dots

by Angie M. Brashears

  “Why the never have I ever? Is that a secret code?”

  We talked about this beforehand. The network had forbid her from bringing up my link, but she’d encouraged me to do so.

  I shake my head, feeling a false sense of intimacy. “Never have I ever is a great sentence starter, isn’t it? It’s really an ingenious way to get a dialogue started as it makes you think about what you want, even as you’re saying the words. Things you have put on the back burner, maybe deep, dark fantasies. Which naturally make you think of the person you’re talking to. Wondering about their own desires. Finish the sentence, Mia. Never have I ever…”

  She’s leaning towards me, her chin on her hand. Her mouth opens…then snaps shut. “Oh, you are good, Mr. Dixon. You almost had me.” She remembers she’s in charge of a show and is supposed to be the one asking the questions. She turns to a man off camera with a clipboard. “Never have I ever… how have we not heard of this?” Alarmed, he holds his clipboard up and shakes his head.

  Mia turns back to me. “They’re working on it. We’ll have the links up by the end of the program. Sorry about that, seems we were prepared to talk about the tax issue, not the site.”

  I nod, but I don’t think links are needed. No one will be able to forget The F#ck It List.

  “It’s fine. I get that a lot actually. The site’s only been live for just under a year, and I can’t really advertise on the side of a bus. My earliest ads were on porn sites. They were cheap, no questions asked, and I started getting clients. Hence the overload of sexual asks.” I stop to look sufficiently bashful.

  “But the word’s getting out, slowly but surely. More and more people are finding out about my business. Like this interview here.” You couldn’t be more accommodating if you tried, Mia.

  To her I say. “You just doubled my platform, Mia.”

  She smiles. I catch the knowing look in her eye. She knows exactly what she’s done for me. Fuck it.

  This feels like flirting. The looks, the smiles, the leading questions and uninterrupted answers.

  “One of my interns from DeVry suggested running ads on gaming sites. It was a bit pricier, but it drew in the millennials. And they brought enthusiasm, energy, ideas with them. It gave the website just the right boost it needed. I had to get back to programming recently to adjust to the new community. It’s exciting.” I already finished the site months ago, but this sounds better in my mind. In fact, I haven’t been doing much of anything lately. With four new interns doing the hard stuff, I’m now more of a quality assurance checker. Routine maintenance guy.

  That’s how I wanted it. So I’d have the time to focus on my real work, the last wishers. But I’m not here to talk about that. Too cheerfully, I add, “And they bring their never have I ever’s with them, same as everyone else.” Her eyes cloud with confusion.

  Just to clarify, I add. “The millennials, I mean. Sorry, I was daydreaming about your Eff It List request, Mia.”

  “Mr. Dixon, you’re quite the flirt!” she coos, swatting my knee with the card.

  Grinning, I say, “Nah, I’m just a great salesman.”

  She agrees. “I can see that. No wonder everyone’s clamoring to drop a hundred-dollar bill on the possibility of getting a fantasy fulfilled.”

  We should do a commercial together, we’re so dialed into each other. “That’s right, the keyword being possibility. I never promise it’ll happen, but there’s always a possibility.”

  The smoldering looks she gives me make me think we might not be talking about the same thing. I switch positions in the chair, making a point of moving my legs towards hers. She notices and lifts one eyebrow as she looks down at her cards.

  I reach in my inner pocket and pass her my card. “It could be a reality.”

  She laughs outright, but takes my card and tucks it in her pocket.

  “So…there’s never been a request you haven’t been able to fill?”

  I look her right in her fake eyeglasses. “Never.”

  “I see.” She smiles as we go to a break before turning the sass on. “Hey. Stop flirting with me. I’m trying to do my job here, Mason.”

  “You’re flirting with me,” I laugh and go to stand.

  “Where do you think you’re going? Sit your ass right back down in that chair. There’s no way in hell you’re walking out on me.”

  Off camera, Clipboard yells, “Back in ten.” I watch as he counts down on his open hands. I lean back, reassuring my host. Really, I was just stretching.

