there.”
“You were already kissing him?”
“Yes, we were kissing.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Maddie. You usually have your prospective partners' DNA analyzed first.”
“Well, maybe it doesn’t sound like me, but we were kissing and I was . . . it was great.” It sort of blew me away that Quinn wasn’t horrified about Nate and Sarah, but intrigued instead with my kissing Cullen. “Did you know about Nate?”
I heard her sigh. “Not exactly. But he’s always been a dog—and a doggy-dog, too.”
When I reflected on it, Quinn was right. Nate was a dog. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. I suppose I have an idealized view of what a marriage should be even if it’s none of my business. “That’s too bad,” I said. “But I guess if Sarah doesn’t care . . . does she really not care?”
“No . . . I mean, she says no, but how could she not care? Of course, I could be projecting—I’d mind. But maybe I’m just less evolved.”
“You know . . .” I began. “I have a theory about ugly guys. Not that Nate’s ugly. He has a certain geeky charm. But he’s not really good looking, so the theory still applies. I find that if guys are attractive and women look at them a lot, they have more confidence. If Nate were better looking, he wouldn’t need to try so hard to get attention, ya know? I mean, that’s my theory, anyway.”
As a mediator I try to understand the entire range and dimension of human behavior—mostly other peoples’, not my own—however odd or inexplicable it might be. But my job is to work out disputes—not to accept or justify the things people do that land them in the dispute in the first place; regardless of my acknowledgment that we’re all flawed and make mistakes that we know we shouldn’t, I’m still constantly astounded by the things we do.
“How was I supposed to know you’d run into Nate?” Quinn went on, still defensive. “I couldn’t tell you before. It was private. It’s still private. Don’t tell anyone I told you.”
“You knew. You and Lauren, which probably means everyone and I’m talking way beyond the Muffs.”
“Lauren is getting much better about keeping a secret.”
“Right.”
“Can’t you find this guy? What’s his name?”
“His name’s Cullen and he gave me his card but it’s just kind of weird how we met, you know, and to know in graphic detail what he could be doing right now with his Fleshlight.”
“His what ? Where’d you meet this guy?” She gasped. “Wait. You met him in—”
“I met him in Babeland. Well, not in Babeland—next door. But I saw him in Babeland and I know what he bought.”
“A Fleshlight ?”
“It's one of those metal-encased silicone cylinder things that guys put over their erect cocks.”
“Whoa. Watch out for guys you meet in sex shops, right?”
Quinn had gone all prim and proper on me. It was like all the sex talk was exotic and fun when it was over there , but when it was affecting her or someone she knew personally, she turned into a priss.
“You were the one who told me to go there in the first place and you were the one who told me I had to loosen up and now you’re telling me to watch out after failing to tell me something that might have made at least my evening turn out a little better.”
“ Sheesh , I'm teasing, OK? Maybe you should go unwind with your own new toy."
“I might,” I said, still annoyed with her. She didn't need to know that I'd brought myself to climax three or four times already today with that new toy.
“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t go home with Frank Lassiter—whose real name is Orin Footlick, by the way. He's very cute, but we barely got through dinner before he started quizzing me on which celebrities I represented who might have parts for him in their movies, and I had to remind him that I book commercials ."
"How'd that go over?"
"It didn't matter. He then tells me how he sees himself as a young William Shatner, only he's
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