August

It's almost noon when I key into the penthouse, armed with nothing more than twenty-six ounces of black coffee. As I stroll through the rooms, I’m surprised. There's no one here. Not a single half-dressed woman to be found.

The apartment is nearly clean, with just a few wine glasses on the counter and a case of Beaujolais on the dining room table.

Just what the hell is going on here?

I find Kirkman on the second floor, in another control room. This one has the “motherboard” as they call it, a mixing board with literally thousands of knobs, dials, and sliders. It has to be fifteen feet wide.

Kirkman is perched on the edge of a designer Aeron chair, elbows on the ledge of the mixing board with his hands holding the headphones snugly against his ears. His head bobs in time to some music that I can't hear and every once in awhile his fingers reach out to some of the knobs and sliders, adjusting things slightly. Four huge Apple monitors are situated around him in an arc, each with a different chunk of what I presume is supposed to be music on them.

He doesn’t notice me for a few seconds so I just hang back, waiting for a break in whatever the hell it is that he's doing. When he reaches to the side for his coffee he sees me out of the corner of his eye and stops, clicking the spacebar on the keyboard and pulling the headphones off his ears.

“What's up?” he asks me, squinting and distracted.

“Um, nothing I guess. Just checking in,” I answer, taken slightly aback.

If I didn't know any better, I would say this looked like a professional musician sitting in front of me who is doing actual work, instead of some entitled douche nozzle trying to spend all his money in a hurry or go down in a blaze of fiery glory. The comparison between these two personalities is striking.

“Okay, cool,” he nods, turning back around. “Melanie talk to you?”

“No,” I reply, ready to just turn around and leave. “Did you think that she would? It looks like your issue with the ladies is settled, for lack of a better term.”

“Oh, yeah, she totally chewed my ass out,” he smirks. As soon as I see that familiar douchebag expression on his face I get the sudden urge to slap it off of him. “She was all, ‘remember Seattle?’ I figured you guys must have had a conversation or something.”

“Actually, I never got around to it,” I admit. “But it's not like you were being subtle, Kirk. She was gonna find out one way or another. She keeps a close eye on you.”

“Kirkman,” he corrects me again. “She was really pissed off. And apparently I'm supposed to be more considerate of her job or whatever. Which I guess means I am supposed to be more considerate of your job too, is that right?”

I spread my hands in front of me.

“Listen, man, I'm just trying to keep you safe for as long as you are here,” I explain. “I personally don't give a fuck what you do with your life. You can bang every piece of legal pussy from here to Seattle, for all I care. All I need to do is make sure they are on the up and up.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Glad to hear it. So, glad we got this worked out. I'll just be —”

My phone buzzes my pocket, then twice more. That feels like three alerts. Without even thinking about it, I pull the phone out, sliding into my messages to see what's what.

“You okay?”

I glance up, startled.

“Why would you ask me that?”

He smirks. “What are you doing there, old man?”

I tuck the phone back away, irritated. “I'll just be seeing you later.”

He leans back, crossing his heels on the other chair and folding his hands behind his head. “Yeah, you got something going on,” he croons. “Something good? Something for me?”

“Why would it be something for you, Kirkman? No. Not for you.”

He shrugs. “That's cool… from the look on your face, I thought maybe you had something special planned. My bad.”

“What look on my face?”

His smile widens. “Oh, you know… that look. You know what I’m talking about.”

I shrug.

“You just look like a man who’s getting some naughty texts, is all,” he explains. “Am I right? That's what's happening.”

“Well, if you're all set here, I want to take another sweep around the building and then get out of your hair.”

He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his shiny shirt and smirking.

“Who is she? Girlfriend?”

I shake my head.

“Not one of mine,” he sniffs. “Right? I snagged those girls here fair and square, August. You have to find your own.”

“Not one of yours,” I sigh.

The depths of this douche bag constantly take me by surprise. Every time I think he's out of options, he finds a new way to disgust me.

“What's her name? Jenny? Kathy?”

I don't answer, just squint at him, wondering where he's going with all this.

“Martha? You look like a Martha kind of guy. Betty? Esther?”

