The Sexpert

by JA Huss

  “Like you are now?”

  “Nah, man, I’m just young. I’ve never been an idealist and I’m definitely not an artist. I’m a scientist.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. I’m not like you, Andrew. I just like to make stuff. You... You pour your whole heart into everything. Which is cool. I appreciate your passion.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. It’s funny to watch you care about stuff. Because at the end of the day, I just don’t give that much of a shit.”

  He’s right. I do pour my whole heart into whatever I do. I can’t help it. My art, my work, my climbing, my friends, my loves, my losses. It’s who I am. I wish it wasn’t sometimes. But it is.

  I look at him standing there, gangly and wise beyond his years.

  “You’re not at all like what I expected you to be when I hired you, Dev.”

  He smiles, his hand on the door to my office. “Sure, man. Nobody ever is.” And he leaves.

  I laugh to myself a little and stand to look out my window. There the mountains are. Unmoving. Steady. Reliable. Maybe that is why...?

  Ahhh. Fuck it. Who gives a shit?

  My email dings.

  I sit back down at my desk and look. The subject line says, “For Andrew.” I open the email and there’s a link along with a note that says, “No sugar coating. No frosting. Just what’s underneath. The password is CUPCAKES. ~S.P.”

  I almost hit ‘delete’ as a reflex, like I’m now conditioned to do when I think something might be spam. But then I read it again.

  And I click the link.

  It takes me to a private video page.

  I enter the password.

  A familiar site greets me on the screen. The two most perfect breasts I’ve seen in my life. And a familiar voice. An actually familiar voice. Not Sultry Siren. But still... a sultry siren.

  “Hey,” she says. And then she pivots the camera so that her face fills the screen instead. “It’s me. As you can see. Can you? Hold on.” Then her hand covers the lens as she fiddles with adjusting the angle. I shake my head and smile in spite of myself. “OK. Is that better? Can you see me? I think you can. So, uh, hi. Which I just said. But still. Hello.”

  She takes a breath and I squint my eyes because I dunno... I’m afraid?

  I dunno.

  She goes on.

  “It’s me. Eden. The Sexpert. Which is incredibly ironic. Because I’m not. I’m just... not. The Sexpert is an idea. Something that seemed like it might be fun, or funny, or maybe even a stepping stone to something else. Which it was, for a while, until it wasn’t. And I’m sorry that it got all confused and messed up and that your friend thought that I stole his idea and...”

  She takes a breath and gets a hint of the pout that just about does me in.

  “You didn’t tell me the whole story. The whole story about you and Pierce.”

  How the hell does she know?

  “You’re probably wondering how the hell I know. Pierce came by today. And... oh! And he and I have worked out a deal! I’m going to consult for him. I’d tell you it’s because he knows he doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on and that I told him I’d bury him in court. But I don’t know if he does, actually, and I wouldn’t, definitely. So... turns out that your friend, my old boss, is just kind of an OK guy. But you probably knew that.”

  Depends on the day. But yeah.

  “And I know you told me that stuff about him being there for you when you needed him and everything, but you didn’t tell me about how you slept with that girl he liked. And you didn’t tell me that’s how you became sober. And you didn’t tell me that Pierce became sober too, just so you wouldn’t have to be sober alone. That’s... I mean, that’s some real, real friendship there. So...” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “I get it. I guess. I get why you...” She starts gesturing with her hands like she’s trying to summon up the words she wants to use but can’t find them.

  And she knocks the camera over.

  “Shit.” She fumbles with the camera for a second and when she gets it set back up, it’s pointing at her boobs again. “Dammit.” She tries to adjust it, but I guess it’s stuck or something. “Shit. It’s stuck or something.” She bends down so that her face now fills the lens. “OK. I thought this would be a cute, fun idea, but now it seems stupid. Just... Just call me.”

  And then the screen goes dark.

  I can’t call her. She blocked me.

  Or maybe she didn’t anymore. So...

  I grab my cell and dial her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  There’s a long pause. Then she goes on...

  “Did you watch it?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why obviously?”

  “Because I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because you blocked me.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Another long pause.

  “So, what do you want?” she asks.

  “I... What do I want? I mean... You told me to call you.”

  “OK.”

  “OK.”

  “So... What did you want me to call you about?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh...” Pause. “I dunno.”

  “OK, look, Eden—”

  “I’m just sorry, OK? I’m sorry! I’m just... I’m really bad at this stuff. I’m just bad at it. All of it!”

  “What? What stuff? What are you talking about?”

  “Everything! Just, I dunno. Being a person. I think.”

  “What? You’re like one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

  “I lied to you. Like, a lot. And you know why?”

  “Of course.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t wanna get sued, or fired, or whatever.”

  “No. I mean... yes. But, no. It’s because I feel like my whole life I’ve been just trying to fit in, and be normal, and be liked, and be... Whatever. And then I meet you, this cool guy, who seems to have his shit together and all figured out, and... And I just wanted to see if I could drag it out a little longer. Just a little longer before it all came crashing down, like everything always does.”

