Chapter Twenty-Two

Loncey

I'm more than a little relieved when Maeve tells me she wants something to eat. Not because I'm especially hungry, but I'm in serious need of another coffee as last night is starting to catch up with me.

"So where are you going to take me?" she asks as we walk through the hotel lobby.

"Me? Take you?"

"Well, you are from Vegas. Don't you have a place in mind that only locals know about?"

"Honestly, I don't eat out much," I say.

She gives me a narrow-eyed look. "Then what do you do? Like, with your friends? To socialize?"

I open my mouth, ready with a reply, but when I realize what it is – I don't have many friends – I close my lips again.

I mean, I do have friends. I have Miko and Harley. I have several other friends online, most of which, yes, I've slept with, but that's the nature of the work we do, although sometimes, yes, we also sleep together for fun, because sex is fun. But do I have friends I hang out with, and it's not for work or sex?

"I spend a lot of time at home," I say instead. "I like to spend time with my sister, and my mom."

Maeve's thin stare is still on me but a small smile appears.

"Looks like it's up to me to find somewhere to eat," she says as she pulls her phone out of her back pocket. "So tell me. Are you vegan? Lactose intolerant? Have a gluten allergy?"

"None of the above. But honestly, all I really want right now is a coffee the size of my head and somewhere I can relax for an hour or so." I stifle a yawn.

"Rough night?" Maeve asks, still looking at her phone.

I think about telling her about Harley and Miko, about the threats and about losing my hotel room to them, but decide against it. "Something like that."

"I've got it. Elvis Burgers."

"Aw hell no, that sounds like a tourist trap." I shake my head.

"Well, I am a tourist. A tourist who wants a big fat greasy burger and a portion of fries that could feed a small family and their pet dog. I skipped carbs for breakfast because of that fecking photoshoot. I have some making up to do."

"Where is it?" I ask, peering over her shoulder.

She shows me the map. "A couple of blocks away. Isn't that what you'd say?" Her fake American accent does strange things to me. Very strange things to me.

"Okay, tourist. Let's go," I say with a roll of my eyes that I make sure she sees.

On the way to goddamn Elvis Burgers, we talk easily, comfortably. She asks me more questions about my sister, and then, when I mention my mom is a midwife and doula, she talks about Jenna's pregnancy and all the things she can't wait to do with her niece.

"Of course, the shopping and the makeovers will have to wait until she's a bit older. And, granted, she may not be into that girlie shite. Heck, she may not be a girl at all, but even if she wants to go out in the rain and splash in puddles or make mud pies, I'll do that with her. I just won't throw a ball around with her. No bleedin' team sports or running games. That's my brother's department."

"You'll make a wonderful aunt," I say as we weave our way through the crowds which slowly start to dissipate as we head further away from the Strip.

"I really will," Maeve replies confidently but then her tone and almost the air between us changes. "You know we found out, not long ago, that she has Down syndrome."

"Okay." I nod and wait for Maeve to say more.

"I'm scared for her, you know," she eventually says after taking a few steps in silence.

"Why?"

"Because... because this world isn't made for people who are different. It's barely made for us so-called ‘normal-looking' people, let alone somebody who noticeably will look different, be different."

I pull in a deep breath and let some time pass as I consider my response.

"I think you'll know exactly how to help her," I say.

"How do you figure that out?"

"You said it in one of your videos about being asexual," I say. "You were talking about what it's like being ace in a sex-obsessed world."

"I was?"

"Yeah, it was this video you took while you were putting your make-up on. I remember it because you went to great trouble covering up this mole you have just below your left eye and I couldn't understand why."

"Because it's dark and hairy and it's got a mind of its own." She tuts me like I've said something very stupid.

"No, it's not. It's cute," I say and then, fearing I've said too much, I go back to the original point I was trying to make. "Anyway, in that video you were talking about how ‘other' you felt growing up in a world that is very sexualized. You said how you felt different, and how you didn't always know how to fit in."