“I really don't know what you are talking about. I'll just be going —”

He stands suddenly. “No, I'm actually interested,” he insists. “I don't know anything about you, man. Least you can do is tell me her name.”

I shrug. “Actually… no idea.”

His eyebrows go up. I think he waxes them or something. They're very neat. Two pointy rows.

“You don’t know her name? How did this happen? You into some kind of freaky set up? You military types are pretty weird.”

“No, she just… didn’t tell me yet. She says we know each other,” I shrug, hearing how strange that sounds when I say it out loud. I glance at the face of my phone, wondering if I should investigate this further.

I definitely should.

“Oh, I get it,” he smiles, nodding knowingly. “You're baiting the trap. Smooth. I'm impressed.”

“Yeah, baiting the trap,” I agree, wondering what he's talking about. I hope he’s not talking from experience… but then, he probably is. He’s probably always trying to lure women into his ‘trap.’

“Nice,” he smirks. “Well, if you want my advice, you can't ever go wrong with the cum shot. Ladies love that shit. Just don't do it in the studio, man, that's gross.”

“Wow, Kirkman,” I cough. “You’re sending videos to these girls you’re picking up? Fantastic. I’m surprised that hasn’t gone viral yet. Melanie’s going to be so impressed.”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “No, man. You’re using Instagram, right? You don't have to worry about that.”

“I do have to worry about that. it's my job, remember?”

He raises his hands, smirking insufferably.

“No, old man… listen. If you're sending messages to some bird on Instagram, direct messages, I mean… those videos expire. They can watch him once, maybe twice and then they're gone. It's totally safe.”

I shake my head. This is news to me, but for some reason I don't want to admit that.

“Okay, I see you didn't know that,” he smiles. “It’s true. And the thing about the cum shot is true too. Girls love it. It talks to their primal energies, you know what I'm saying? Send it to her.”

I can't help but be intrigued, and I edge toward the door, acting like I'm ready to go.

“I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Why don’t you let me see what you’ve got going on there?” he suggests. “I can give you some pointers. I would love to see what somebody like you gets up to.”

I just glare at him.

“Yeah, okay, never mind,” he chuckles, sliding his hand through his spiky hairdo. “Well, let me know. Offer stands.”

I should leave, but I’m kind of curious. Obviously Kirkman has a lot of experience in this arena.. His suggestion seems vulgar, but he definitely has the numbers to back up what he’s saying.

“So… I just send her a video? Just out of the blue?”

He rolls his eyes dramatically.

“No, man… definitely don’t do that. You have to build up to it, just like in real life. You gotta build a whole story. Tell her what you want to do to her. Tell her how it's going to go… you know how it is. Give her some fairytale to latch onto, then boom… hit her with the money shot.”

“The money shot, right.”

He shrugs, dropping back into the chair and turning his body back to the mixing board.

"Yeah, man… one time I was chatting up this chick in Paris and I got her so turned on she actually flew to Iowa to catch me on tour. She was that ready for me. Tracked me down in my hotel room and everything.”

“You really don't understand the point of personal security, do you?” I say wryly.

He waves his hand in the air, brushing the thought out of the air.

“And you don't seem to understand the point of sexting, August.”

“Which is?”

“To stop sexting!”

I let my hands rise and then fall helplessly.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“To get the pussy in real life, August!” he explains, his words slow and enunciated like I'm an idiot. “The whole point of this exercise is to get a girl so wound up that she can't help but fall at your feet the next time she sees you. It's a means to an end.”

“Oh… yeah. I guess that does make sense,” I admit.

“Pussy is what makes the world go round, August,” he informs me as he fires up the sound board again. “You are overcomplicating things. Just get in, say what you gotta say to get her legs spread, chalk it up to a win.”

As soon as I see he’s got the headphones back on I back out of the room, closing the door behind me. Something about talking to that guy leaves me feeling oily.

But I have to admit, it makes it all a lot more clear. I hadn’t understood what the endgame was. Just saying dirty things on Instagram seemed sort of pointless, as well as creating needless security holes I hoped I wouldn’t have to fill. But if what he is saying is true, the videos are even more discreet than the texts.

And if the other things he is saying are true, then I need to think about my end game. Do I want to meet her in real life?