  I know we’re back once Mia releases a big breath and smiles, holding it for a second and says to the camera, “Thanks for tuning in. I’m speaking with the creator of the Eff It List, a website created to match people with similar sexual desires.” She pauses. I caught it. Now I’m the creator, no longer the son or the whiskey heir.

  She faces me and gives me the most professional smile she has. “Before we went to break I asked you…are there any requests you’re not able to fill? Are there, Mason?”

  I shake my head, trying to hide the smile.

  “How is that even possible?”

  “It’s easy. I’m the sheriff of the site.” I make a point to look up in time. “If something’s not getting the hit it needs, I hit it myself.” To catch her blush.

  “Someone needs to be heard and I’m there to listen. I make sure they get their say. I’m a believer in giving what I promise.”

  Enough playtime. “This website is no exception. I give it my all and encourage my members to do the same. Be there for each other.”

  Returning to the task at hand, she looks down at her notes. “And that’s quite a lot of members to encourage. Four thousand, to be exact. With one ask apiece.” I see her working it out in her head. She’s a smart one, I’ll give her that.

  It comes to her. “That’s four hundred thousand dollars to charity, Mr. Dixon.”

  I hold up a hand. “Please, Mia. Just Mason. Your numbers are right. All four hundred thousand of it to charity. But those are old numbers. After tonight, I’m hoping we can double or even triple those numbers.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  That’s my lead-in. “Yes, really, Mia. My lawyer has all of the receipts backstage to verify. Every dollar that’s earned through the website goes to the Cancer Research Institute, where they are actively working on ways to eradicate cancer as we speak.” Gotta get the CRI plug in. Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief. I think I covered all of my points. Mia, who very publicly lost a close family member to cancer not too long ago, made very sure my charity contributions got mentioned.

  I don’t know if I would have been this well received by anyone else. That’s why I wanted her.

  “Yes, our accountants have verified that you paid all of your taxes.” She gives me a look over her glasses, but I didn’t need it. I caught her tone. “And that you’ve been extremely generous with your donations. You’re a man of your word, Mr. Dixon.”

  I don’t correct her. She’s keeping it on a professional, I get it. Since she’s giving me room, I decide to spread out a little. I don’t even wait for a question. I just blurt it out.

  “We have shirts. For sale, I mean. In case you want to donate and are lucky enough not to have a never have I ever, you can buy a shirt and donate to charity at the same time. So far, there’re two designs. For men, we have my personal favorite: “Never have I ever…seen a boob I didn’t like.”

  She titters and covers her smile.

  I go on. “And so the women don’t feel left out, “We support anything that supports these.”

  Smirking, Mia says to the producer. “I take it we don’t have links for the shirts, either?”

  He’s typing, trying to get the link, but shakes his head.

  She turns to me and rolls her eyes on camera. She leans forward into my personal lounging space and says, “We’ll get it, Mase.” She leans back into her reporter role and says, “Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would have a problem with such a giving website. You’re
helping so many with that money. So what do you think is the exact reason conservatives are having such a problem with your site? It cannot be all the money you’re making, since you’re giving it all away.”

  She’s a gem. I might need to put her on the payroll.

  “Is it the porn site link? The tax issue? The name?”

  I shake my head and tug the reins. Whoa, Mia. Good girl. No more kidding around. I hope I don’t sound angry, but it still comes out harsher than I’d like. “I don’t want Eff It List to be mentioned in the same breath as the porn sites. Ever. My site is nothing like Pornscrub or any of the others. There aren’t any naked pictures or raunchy clips on my site, I promise. It’s apples and oranges, in my opinion.

  “Despite what the good people want to paint me as, I’m not a pimp. I don’t supply rooms, meeting points, or even introductions. What I do is connect the dots.

  “Here’s an example.” I sit forward. “For prime time’s sake, let’s use a basic banana. I’ve already worn out the censor tonight.”

  “Let’s,” Mia says, fully engrossed in my message.

