Chapter 8
29 July 2023
Jacq Whitten: Hi, sorry to resurrect FB Messenger but I can’t get you on WhatsApp like you said I’d be able to. Just checking in to see how you’re going. Scott says he’s having trouble getting in contact too.
Tiddas chat 3
29 July 2023
Brynn:
Can I just check that I haven’t had an out of body experience. My going away party was a shit show right? Jacq ambushed me with Scott, we fought?
Dotty:
Sounds about right.
Brynn:
Ok. Just had to check because she is chasing me across every platform talking to me like nothing’s happened.
Bridie:
Thought you blocked her?
Brynn:
On my phone, WhatsApp, and Insta but I guess I forgot about Messenger since I deleted Facebook off my phone years ago.
Dotty:
Want me to go talk to her? I’ll sort her out
Dotty:
(Only half joking)
I’m sitting on the floor of the living room, my back against Jenny, with my computer, papers, and books spread across the coffee table. Corey’s in the kitchen, headphones on, dancing to music that only she can hear while she meal preps for next week.
Hilde wasn’t kidding when she said there were lots of shifts going at Dogue’s. Today is my first full day off in nine days—since I started work. My shifts have mostly been early mornings: opening the playrooms with Robert and Cruz, then heading back home at noon to an empty apartment, where I spend the rest of the day trawling industry news and looking for a publishing job or internship. I’ve expanded my search across the country now too, after I saw an article on Publishers Lunch saying that many businesses are still hiring remote workers.
As a student, I was a next level planner. I had all my class notes in a Notion board on my computer, and I could also see them on my phone. Notion linked to my calendar and had reminders and lists and everything else I could’ve possibly needed. Now I’m on the job search, I bring the boards back. They include the list of jobs I’ve applied for and links to my cover letters, and record any response received. If there are names and job titles in ads, or rejection letters, or even in social media posts, I list them, because once upon a time a guest lecturer told me that it was best to personalise your job applications.
Today I’m working on ideas to help my job search even more. So far I have:
Start a BookTok account? (ask Bridie for tips)
Find out where people at Paris Review go for their coffee breaks and hang out there (too stalkery?)
Give Corey a stack of CVs in case of bookish clients
Go to book launches and ‘network’
Of all the things on the list, TikTok is probably the most viable, least stalkery and desperate option and it will work better with my Dogue’s schedule than going to book launches. So I flick a message to Bridie and then open my blank ‘used for watching only’ TikTok account and start scrolling through videos and taking notes when anything interesting or strategic comes up.
‘What exactly are you doing?’ Corey asks from the kitchen.
‘Working on a social media strategy,’ I reply. ‘Do you think I should start a TikTok?’
‘Girl, I love a publicity strategy but you need to chill. A bunch of the crew from Cat’s are meeting at a tequila bar for food, want to come?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Tonight?’
She grins. ‘Nah, it’s a rooftop bar. Come on, we’re going day drinking.’
An hour later I’m dressed in my old faithful white sundress and sandals, sporting a glowy ‘clean girl’ makeover courtesy of Corey, and climbing the stairs to step into the brightness of Cantina Rooftop Bar and find it’s absolutely hopping.
Hilde waves us over and a second after I’ve sat on a bright yellow metal chair next to Corey, someone pours me a drink from a pitcher of margaritas on the table and passes a plate. Food starts arriving and we feast on share plates of mini tacos filled with fresh salad and tasty meat, corn chips and salsa and the most delicious guacamole I’ve tasted in my life.
As the afternoon stretches from lunch into more drinks, Corey does her best to introduce everyone and include me in the conversations. I’m definitely starting to get to know some of the Cat’s crew, but it’s also hard to keep up when I haven’t been part of their in-jokes for long. There are lulls in conversation and every time Hilde or Corey leaves to go to the bar or to chat to one of their friends, I find myself sitting alone, looking around awkwardly. It’s not bad, though—the drinks are nice, and the music is excellent, and the view of the skyline keeps reminding me that I’m at a bar in New York City.
