Page 25 of Sizzle Reel

Driving home, I wonder if she has any other veins like that.

It leaves me confident, in an almost spiritual I believe in signs way, that I got the gig. That we really connected.

Which only makes it harder when, that Half-Day Friday morning, Wyatt emails me:

You didn’t get the job. :( I’m so sorry!!! Hope you’re feeling better pls tell me when we can talk :( :(

chapter seven

In the wake of Wyatt’s lack of apology and the failure on the job front, Romy and I end up spending the remainder of our Half-Day Friday in WeHo over at the Pleasure Chest, which, yes, is an adult entertainment/sex shop, and yes, we regularly do this for cheap fun, but when you both hate clubs there’s only so much to do.

Despite its unassuming facade—nothing but palm trees and a neon sign—the place is a frickin’ L.A. landmark. You just won’t get it on the TMZ tour.

“You know, with the ebb and flow of traffic, we’re going to have to stay here for hours,” I say as we open the double doors.

Romy shrugs. “We can just go to Barney’s Beanery after and look for some ghosts.”

She has a serious thing for ghosts, like she studies hauntings and reads books and everything. She claims it’s gay culture, and I don’t know if she’s joking or not. Either way, she loves urban legends, and I love the patty melts that kitschy burger joint serves, so it works.

“A very incongruent set of activities.”

“Incongruent was incongruent in your sentence.”

“Hey, y’all,” Quinn, one of the very cool and very queer employees of this fine establishment, says as we enter the doors. She taps her hand on the counter, indicating that yes, even if she knows we’re over eighteen, we have to pull out some I.D.

“Hey, Quinn,” Romy says. “Anything new on the horizon?”

“We’re doing some B.D.S.M. classes this month if you’re interested.”

Heat prickles around my ears as they talk about sex even for the briefest moment. It’s so overdramatic, I know, but it feels like every time sex is brought up, I’m outside a home and forced to look in the windows. I’ve been trying to get in the door for what feels like years, and it’s like it just keeps getting heavier the older I get.

“Nah, but thanks for letting me know,” Romy says.

Romy grabs my hand, jolting me out of my misery bubble with a shock. Yeah, we’ve held hands before, but in the context of this queer platonic friendship we have, it’s still like my body thinks it’s a new sign to interpret.

There’s a curtain separating the front room from the back, and once it’s pulled back, it’s like entering another world. The showroom itself is huge, with displays lined up like a museum. On the back wall is every kind of vibrator, and the right wall has a glass case of the really expensive shit. There are dildos displayed for tactile demonstrations, harnesses behind that, and B.D.S.M. masks and whips in the left corner. There’s even a display bed where you can try out one of the hammocks. It’s like Sex Toys “R” Us (R.I.P.).

“You need a new vibrator, right?” Romy says.

I flush. “I don’t need a new one, I just said my Lelo broke.”

Romy’s eyes widen. “How did your designer vibrator break?”

Hot tip: Don’t buy fucking expensive vibrators because they all break, and why spend $130 of well-earned cash when you can spend $30?

“It said it was waterproof and it lied.”

“Sue them.”

“Obviously.”

I follow Romy to the novelty section, where she immediately plucks out a box that advertises vibrating panties. Just the sight sends a pang to my heart. When we dragged Wyatt here, this was the only item he said he’d ever consider buying after Romy and I foisted anal beads and Fleshlights on him for nearly an hour. Needless to say, if Wyatt and I had had sex, I know it probably would’ve been a lot of missionary. Maybe I’d get to go on top once a week to spice things up. It should make me feel better, but it never does.

Breaking up with him led me back here, standing in a sex store where there’s only ever one section I need to go to, even when I want to be here with someone else, buying everything else. Sometimes I miss the possibilities I had in those three weeks Wyatt and I were together.

But mostly I miss Wyatt himself. Wyatt and his alarming straight-boy ways.

“I feel like this is the kind of thing two friends would jokingly buy for each other, and then it would lead to them having sex in their car,” Romy says.

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