  Smiling, I explain and try like hell to watch my language, I’ve already got two bleeps on me—one more and I’m out. It’s hard. I say Fuck at least fifty times a day. I can’t help it. I’m passionate about what I’ve made. But this is important, and I really don’t want to re-offend anyone after we worked so hard to get the charity plug in.

  I take a breath and carefully choose my words. “Say you want to have sex in a banana suit. You type in the details, but you have to be very specific, or you may be matched with a guy in a gorilla suit.”

  I stop for effect and give her a bashful smile, but she’s laughing.

  “Which might even be better, who knows? But maybe you only wanted the banana with none of the extras. You want the banana suit, you’ve got to be specific and ask for a banana suit.”

  “A banana suit? Really?”

  “To each his own. And I guarantee you’ll find a taker. Once the idea’s released out into the atmosphere, someone will realize they’ve been waiting their whole lives to have sex wearing a banana suit. They just didn’t know it. It’s the law of averages, really. Everything evens out in the end.

  “Like the tax issue. I personally had no knowledge the accountants had even attempted to file for a tax exempt status. They were just doing their jobs, and maybe it was an outside-of-the-box idea to try and get a tax break. It didn’t work and we moved on. No harm, no foul. But somehow the religious leaders got wind of it and are wearing themselves out trying to publicly shame me for something I had no part in and never asked for.”

  I take another sip, feeling buzzed. She does, too, and I wonder if she’s drinking my whiskey. The thought fills me with warmth.

  “And to answer the rest of your question. About the name? I didn’t change it, because fuck it, that’s why. It is what it says. It’s recognizable, and it gives the punch, the shock value that I’m looking for. Why would I get rid of that?” I’m sure they’ve had the finger on the bleep button since I came onstage. I hope they caught that one, too, but if not, I’ve got no more fucks left to give...

  She holds up her hand. “How in the world wide web do you find the one banana lover?”

  Gotta love the lead-in.

  “That’s where my program comes in. It takes your information and finds someone who’s dying to meet up…with a banana. Now, it may not be the right banana…maybe it’s banana pudding, banana bread, or banana pancakes. And you’re not into sweets. You just wanted a banana, still in the peel.”

  She cocks her brow. “I refine my search to a banana peel and start again, and no one’s the wiser.”

  “Exactly. No banana feelings get hurt.”

  We cut to a commercial. She’s listening to a voice in her ear, and from the looks of it, someone’s not happy.

  “Mason, you gotta talk about the sex, you promised. Plus, right now, it sounds like you’re selling bananas. Come on, Mister Salesman, you’re better than that.” Her nose and mine get powdered while I think of the correct way to work sex in. “Want me to just holler sex and be done with it?”

  The make-up girl giggles as she adjusts the lapels on my suit. I smirk at her.

  “He’s fun,” she says to Mia, who rolls her eyes. “Try interviewing this Casanova.”

  Mia inhales and squares her shoulders. I tense and she starts in, ready to choke if necessary. “What about the sex?” Heavy emphasis on the sex. Yes, she did just holler about sex.

  I know when I’m beat. “Yes, it is sexual in nature. I’ve never tried to hide that fact. It’s a safe place to meet up with compatible people, simple as that. They’ve been out there, oblivious to each other, simply waiting for someone to come along and connect the dots. That’s what we do. We’re all just dots looking for a line to connect us.”

  But she wants more. “And…”

  “And, sorry if I’m being too blunt, sexual parts that want to plug in. If you go on the site, anytime, right now even, there will be people looking to have sex. I won’t lie to you. But I’m willing to bet you’ll find other things as well. You’ll find at least…” I think back to this morning when I patrolled the site. “A few looking for a hug, someone who wants to drink beer in Germany and doesn’t want to travel alone. But that doesn’t surprise me. I got the idea for the site from a hug.” Whoops, it always comes back to it. My mommy issues.

  “A hug is the idea behind the F#ck It List?” She says the actual word, forgetting her own no cussing rule. I can tell she’s not quite believing this one. She probably thought the idea came to me in the middle of some crazy bang session, but nope, it was the hug. “My mother’s dying wish: to be held by the one she loved.” There. I give her a no more shake of my head.

