Page 40 of The Close-Up
“Anyone who would ever use that as a reason not to be with you is a small-minded jerk.”
“It’s just hard, realizing that’s the common denominator in most of my breakups. It’s such a mind-fuck.” He winces at his curse. “Like, my camming stuff is actually a turn-on for them at first. But after a while, reality sets in. They want me to meet their families, friends, coworkers, all that. Eventually they realize they don’t want to have to introduce a former cam guy to their friends and family as their boyfriend. They don’t like the stigma that comes with it, I guess. For a while, I felt ashamed. Like my real self wasn’t good enough for them. But then I realized that was ridiculous. Because...”
“Because you have nothing to be ashamed of, Simon.”
“Right,” he says quietly. “With my most recent ex, I thought we were solid. We even lived together in my apartment. And she was open to her friends about me, which I thought was a good sign. Her family lived across the country, so I never met them. She said she told them about me. But then...” He pauses. “But then, a year into living together, we got an invitation to her cousin’s wedding. I’d be meeting her entire family.” A heavy sigh rockets out of him. “And that’s when she sat me down and said that if anyone asks what I did before I became a therapist to just say that I was a nurse’s aide and never mention my camming. Which wasn’t totally a lie since I was a nurse’s aide for the first year of grad school.”
“But that’s so messed up,” I mutter.
“Yeah.” He says it like a long, drawn-out groan. “I mean, I’m not naïve. I understand that it wouldn’t be appropriate to bring up my camming at a family wedding. Obviously I would have been discreet about my work. But what hurt was that she was ashamed of me—of what I did. We broke up that night when I refused to go along with her lie. And I haven’t been interested in a serious relationship since then.”
We walk in silence for a minute.
“Even if I were okay lying about it, there’s no use,” Simon says. “These days everyone googles you before your first date. I mean, I get it. You want to make sure the guy you’re going out with isn’t a serial killer. But that means it’s only a matter of time before people find me online. Which is fine. Like I said before, I’m not the slightest bit ashamed of who I am or what I’ve done. It’s made me the person I am today. But it’s sort of become this bizarre litmus test for relationships. I’m not interested in being with someone who’s ashamed of me. I just didn’t realize so many people would fall into that category.”
“Simon, I’m...” I stop myself before I can say “sorry.” I’ve said it enough times.
I contemplate going a different route, telling him how wrong he is to give up after a few narrow-minded jerks broke his heart. How I could call up every single one of my college friends right now and hook him up with a woman who is more than okay with his camming experience. How there are loads of single women who would happily line up for just a chance with him.
But I don’t. Because that’s not what he needs. He doesn’t need me to fix this for him. He just needs me to be his friend, to empathize—to let him know that there’s not a single thing wrong with him. To tell him he’s a stellar person worthy of love, no matter how his exes treated him.
“Hey.” We stop walking and I rest my hand on his arm. “It’s your ex’s loss. You’re a hell of a catch.”
His face brightens, his eyes sharpen, and his mouth curves into a genuine smile. “You think so?”
“Iknowso. Your past does not make you undateable. It just makes your exes insecure pricks.”
He chuckles when I quote the exact words he used on me earlier.
“Thanks for that,” he says. “It’s been a nice break honestly, focusing on myself and my work. Maybe someday the right person will come along and it’ll work out. Now if only people would stop bringing up my single status whenever I mention I’m a couples’ therapist.”
“I’m here to set them straight whenever you need me to.”
We walk the last block to Harper’s building.
“This is me. I mean, this is my cousin’s apartment. I’m just crashing here until I have the time to hunt for a place of my own.”
“Damn. It’s really nice.”
He stares at the white multistory beaux-arts-style building. Even in the dark, the sweeping arches and thick columns of the classical Greek and Roman-inspired architecture stand out.
“It’s freaking expensive too. I could never afford to live here on my own,” I say as I dig for my key in my purse.
“Maybe someday. Like after this series goes viral and you get a million-dollar raise.”
“Ha! That will never happen. Honestly, I’d settle for a decent building in a good neighborhood with a housemate who’s not a serial killer.”
Simon chuckles. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks for walking me home,” I say.
“It’s no problem.”
I ask if we’re still on for filming a one-on-one session with one of his clients at his home office on Monday, and he says yes.
“You were a good sport tonight,” I say.
“It was a hell of a night.”