  “Eden—”

  “No, just lemme finish. And not only that. I mean not just that, but... Also, also I kind of thought if I just stayed away from the truth that the fiction would maybe take over and win. And that I’d win. And that... Shit. I dunno. I just... I was scared. And I’m sorry. OK? I am. I mean, I really, really wanted some cool, awesome speech that explained everything perfectly, but that’s not me, so... Yeah.”

  A really long pause.

  “Will you say something now, please?” she finally asks.

  “Yes.” I take a breath. “So, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I mean, no, that’s bullshit. You do. Of course you do. You lied to me. A lot.”

  “I said I was sorry!”

  “I know! Yes! Fine! You’re forgiven! Jesus. What I’m trying to say is that, I also have to apologize. Because, frankly, I was lying too.”

  “About what?”

  “Same shit. That I know anything about how to be a person. Or that I have my shit together. Or anything. Jesus, I mean I’ve run from one corner of the country to the next trying to figure out what I wanna do and who I wanna be. Does that sound like a person who has his shit together?”

  “Wow. When you put it like that—”

  “But mostly... mostly, I knew it was you and I just lied to myself so that I wouldn’t have to confront it. Or make a choice. Or... Because... Because I really, really like you. Like. Eden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Like... I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Eden?”

  More silence.

  What the fuck? Did she hang up on me?

  There’s a kn
ock on my office door. I turn around and she’s standing there, holding out her phone.

  “Hey,” I say, shocked.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “I thought you hung up on me.”

  She shakes her head. “I was here to talk to you in person anyway. I was gonna surprise you in a cool, kind of dramatic way. But then my phone died.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nods.

  “Your phone died.”

  She nods.

  “That’s... Funny.”

  She nods. Then she says, “You don’t have a charger I can borrow, do you?”

  I walk over and stand in front of her. “When did I lose you? On the phone. Just now. What was the last thing you heard?”

  “Um... I’m not sure. Maybe you saying that you”—I hold my breath involuntarily—“like me?” I sigh out. “Did you say something else?” I nod. “What?

  “I, uh... I dunno. Something about... I dunno.”

  I feel like a chickenshit. Because I am. And I want to tell her. I absolutely do. But I want it to be right. And now, here, in the middle of what’s happening...

  I just want to make it right. And special. And I want to take the time. To do it right.

  But fuck it.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  She lowers her head and looks up at me through her lenses.

  “What?” she whispers.

  “You heard me,” I whisper back.

  “I know. But will you say it again anyway?”

  I smile. “I think I may be falling in love with you.”

  After a moment she says, “For real?”

  I take her chin in my hand and lift it up. “Yeah. For real.”

  After another moment she says, “That’s pretty cool.”

  “I think so.”

  “You were smiling,” she says, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “What?”

  “When you and Pierce outed me. Or, I guess, when I outed myself. You were smiling. Like you were enjoying it.”

  “Jesus. I wasn’t. It’s... I smile when I get nervous. I... I just... It’s something I just do so that nobody gets to see... Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” she says, pouting again.

  “Eden?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That pout fucking kills me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  She does it more. “Sorry,” she says. Pouting.

  I take her hand in mine.

  “What happens now?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Honestly? I dunno. You wanna find out together?”

  “Do you?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “You do?”

  “I really do.”

  “And... And that doesn’t mess up your zero-tolerance policy about being lied to or whatever?”

  “It’s a stupid policy.”

  And at that, I take her face in my hands and I kiss her, long, and hard, on her beautiful, pouty mouth.

  “Do you forgive me?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I forgive you.”

  “Really?” I ask. “I want you to be sure. Because, and I mean this, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t. So, when you say that it’s OK... You really mean it’s OK?”

  She takes a long breath, puts her index finger against my lips—I kiss it—then she draws that same finger down to just above her gorgeous cupcakes, and she says, “Cross my heart.”

  EPILOGUE - ANDREW

  The change of seasons in Colorado is beautiful, I decide. I mean, I don’t really decide it. It just is. But I guess I decide to acknowledge it.

  I’ve also decided I’m gonna stay for a while. Which is why I’ve bought this new place. I’m still in the TDH. Which I will never get tired of making fun of. But I like it here. I like that I can walk places and it feels like, I dunno, a community. That sense of community... It’s nice. But I didn’t want to stay in the same place I was in, so I bought a place in another building just across the way. I like it. I can still walk to work and I’m actually closer to Eden.

  “I’m home,” she says, walking in the front door.

  I’m much closer to Eden. She and I have been in this place for only about a week, but it already kind of feels like home. It’s our place. I tried to just buy it outright, but she insisted on putting down half the money for a down payment and splitting a mortgage. I told her that I would just pay for it and then she could pay me back half, interest-free, if she really wanted, but she said she wanted her name on the deed too and all that stuff. And I get it. So that’s what we did.