  But she looks like I pulled a puppy out of my pocket. “Aww, Mason. That was beautiful.”

  I’m blushing. “I just want it known that not everything has to be about sex.”

  And then realize I’m a guy. “Which sounds strange coming from a red-blooded American male. “Think of it as a way to connect with your fellow man, woman, or banana.” I wink, feeling like it’s the bottom of the ninth and I’m pitching a no-hitter. “If you’re going through a hard time, don’t go it alone. Come on the boards, find someone to commiserate with. A nonjudgmental ear to bend. Perhaps a set of arms that want to comfort you.”

  “That sounds heavenly.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” She actually shivers, and I realize I’m not out of the woods yet.

  Great, Mia. Now I’ve gotta ramp up the security measures talk or I’ll be losing half my population.

  “Despite the picture the conservatives are trying to paint, no one’s been robbed, raped or kidnapped from my site. Period. And why is that? How can I keep over 4,000 members in check when our parole and prison systems can’t? How is it possible that I don’t have a Ted Bundy or Charles Manson tucked away on my boards?”

  She leans forward.

  “A careful screening, vetting, and complete background check, which I pay for. Out of my own pocket. I’m not in the habit of setting serial killers loose on my site. And no one is under any obligation to meet up. Complete anonymity is what your hundred bucks buys you, so if you never want to meet, you don’t have to. All identities are blocked, for my eyes only. Not even my programmers have the codes for personal information. I sure don’t want to see that a Senator has made front-page news for his banana suit shenanigans.” I actually wink. Well, at least Gram will think it’s cute. “That’s how I like my ship to run, nice and tight.”

  “So, not just anyone can jump on at any time?”

  Incredibly, I laugh. How many times do I have to say it? “This isn’t Craigslist we’re talking about here. Don’t get it twisted. The psych screening alone cuts my client list in half. I’m actually turning away business. If you’re flagged, you are no client of mine. I don’t care if it’s just an unpaid parking ticket that’s got you feeling gu
ilty. You’re not on the list. Banned.” I pause.

  “I see you are very passionate about security, Mason.”

  Ah, back to Mason. I didn’t fuck it up too badly from up here on my soapbox. “Sorry, whew, I just want everyone to feel safe, like they’re out with friends.”

  She nods. And keeps nodding, so I go on.

  “There are words that trigger flags and shut you down immediately. No questions asked, just banned. These are called black marks. I hate to even bring them up, but I feel like this needs to be said.”

  I don’t know why I’m whispering, “There’re so many…” I tick them off on my fingers. “No rape, or words or phrases to that effect. Along with phrases that detail or imply anything involving human waste, trafficking, the sexual abuse of children, and a few others that Gram and I didn’t like. Any time a word is flagged, you’re out. No appeal process, no second chances. Gram’s idea. When you’re threatened with the loss of intimacy, you’ll fall in line.”

  “Excuse me? Your gram?”

  Smiling wide, I say directly into the camera, “Hi, Gram,” and wave.

  To Mia, I say, “She’s my silent partner and my conscience. I don’t do anything that she wouldn’t approve of.” I wink. “Luckily my Gram’s pretty open-minded.”

  I’ve said my piece. Did what I came to do. This is what I wanted to talk about all along, not the bastard sailing the coast.

  “On that note, we’ve run out of time. Tomorrow, tune in to hear the rebuttal from the Moral Majority, who proclaim themselves to be the voice of the people. But always make sure to get your own Spin on things. Goodnight.”

  Once she signals the all-clear, I stand and stretch. I don’t know whether to shake her hand, nod, or hug her. I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer, but I smell better for the trip. What’s the protocol to be used with someone who’s helping to clear your name?

  While I’m still trying to figure it out, she sidles up and removes my mic, dropping it on the stage. I look around. There’s a whole crew shutting down the set, but she’s oblivious. Sliding her hands under my suit jacket, she encircles my waist.