Malik brings in videos and photos of Sir Floof, because she refuses to get a new phone. He sits on the edge of the bed and tilts the screen so she can see it. “Here’s that jerk cat asleep upside down on my laptop.”
Nats tries to smile. She feels disappointed that she is still alive. She doesn’t want to talk. Chantal has gone to Durban to stay with third cousins, hopefully far enough removed.
13
13
To: Chloe
From: [email protected]
Subject: Barbie Liberation Organization—Urgent Message for Natalie Abrams
Dear Chloe Abrams,
Please would you be so kind as to pass this on to your niece Natalie. I want to help her.
Dear Ms. Abrams,
I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I know you’re probably in hiding, probably not checking any of your accounts, so I’ve taken the liberty of contacting some people who seem near to you in the hopes that they will be willing to pass along the message. Please forgive me. I don’t want to further violate your privacy. I don’t know how else to reach you.
I have tried to be discreet. But there needs to be a reckoning. It’s intolerable. It’s not right. I can help you. Please reach out.
All the best,
Your friend
YT Knight
14
14
James is holding Tiffany’s hand on the couch. She’s never seen Seinfeld, and it’s a privilege to show it to her, even if she laughs at some of the wrong moments. He raises her hand up, admiring her French-tip manicure. The woman at the nail salon was ridiculous. She brought her manager out from the back to see, all of them chattering to one another in Korean. James didn’t care: let them talk. He’d never settle for a real woman again. He had her hair done, asked them to show him how to do a smoky eye. It’s smudged now, her hair mussed, from the sex. She screams his name, and he loves it. Louder, he tells her. Louder. But of course he has to do that in-app.
The screen on his phone lights up, and he glances down to see the GloryMorning icon reloading.
Updating.
About fuckin’ time!
He squeezes Tiffany’s hand. She tilts her head toward him, and he brings it down, gently, to rest on his shoulder and kisses the top of her forehead.
The end credits roll. She laughs, a warm, tinkling laugh.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” He squeezes her tighter against him.
15
15
“Can you lie really still?”
“Sure,” Malik says. “Facedown, or faceup?”
“Facedown. Put your head under the pillow. Pretend you’re a doll. One of those things. Growjobs.”
Malik sits up and looks at him carefully. “You’re not going to smother me, are you?”
“No, man, don’t be stupid.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not comfortable with that.”
“I’m not paying for you to be comfortable.”