‘Hey, there, Aussie.’ I look over to see Michael, the guy I have vague memories of dancing with and kissing on my first night at the Cat’s Meow with Corey. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ he asks, gesturing to the chair that Corey vacated about twenty minutes ago. He takes a tiny bottle of hand sanitiser out of this pocket, applies it and then reaches out a hand for me to shake. His grip is firm, his smile warm. He is dark skinned and extremely handsome, and for a moment words escape me. This man made out with me? Wow. I wish I could remember it more clearly, because, judging by that mouth, he would be a good kisser.
‘Sorry, am I taking a seat from someone?’ he asks, catching me staring at his mouth.
I manage to move and shake my head. ‘No, the seat’s all yours. Well, it was Corey’s but she’s ...’ I gesture at the bar where Corey is in deep conversation with some guy wearing a fedora. ‘And hi, nice to see you again.’
‘I’ve been hoping to catch you. We didn’t get to finish our conversation last time,’ he says, winking at me. There’s something about how explicitly he’s flirting that sends a jolt of heat right to my centre. ‘Oh, you need a drink? Same again?’ He nods to the almost empty cocktail.
I push it away. ‘I’m not actually sure what it was, some sort of a marg. It was poured for me and since I didn’t pay, I wasn’t going to complain.’
He laughs and excitement flutters in my chest at the sound. ‘Well, I’m paying, so what’s your actual drink of choice?’
I think for a second and realise I’m biting my lip in a gesture that my body somehow seems to think might be flirtatious. ‘Um, a mojito maybe?’
He raises his hand to signal a waiter and orders for both of us. When the drinks come, he clinks his glass against mine.
‘So, you work at Cat’s?’ I ask, and he leans in close to hear me over the music and chatter of the bar. I can smell his sweet aftershave.
‘I used to. I worked there during law school,’ he says.
‘Oh, that’s right, you’re a lawyer. Sorry, if it wasn’t clear the last time we met, I’d had a fair bit to drink.’
He smiles. ‘And Hilde’s cocktails’ll really get you blacked out, right? Don’t worry, I’ve been there.’ He laughs. ‘I’m a junior associate right now: nothing super exciting, just in a small employment law firm. It’s got a good ratio of paid clients to pro bono so it felt like a more ethical area to go into when I graduated. And I remember you’re an editor from Australia. Have you taken The Paris Review by storm yet?’
My face burns. He remembers exactly what I’m doing here and I can barely remember meeting him. ‘Not yet. But I’ve got a job now. By day I work downtown at a doggy daycare with Hilde,’ I say.
‘And by night?’
‘Well, that’s when things get exciting. I marathon TV shows set in New York and refresh The Paris Review internship page constantly. I’ve also created a really impressive divot on the sofa.’
He nods. ‘I know the New York hustle well,’ he says. ‘It’s a tough town. But I got a feeling a girl like you will get what she wants real soon.’
We have another drink and chat for a while. The liquor gives me a nice buzz, the sunshine and the warmth of his attention makes me feel like I’m glowing from the inside out. Every so often, he reaches out and touches me; my hand, my shoulder and every time a jolt of desire streaks right down into my core. I’m not usually good at working out if people are flirting with me. But Michael is good at showing me that he’s flirting with me, and I really really like it.
‘Look,’ Michael says and he lifts his hand to my chin and gently tilts my face away from his and towards the skyline. The sun is setting, throwing splashes of orange and pink across fluffy looking clouds.
‘Wow, this is beautiful,’ I say. ‘This might just be my favourite New York moment so far.’ I look back at him and in one swift motion, he leans in and captures my lips with his. I’m glad that I’m only a little buzzed this time because I am going to remember this kiss for the rest of my life. It starts out gentle but when our lips part and his tongue pushes into my mouth with intent, I feel my bones turn to jelly. I grip onto his arms to keep myself upright and feel him shift on the seat next to me.
‘You want to go somewhere quiet and talk?’ he says in a way that tells me there isn’t going to be much talking involved. I’ve never been relaxed or confident enough to have a one-night stand, or even really have a dancefloor makeout, but I’m just sober enough to feel the heat of desire swelling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Or we can stay and dance; or whatever you like,’ he adds as though he can sense my brain whirring.
I could overthink this, go through the pros and cons, or I could do exactly what all my friends—both here and at home—have been telling me to do, and go with my gut. My gut that right now is being overruled by other, more excited parts of my body.
‘Um, sure. Let me just tell Corey we’re going.’