"I still don't," she says with a light snort. "But that's completely different. Sexuality, or the lack of it, is not the same as being disabled."

I pull in another deep breath. "I disagree. Asexuality is something that has a lot more stigma than many other queer identities, and I say that as somebody who occupies a number of other queer identities."

"But…" Maeve says firmly but then no other words follow. I look at her and she speaks again. "But you're Black. I'm pretty sure you experience a fuck-ton more prejudice than I do."

I shrug. I can't argue with her.

"Just trust me," I say, redirecting the conversation. "And trust yourself that you'll know what to do when it comes to looking out for your niece. Besides, you're a Cancer."

I expect a harsh retort to that last comment but Maeve is quiet for a few minutes as we walk. I keep stealing glances at her, noticing a thoughtful expression on her face. I'm going to ask about her keynote speech tomorrow but then the slightly garish front of Elvis Burgers is suddenly there and she's reaching for the door. I start to think she's not going to respond or make a single comment. Then she pauses and, with her hand still on the door, turns to face me.

"So you think you've got me all figured out, do you? Just because you know my birth chart?" she asks and she dances so perfectly on the line between accusatory and playful that I have no clue where I stand or what the right thing to say is.

As I so often do in situations like that, I opt for the truth.

"No, Maeve, I don't have you all figured out. Not at all. But I'm having quite a bit of fun trying."

Her green eyes narrow on me again and I brace myself for another one of her snappy responses.

"Come on, I'm bloody starving," she says instead and then she pulls the door open and gestures for me to go in in front of her, which I do gratefully because this way I can hide my smile from her.

*****

I learn a lot about Maeve during our time at Elvis Burgers, where all staff members have Elvis quiffs, are dressed in rhinestone-studded white flares and greet us with a very lacklustre "Uh-huh-huh" as their top lip curls. I learn what her full name is. I learn that her dad just recently retired but her mom still works part-time as a receptionist. I learn that she's very close to her brother and his partner, and also to the partner's brother, Jake, who is about to go on a world tour with his DJ boyfriend, who I almost can't quite believe is DJ Lunar.

I also learn that a triple cheeseburger, large fries and strawberry milkshake are absolutely no match for Maeve Rosaline O'Martin.

"Are you going to finish that?" She points at my discarded burger and the handful of fries still on my plate.

"All yours," I say, pushing the plate forward.

"I'm still fecking ravenous. I must be coming on or something," she says as she stacks my plate on top of her empty one. She looks up abruptly with wide eyes. "Was that TMI? Are you the kind of penis owner who freaks out about periods?"

I laugh lightly. "Periods don't bother me. I live with two menstruating humans, remember?"

"And you're also a porn star who probably thinks nothing of having sex with someone on their period." She pops one fry in her mouth before getting another.I study Maeve for a moment before replying, once again unable to determine if she actually wants to talk about this.

"Periods don't bother me in that way either, that's true."

She flinches. It's small, but it's there.

"Do you… do you put videos of that online too?" she asks without looking me in the eye.

"It's not allowed. Blood is a no-no on MyFans."

"What… what are your most popular videos?" she asks and I look at her again. She's still chewing fries and her eyes are on mine, but there's something about her sloping shoulders and the way her voice gets a little quieter that gives me pause.

"We don't have to talk about this, Maeve, if you don't want to."

She throws down the fry that was in her hand. "I want to. I mean, I think I want to." She sighs. "I feel like I need to get better at talking about sex, and what better way than to talk with someone whose job is sex?"

I feel my neck straighten a little. "My job isn't just sex."

Maeve waves a hand around. "Fine, it's kink. It's foreplay and fucking and education about orgasms and the like."

"No." I lean closer over the table. "My job is just as much about intimacy. It's about physical affection. It's about connection and care."

Maeve blinks at me, unmoving.

"You haven't watched any of my content, have you?"

"Are you asking if I'm a subscriber? Of course I'm fecking not."

I laugh again and it relaxes my shoulders. "Fair enough, but if you were, you'd see that a lot of the content I make is about helping people get more out of their so-called sex lives, and the way to do that is often by working on things that aren't actually sex."

