One evening while he was undressing she said: “Take off your jeans.”

He looked at her, lying on the hotel bed wearing just her panties and a denim cap. “What are you talking about?”

“Tonight you’re my slave. Do as you’re told. Take off your jeans.”

He was already taking them off, and he was about to say so when he realized that this was a fantasy. The thought amused him, and he decided to play along. He pretended to be reluctant, and said: “Aw, do I have to?”

“You have to do everything I say, because you belong to me,” she said. “Take off your goddamn jeans.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dave said.

She sat upright, watching him. He saw the mischievous lust in her faint smile. “Very good,” she said.

Dave said: “What should I do next?”

Dave knew why he had fallen so hard for Beep, both when he was thirteen and again a few days ago. She was full of fun, ready to try anything, hungry for new experiences. With some girls, Dave had been bored after two fucks. He felt he could never get bored with Beep.

They made love, Dave pretending reluctance while Beep ordered him to do things he was already longing for. It was weirdly exciting.

Afterward he said idly: “Where did you get your nickname, anyway?”

“Have I never told you?”

“No. There’s so much I don’t know about you. Yet I feel as if we’ve been close for years.”

“When I was little I had a toy car, the kind you sit in and pedal. I don’t even remember it, but apparently I loved it. I spent hours driving it, and I used to say: ‘Beep! Beep!’”

They got dressed and went for hamburgers. Dave saw her bite into hers, watched the juice run down her chin, and realized that he was in love.

“I don’t want to go back to London,” he said.

She swallowed and said: “Then stay.”

“I can’t. Plum Nellie has to make a new album. Then we go on tour in Australia and New Zealand.”

“I adore you,” she said. “When you go, I’ll cry. But I’m not going to spoil today by being miserable about tomorrow. Eat your hamburger. You need the protein.”

“I feel we’re soul mates. I know I’m young, but I’ve had a lot of different girls.”

“No need to brag. I’ve done pretty well, too.”

“I didn’t mean to brag. I’m not even proud of it—it’s too easy when you’re a pop singer. I’m trying to explain, to myself as well as to you, why I feel so sure.”

She dipped a French fry into ketchup. “Sure of what?”

“That I want this to be permanent.”

She froze with the French fry halfway to her mouth, then put it back on the plate. “What do you mean?”

“I want us to be together always. I want us to live together.”

“Live together . . . how?”

“Beep,” he said.

“Still here.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Would you think about maybe getting married?”