I turn away from him and get Corey’s attention.
‘Hey, so Michael ...’
She smirks at me. ‘Go! Have fun.’
Outside the bar, we decide that my place, a short cab ride, is a lot closer than his downtown apartment.
In the taxi he holds my hand and chats all the way there. I’m nervous about what’s coming next, but there’s also something comforting about the warmth of his hand in mine, and it all feels innocent enough until we get across the threshold of my apartment. As soon I’ve put my keys on the hall stand, he pulls me in and kisses me. His lips burn against mine.
He runs his fingers over my shoulders, I shudder.
I lead him to the bedroom, and switch on the lamp next to the nightstand. I kick off my shoes and then he’s on me again, trailing kisses across my face and walking me towards the bed.
‘You’re gorgeous.’ His breath is hot against my ear, and I pull back.
He pauses, hands hovering over my cheeks. ‘Hey, where did you go just now? You alright?’
My cheeks warm and it’s not just from the way his kisses brushed against my face.
‘It’s been a while since someone said that to me,’ I say. ‘Especially a guy as hot as you.’
‘Well,’ he kisses my cheek, ‘that is all kinds of wrong. Because you are fine.’
His lips meet mine again and every part of me wants to melt into him. I should probably slow things down and talk. Tell him that I’ve only been with Scott and warn him that I might not be very good at this.
But I’m sick of talking and rationalising everything and with Michael’s hands running down the zipper of my sundress, it’s getting harder and harder to give in to that urge anyway.
‘You okay?’ he asks, his fingers poised at the shoulder straps of the dress. ‘We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.’
I lift my hands so they cover his, guiding his hands to let the dress slide off my shoulders until I’m standing in front of him in my plain beige bra and undies. I lean against his body, surprised at my own confidence as I kiss him. ‘I want to.’
I’m lightheaded as he runs his fingertips down my arms, his touch sending all the nerves in my body aflutter. I tug at his t-shirt and he smiles against my lips. ‘Oh, I see how this is,’ he whispers. He steps back, breaking our contact for a second while he lifts his arms and I pull the shirt over his head.
I make a sound in the back of my throat at the sight of him. Smooth, dark skin. His arms are muscular, chest toned ... I pause in my examination when he pulls me back to him and starts kissing his way down my neck and over the curve of my breast.
I hesitate then, worries racing into my thoughts. I never liked how much time Scott spent on my boobs. I’ve never really felt super sexual and, to me, my breasts are the least sexy part of my body. A pity that their size is what catches people’s attention, which was something Scott loved. I remember walking in on him and Tim talking about my boobs as though they were an object to be ogled and played with, not a part of me, of my body.
My hands go up to Michael’s shoulders and I push him away gently.
He looks at me with concern on his beautiful face. ‘I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? We can stop?’
My face burns. I’m so hot with desire and I want him to keep going. But I don’t know how to get out of my own head.
‘No, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ I say. ‘It’s ... I’m kind of just out of a not-so-great relationship situation and I’m a bit funny about ... about my boobs.’ It’s hard for me to say, but I also remember Bridie saying once that if you weren’t adult enough to talk about your likes and dislikes then you weren’t adult enough to be having sex. Of course, I hadn’t told her I had never really felt ready to be having sex with Scott full stop, but had done it anyway.
Michael plants a soft kiss on my cheek and moves his hands to my waist, smoothing his hands over my skin. ‘That’s cool,’ he says. ‘We absolutely do not have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m happy to sit here and talk, or we can go back to the bar?’
I bite my lip. ‘I’d like to ... can we keep making out a bit. But just ... is it weird if I leave my bra on?’
‘Anything you want, Brynn,’ he says and the look on his face is so sincere that I fall a little bit in love with him then. ‘You know what’s really sexy?’
‘What?’
‘Well, aside from the way you’re biting your lip right now, it’s super sexy when a woman tells me what she wants. So, if you’re up for it, how about we—slowly—do some stuff that you want to do?’
I gulp, but I’m also incredibly turned on by this. I slowly lift my head, so my gaze meets his, and nod. But then when he takes a step back and looks at me intently, waiting for me to speak, a wave of embarrassment overtakes me and I lift my hands to cover my face.
‘My suggestion,’ he says, reaching up and gently forcing my hands down, ‘is start slow.’