"What do you mean?" Maeve gives me another blank look.

I shift in my chair so I can rest my elbows on the table and lean even closer to Maeve.

"Intimacy begins long before we take our clothes off. It also begins long before you even meet someone else. It begins with how we view ourselves and our bodies. It begins by understanding who we are, what makes not just our bodies feel good, but even more so our minds and our hearts and our spirits. It begins by owning our sexuality." I look at Maeve and as she blinks at me, another thought pushes it way to the top of my mind. "No, not sexuality, our sensuality, our spirituality."

"Is this some more astrological shite?"

"No, Maeve. I mean, maybe yes, because I do believe that everything in this world is interconnected and that includes the stars, but I guess what I'm trying to say is what I do, or at least what I'm trying to do, is not just to help people have better sex but to have a better experience of life."

Maeve tosses her hair over her shoulders. "But that implies that you need to have sex in order to have a better experience of life, which is just not true," she says, and her tone is challenging if not angry or irate.

"True," I nod, "absolutely true. But in some ways what I try to do with my content is prove that point. There are so many reasons people don't or can't have penetrative sex – let's not be ableist here, right? – but what I like to show is that you can still have a connection… no, actually, it's imperative to have a connection without penetration, without stimulation of genitals, without intercourse. It's the connection that makes sex good whether that's a sexual connection or sensual or emotional or spiritual or whatever. You get me?"

For a few seconds, Maeve stares at me, almost through me, but then she starts to nod.

"But how?" she asks and there's so much air in her question, I start to think it's not air at all but something else. Something like hope.

"Well, if you were a subscriber," I tease.

She reaches out and swipes the back of my hand. "I don't want to have to trawl through videos of ‘good' gaping arseholes to find the answers," she says with air quotes and a loud tut. "Give me the, what did you say, CliffsNotes version."

I want to lean closer. I want to have this conversation somewhere else, in a place where Elvis Presley's Viva Las Vegas isn't playing for the third time in at least an hour. I want to hold Maeve's hand.

But I don't move. I open my mouth and…

"Oh my God, it is you!" a loud voice hollers in my ears. Maeve and I both swing our heads to the side and see two young feminine people who can't be much more than twenty standing by our table.

Oh, shit. Fans. I swallow and ready myself.

"I told you!" one of them is saying to the other before turning back to us. "We've been literally like staring at you for an hour and she totally didn't believe me it was you."

"I totally did believe you," the other one says. "I just told her we shouldn't bother you."

I'm about to tell them that it's okay. I'll take a photograph with them or sign a napkin or something but then I realize they're not looking at me. They're not talking to me. They're talking to Maeve.

"We love you so much," the first woman says. "I've been following you since I was like fifteen and I feel like I've grown up with you."

"Sounds like you kind of have," Maeve says with a smile I haven't seen during lunch. It's the smile she gives her followers, and Jim Harlow's camera.

"Could we get a photo with you? Our friends are going to die when they see this!"

"Do it on my phone!"

"No, mine!"

I stand up. "How about you give me both of your phones and I'll take a photo of you all together with both?"

"Oh, that would be awesome!"

"That's so nice of you."

That smile of Maeve's doesn't slip as she stands and positions herself between the two young women. Now I'm looking at them all lined up together, I can see they have the same loose waves in their long hair as Maeve, they wear skinny jeans and boots like she does, and they both have a collection of gold necklaces on, just like Maeve. These young women look up to Maeve. They admire her. They want to be her.

And yet from the conversation we were just having, I got this sense that there's a part of Maeve that she herself doesn't necessarily admire. There's a part of her that she doesn't want to be.

I feel sad handing over their phones after the photos are taken. Sad because of this new suspicion I have about Maeve, and sad that our conversation was interrupted because, rather than sit down, Maeve is gathering her bag and telling me we should head back.

"I'll go pay on my way to the Ladies room," she says and before I can say anything, she's walking away.