Page 9 of Pierced

“No, that’s ‘genuflect.’ Which is what you expect people to do to you, your highness.”

“I do not.”

“Bro… there’s a throne in your office. Literally, it means to lay yourself flat. To completely abdicate the pretense of power and give over to another. I’ve done it. With Eden.”

“I’ll bet you have. Sicko.”

He doesn’t laugh at my joke. Fuck him. I know it was funny.

He goes on, “When I realized that I had been unfair to her. When I held her responsible for my feelings. I had to earn her trust somehow. Had to. So I just admitted my failings and basically threw myself at her mercy. And, finally, she forgave me. Because she could see I was cowed.”

He lets that hang in the air. Then follows up with…

“And you know who told me to do that?”

“… Myrtle?”

“Myrtle? Dude, I’m terrified of Myrtle. I wouldn’t be in a room with her alone long enough for her to give me directions, much less life advice. No, man. It was you.”

I am rarely speechless. I am now. I work out one word. “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean not in so many words, but that was what you encouraged me to do. Just to be… repentant. And I was. And it worked. Whatever. I know you’re not in a thing with Myrtle exactly, not like I was with the Lady Presley, but she clearly means something to you, so you just have to decide how much that something is.”

I take a moment to digest this. I just came down to blow off some steam. I wasn’t ready for my man to go full-on Dr. Phil on me.

“But,” I say, haltingly, “I’m not you. And Myrtle isn’t Eden.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he says—kinda harshly, if I’m being honest. Then he catches himself. “No, I know. But, still, people are people, and if you want to move past whatever this is to… whatever you want it to be… you gotta do something, mon frère.”

It’s so cute when Andrew speaks French.

My eyes dart around the room, taking everything in. To what end, I have no idea, but I think I’m looking for something that’s actually inside my brain.

“OK. Thanks. I gotta go.” I start to leave.

“I’m serious, man. Submit. Go to Paris. Stop lying to Myrtle about the magazine to… whatever you’re trying to do. Honestly, that part confuses the shit out of me, but you do you.”

I nod. Not in acknowledgement. I actually have no idea what he just said. I wasn’t listening. But I do it as a reflex, and my hand is on the door to leave when Andrew’s developer kid—um, Declan, I think… no. That’s Scottish. The kid is Indian. Nepalese? No, I think for sure Indian.

Anyway, he walks in. “What’s up, Pierce?” the kid says.

“Hey… man,” I say.

“You dunno my name, do you?” he asks.

“I—” I don’t even feel like trying right now. “Declan?”

“Seriously? It’s Dev.”

“Ah! Yes! I knew it started with a ‘D.’”

The kid rolls his eyes. He’s precocious.

I’m just about out the door when, for some reason, I turn to ask, “Hey, Dev?” He turns to me. “Do you know Andrew’s middle name?”

“Cransfandimmelberg,” he says. “Isn’t it, Andrew?”

It takes me a moment before… “You guys working on a new eavesdropping app?”