I nod and let my eyes wander over his body. ‘Pants,’ I say and am surprised at how thick my voice sounds. ‘You’ve got too many clothes on.’
He looks at me in the sexiest way imaginable and then begins to unbutton his jeans. He doesn’t break eye contact as he runs his fingers down the zipper and pushes the pants over his thighs to reveal black trunk-style boxer briefs. I’m staring at the bulge when I realise that he’s stopped with his pants at his feet.
‘Oh fuck,’ I say. ‘You’ve still got your shoes on, don’t you?’
He laughs. ‘Yep.’
‘I never said I was good at this,’ I say laughing as I kneel down in front of him and shrug his jeans up a little so I can unlace his sneakers.
‘I think it’s good when sex is a little silly, don’t you? It’s more fun when you laugh.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I say as I gesture for him to lift his foot so I can slide one shoe and then the other off. I start to tug at his socks and he leans down and puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘Wait one second,’ he says and I look up as he steps back and kicks the jeans away, then he poses. He does the classic body builder, both arms raised, hands squeezed into fists. Aside from the fact that his arms are super, super impressive, I realise as he bevels his legs like a pin-up girl, that his socks are pink and red stripes.
There’s nothing wrong with them, but the look of the socks with his serious black boxers, the girlish pose of his legs and the masculine shape of his body is a ridiculous image. I feel a grin spread across my face and then my hands fly to my mouth to stifle a laugh.
In an instant he’s on the floor next to me, pulling my hands away. ‘Laugh, Brynn,’ he says and I do. It feels good and he grins at me.
‘What would you do if I told you I wanted you to leave the socks on while we ...?’
His tone goes serious. ‘While we fuck, Brynn?’
The word has never, ever sounded so sexy to me before and I nod, feeling what can only be described as a coy smile playing about my lips. ‘Yes, please,’ I say and then, in a move that surprises both of us, I slide my undies down and back onto the bed.
‘You’re the boss,’ he says and after he retrieves a condom from his wallet he slips his own underwear off and settles over me.
My thoughts swim as I try to think about where I want to be touched and what I want and all I manage to croak out is, ‘I want you to make me feel good.’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ he whispers and then he kisses me. It’s slow and sensual and my nerves tingle as he traces a hand from my ankle up over my leg to my hip. He kisses his way down my neck and across my décolletage and then lifts his head. ‘Is this okay?’ he checks and in a moment I understand exactly what people mean when they say consent is sexy.
‘Uh-huh,’ I mutter, distracted as his fingers move across my stomach and down over my mound until he finds my clit and strokes gently.
‘Brynn, does this feel good?’ he asks and I push my hips up to him. My voice is gone, and I try to show him what I want with my body but the pressure stays teasing and light. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘More,’ I say. ‘Harder.’
Instantly, he increases the pressure and the pleasure surges, forcing a moan from my lips. ‘Good?’
‘Mmm, yes,’ I say.
And then as his hands move, I feel something else move. The bed. It’s just a small rock at first and I can ignore it in favour of the pleasure building at my core. I try to put it out of mind; I’m about to come and my body doesn’t want me to do anything else, but then in what’s now a familiar motion, I feel the steady roll of the bed towards the other side of the room.
‘Oh god no!’ I burst out and in an instant Michael stops and shifts to my side, which causes the bed to move again until it hits the wall at our feet and bounces before starting the slow roll in the opposite direction.
‘I take it that no was for the bed and not me, then?’ Michael says and we burst into laughter.
‘Sorry, it’s on castors. I’ve tried to stop it but nothing ever holds.’
‘Wait a second,’ he says. And then, butt naked except for those pink socks, he pushes the bed to the right side of the room while I remain nestled in the blankets. Once it’s righted, he gets on the floor and tries to adjust the wheels of the bed. In the end, he pulls off his socks and wedges one each under the foot end castors.
‘I’m sorry to sacrifice my beautiful fashion for the bed.’ He flops onto the mattress and pulls me close. ‘What do you want now, Brynn?’ he asks when we finish laughing.
‘I want you inside me,’ I say.
And then, with the bed rolling ever-so-slightly with every thrust and the sound of laughter mixed with moans, pleasure crashes over me in the best way possible.