  And mostly we did it for her. Not me. I mean, I don’t need the mortgage money. But Eden and Zoey made a deal with Pierce to be his social media marketing experts. And, for the first time in her life, Eden has the means to do whatever she wants. And apparently what she wants is to pay her share while living with me. Hey... As long as I get the second part, the first part is fine.

  And their skill, savvy, and, uh, sexpertise... has turned things around for Pierce. Because Eden and Zoey decided to hire another similar (although not quite as spectacular) pair of boobies to take over for Eden’s and they gave the Sexpert a real, proper home on the Le Man website. They have a column too. The Sexpert still gives out crazy tips using desserts in the videos, but the Sexpert column in the magazine is more of a Dear Abby type thing. People write to them with sex and relationship questions and then they answer them.

  Florent, Pierce’s father, is over the moon because it turns out that women like this Sexpert advice column even more than men, and so, yeah. A whole new demographic of print subscribers just kinda appeared out of nowhere. Seems women actually still read. Pierce says it has something to do with them having a better attention span. Or something. I dunno. He kept talking and I stopped listening.

  Also, Eden and Zoey really do have their social media consulting thing going. They currently have five clients. Le Man, Eden’s dad’s bakery, and three new TDH businesses have all signed up. They’re doing so well that Zoey is in the process of moving into her new TDH home. She put some of her Sexpert money down on a little house in a new-build neighborhood for families so my main man, Stevie, can meet other babies on the local playground and also so that she can be in a secure community. It would seem that Stevie’s pop is going to be released from prison soon. (That was the stuff that Eden was “going to tell me about later.”) I’m still not sure what he was in for, but it’s clear that Zoey wants to make sure there are lots of people around when he resurfaces.

  And me? Still climbing. Both literally and not. Figuring out how to trust more. How to just sort of stay in one place, stick with one thing, and know that things are going to be ... okay. I even started playing around with a new idea for an art installation. I want to build a permanent thing on top of one of the range peaks. Something that will welcome anyone who makes the attempt to scale the face and reach the summit.

  It’s funny. I don’t think I considered that a guy who was making vocal software was really struggling to find his own voice. I mean, I don’t wanna get all self-exploratory about it; that’s what all that time alone in the desert was for. And honestly, I’m not sure I got any closer to finding out anything about myself when I was alone. Not really. Not nearly as much as I feel like I’ll be able to discover with someone like Eden.

  No. Not someone like Eden... Eden.

  I remember thinking that she was four or five things rolled up into one sexy, silly, dorky, clever, funny, adorable, perfect package, and every day that we spend together just reveals more and more how true that is.

  “Guess what!?” she says, hanging up her jacket and scarf and running to me, jumping in my arms, and giving me a kiss.

  “What?” I ask, kissing her back.

  “You know Svetlana?”

  “Which one’s Svetlana?”

  “The dry cleaner? The grouchy one?”


  “Oh. Yeah. The one who said, ‘No, hole was there when you brought them in. Fifty-five-fifty.’ Sure. What about her?”

  “We’re friends now!” she says, beaming.

  “Wow. How’d you manage that?”

  “I heard her on the phone, yelling at someone in Russian, and when she hung up she started crying.”

  “No shit.”

  “No shit. And after some cajoling she told me that some asshole is opening a chain dry-cleaning place across the street.”

  “Oh. Where the ice-cream place used to be?”

  It occurs to me that even though I haven’t really been here that long, I’ve now been here long enough to know where things ‘used to be.’

  “Yep,” she says. “And she’s worried about them driving her out of business.

  “That sucks.”

  “I know!” she says.

  “You seem exceedingly excited about it all. I mean, she’s rude, but...”

  “No, silly!” she says, slapping my arm. “I’m not excited that she’s being run out of business. I’m excited because I’m going to stop it from happening!”

  “You are?”

  “I am!” She sticks out her jaw and unconsciously puts her hands on her hips, like Superwoman.

  “Great! How!?”

  “By doing what I do!”

  “You’re going to mediate for her? Socially?”

  “Yep! I’m gonna build her a campaign and, an online presence, and I’m going to capitalize on her individual... assets, as you would call them.”

  “She has assets?”

  “You haven’t noticed?”

  “I only have eyes for you, ginger snap.”

  She curtsies.

  “Well,” she says, “she does. And I’m gonna help her attract business.”

  “By using her assets?”

  Eden nods.

  “Um... How exactly do you plan to do that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean... It’s a dry cleaner. It’s not all that sexy.”

  “Oh, my sweet, sweet Andrew...” She only ever calls me by my name when she’s upset or condescending. “...Everything can be made to be sexy if you know how.”

  I nod. “And sex sells...”

  “Sex does sell.”

  She shakes her chest and my jeans start to feel snug.

  “How much you charging her for this service?” I ask, sliding my arms around her waist.