Page 67 of The Upgrade

She tips her face up and stops walking. “All I’m saying,” she says, “is that meeting the person you’re meant to be with at a transitional point in your lives isn’t a deal breaker. In a way, it’s a chance to forge your own path forward together.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, though I’m not sure I agree. “You’re very insightful.”

“So I’m told.” Smiling, she tips her head toward a quaint little bungalow at the edge of the beach. “This is me.”

I study the house in its bright pool of moonlight. There’s a tidy front porch with two beach towels draped over the railing. Hot pink hibiscus in pretty clay pots line both sides of the steps. A black metal railing extends toward the back where a wide balcony curves out over the sea.

She catches me looking and smiles. “Not a white picket fence, but close.”

Smiling, I lean down to kiss her cheek. “Good night, Sybil. Thank you for today.”

“It was an honor.” She smiles. “I mean it.”

“Kora’s a lucky woman.” I wave to my manager, who stands in the window washing a glass at the sink. She waves back, then blows a kiss to her wife.

“Take care.” I take a step back.

“Good night,Topher.” Sybil winks as she says it, then skips up the steps and into the house.

Just as I turn to walk back to my room, I see her wrap Kora in a warm, solid hug. The two women embrace for a really long time, then pull back with their arms still entwined. They’re inches apart, speaking with bright, upturned faces. Their connection’s so clear even I can feel it.

Well.

Time to retire for the night.

The walk to my room takes less than five minutes. Tossing my key in the bowl by the door, I check my phone. A long string of notifications lights up the screen.

Missed call: Camille

Missed call: Camille

Missed call: Camille

That’s followed by a ridiculously long chain of texts.

Camille: Call me when you get a chance. It’s important.

Camille: Not an emergency.

Camille: Important, but not life-threatening.

Camille: I don’t want you to worry, but I do want you to call.

Camille: Soon but not like while you’re on the toilet or getting ready for bed. No one’s dying.

Camille: Or sick.

Camille: Or upset with you.

Camille: Call me.

There’s also a bunch of emojis I can’t begin to interpret. What the hell does a megaphone mean? And a thumbtack? Hell if I know.

I set down the phone, vowing to call her tomorrow. I desperately need a shower. Today was amazing, and I’d like to just bask for a while.

Once I’m showered and dressed in a clean pair of boxers, I take thirty minutes to compile a few notes on today’s interaction. Not the threesome so much as my observations on sex work and Sybil’s role in the enchantment.

Seeing her work up close, I have a new appreciation for her role at Crystal Bliss. For everyone’s roles, from the guy making cocktails to the spa services director to the consorts who help jilted brides find joy in the wake of disaster.

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