Page 60 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Us?”

“Yeah.” She nods enthusiastically. “To celebrate us meeting, the fact that I’ll get to turn my column around, that you’ll have a date to the wedding…that we just made Dani shit her panties.” She laughs. “I’d say it’s a pretty good partnership, right?”

I’m suddenly feeling at ease. This past week has been great, and Lucy’s right. Thereisa lot to celebrate.

“I’d say it is too.” I lift my shot glass and clink it against hers. I don’t ask what the shot is. I just let the warm liquid soothe my throat. Lucy does the same thing and scrunches her face as she lets it pass through her. “So, what’s going to happen after you write these stories?” I ask, further trying to understand what’s at stake.

“A promotion,” she responds, playing with her empty shot glass. “I don’t want to be seen as a number who can spit out snappy headlines. I want creative control of my bylines.”

“You want to feel like you can grow with your stories,” I say.

“Exactly.” Lucy looks at me. “I want my stories to say something…and what kind of message am I sending if after years of being single, I’m only happy now that I have a boyfriend?”

“I think you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself, Lucy,” I say, frowning. “These stories aren’t going to change the trajectory of someone’s personal life.”

“But I should write like they are,” she says, and it shuts me up. “It’s easier for you to say because you’re not putting yourself into your stories, Marsh. Not that what you write isn’t important, it’ssoimportant. But your stories are facts, mine are opinions. That really matters to some people.”

My mind stews on this. I want my stories to matter to people. But the idea of sharing whatIreally think makes me nervous.

The DJ starts mixing a mash-up that causes Lucy to jump up in her seat and exclaim, “Oh shit, I love this song.” She subtly starts moving her body to the music. “Anyway, all that to say…this arrangement isn’tjustfor the stories next month. It will hopefully lead to something more. So, thank you.”

I then decide to ask a question that’s been in the back of my mind for the past few days. “Why didn’t you write the stories from memory?”

“Memory of what?” She takes a sip of her martini.

“Memory of your last relationship.”

“Oh.” Lucy lets out a laugh. “That was so long ago.”

To my surprise, I want to understand the details about Lucy’s life. Her dating history, what shows she watches when she’s home alone, who her best friend in sixth grade was. Pretty mucheverything that’s happened to her that has led to this exact moment being here with me.

“How long ago?” I ask.

“Uh.” Lucy takes another sip of her drink and shuts an eye like she’s thinking. “A few years ago?”

My instinct tells me that Lucy isn’t being entirely honest, but I take a sip of my beer and leave it at that. The crowd on the dance floor is starting to get increasingly rowdy. The music is the loudest it’s been since we arrived. People are moving, kissing, drinking. We’ve reached the point of the night where it feels like we really are at a club in the middle of Los Angeles.

“You look really hot tonight,” Lucy breathes out like she’s admitting she did something bad.

I turn my head to look at her and she’s taking another sip of her drink. What this tells me is that two drinks and one shot into the night, Lucy isverymuch a lightweight.

“Oh,” I say. “Thank you.”

“It’s hotter that you’re not even aware of it,” she says matter-of-factly. Lucy calling me hot is the last thing I need. “Now this is the part where you say,Oh, thanks, Lucy. You’re pretty hot too.”

I lied. Lucy telling me to tell her she’s hot is the last thing I need.

“Lucy…” I choke out a laugh.

“Wait,” she says, a serious look on her face. Like she doesn’t even remember what she said two seconds prior. “What’s your type?”

This conversation is bordering on dangerous territory. I am not going to encourage it.

“I don’t have a type,” I say.

“Everyone has a type.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if it’s not physically. There’s something that you’re drawn to in every partner that you have.”

I start to think. Before Julia, my relationships weren’t that serious. I wouldn’t count the women I’ve been with since her as relationships either. “I really don’t know. What’syourtype?”