Page 26 of Man Hands
“You can’tfixit,” I sob. “They’ve already seen! When it’s seen, it cannot be unseen! It’s burned into all theirretinas!”
“Who are ‘they,’ exactly? And retinas burn?Really?”
I’m a little hysterical now. Though he’s right—it’s unclear who’s seen what, and maybe I’m panicking for nothing. But once you see someone fucking, it’s hard to picture them doing their taxes. They’re always fucking! Even at a funeral. If my friends already know about this video—and a horde of photographers know—it must beserious.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, honey.Calmdown.”
“I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!” I don’t even know why he’d tell me to calm down. Oh wait, maybe I do. I’m shouting and vibrating like a scaredChihuahua.
“Will you come inside with me? I need to call my agent and make sure she gets to the bottomofthis.”
“O-k-k-kay,” I say, as my teeth chatter. “What if my mother sees it?” Actually, I can’t worry about that yet. She only watches the Home ShoppingNetwork.
“I know this is bad,” he says. “But I need you to come inside with me so I can try to figureitout.”
“D-do you have any chocolate?” I whimper. “It’s good for shock.” I ask for chocolate because I’m pretty sure “making a cherry pie and getting fucked on the counter” is off thetable.
“Hmm. I don’t have straight-up chocolate, but I do have it in ice cream form,”hesays.
“Closeenough.”
I follow himinside.
17ChocolateMousse
Tom
Brynn is rattled,and it’s all myfault.
Okay, it’s notreallymy fault. I never filmed her, and I certainly would never share a video of that on the internet. If I’m ever naked with Brynn again, I’ll hold her as closely as those crazy people onHoarderscling to theirgarbage.
But not in a creepy way. I am not a creep! But, hell, why would this woman ever believe me? We had sex once, and now it’s all over theinternet.
In my kitchen, she’s buzzing around like a nervous bee. And—even worse—I’m out of chocolate ice cream. She’s flinging cabinets open. I don’t mind at all, except that she’sstressed.
“Aha!” she yells, grabbing a container of Hershey’s unsweetenedcocoa.
“I don’t even know why I have that,” I hedge. My ex must haveboughtit.
“Stand back!” she says. “I know what I’m doing.” She tugs the top off and takes a deep, worshipful sniff of thecontents.
“Okay…” I walk slowly backward, leaving her in the kitchen. By the time I’m out of the room she’s grabbed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and a carton of heavycream.
I leave hertoit.
Thirty seconds later I’m on the phone with my agent, Patricia. My agent is one hundred percent Don’t Fuck With Me New Yorker, accent and all. “We found the source,” she says without any preamble. Good ol’ New Yorker. No time for bullshit. “Someone sold it toLikeaHawk.”
“What the fuckisthat?”
“A skeezy blog. They paid five grandforit.”
“I’ll pay six to getitback.”
“You already offered ten,” she says. “They’ll take it. They already had their fun. But it’s been downloaded thousands of timesalready.”
“Fuck!”
“Yes, that’s a good title for it. Nice work, hot buns. Who hates you,anyway?”
