having the upper hand, and glanced at the sink, hoping he’d sense she had to get back to work.

He did. He stepped fully back, but said, “Hey. Didn’t you used to hang with Adaku Obi?”

She smiled. “Still do.”

His smile came back, too. “Man, say hi fah me. We keep missing each other at awards shit. Tell her I’d like to connect.”

Sewanee said, “Will do.” But Sewanee thought, Will not.

He backed away, out of the kitchen. “And tell Mark–Mark?–I want this house. Serious. Gimme a bell.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, Kid.” Again, with the terrible Bogart impression.

An hour later, when the house chores were done and Damian had finished exporting, Sewanee let herself into studio 1 to start recording for the day. It still smelled like cologne. His cologne. A cologne he hadn’t changed in eight years.

She stepped out, turned up the fan in the booth, and went down the hall to studio 4. She sat down inside and tried recording, but she was tripping over every other sentence. This only happened when she was tired, PMS-ing, or . . . just plain bothered.

She wanted a hug. A real one.

Instead, she picked up her phone.

SEWANEE:

Question: what happens after we die?

He responded immediately:

We don’t have to record Romance anymore.

She smiled.

Another text appeared:

Unless we go to hell. Which is pretty likely tbh. Then that’s all we do.

SEWANEE:

You really don’t like doing Brock McNight, do you?

BROCK:

Would YOU like doing Brock McNight??

SEWANEE:

How DARE you ask me that?!

BROCK:

Walked right into that one.

Sewanee paused, considering how to respond. Her decision was made easier when her phone lit up again.

BROCK:

You know, the problem with sexual innuendo is . . .

you can’t keep it up.

SEWANEE:

lol

Speak for yourself. I can go all night.

BROCK:

Just thought you’d slip that in?

SEWANEE:

Well. I don’t like to beat around the bush.

BROCK:

Maybe I should go deeper into this.

SEWANEE:

Oh, it’s about to go down.

BROCK:

Wait, I don’t want to blow it.

SEWANEE:

You’re making this too hard.

BROCK:

Not hard enough.

SEWANEE:

Awww, it’s okay, happens to every man at some point.

BROCK:

Easy come . . .

SEWANEE:

Don’t brag.

Sewanee’s cheeks ached from the smile on her face. If someone walked in, she knew she’d appear absolutely deranged. A picture appeared in the chat. A meme of a Golden Retriever holding a giant femur in its mouth. The caption read: WANNA BONE? She blurted a laugh, then, realizing how loud it had been, closed the booth door.

SEWANEE:

No thanks. I should get off.

BROCK:

And scene!

SEWANEE:

Oh, are you done?

BROCK:

Almost. Just finishing.

She debated for half a second.

SEWANEE:

Need a hand?

She watched bubbles appear . . . then stop. More bubbles . . . another stop. What was he typing?

Then:

Okay, okay, I’m out, you win. Service ace.

SEWANEE:

And match.

BROCK:

Good volley.

Can I have my balls back?

SEWANEE:

bahahahahaahaha

BROCK:

You.

SEWANEE:

What?

BROCK:

Just. You.

SEWANEE WAS IN an epic line at Costco when her phone dinged.

BROCK:

Question. Got a sec?

SEWANEE:

No, I don’t know where babies come from.

BROCK:

Dammit.

Before pulling out of her parking space, Sewanee texted: