attributed it to her WASP upbringing. Sheâd never seen her parents so much as hold hands, and when she was small and her mother decided to have the big Sex Talk with her, her mother couldnât even use the word vagina . She referred to it as âyour flower,â then made a disgusted face before handing her a book about reproduction and fleeing. Later that day, Monica had confusedly peered between her legs, expecting to see a daisy or a rose growing there. The thought was extremely alarming. At any rate, sheâd been left with the vague impression there was something dirty about sex, an impression sheâd never really managed to shake, which sometimes impaired her pleasure. Except in her dreams.
Monica pinched some color back into her face and squared her shoulders. She would say her good-byes, apologize to Eric Mitchell, and call it a night. No more bathroom stalls for her tonight. Sheâd pee when she got home.
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How do you confess to someone that youâve used them? Is it right to do it in the back of a limo idling outside your apartment building? Do you call them the next day to avoid doing it face-to-face and endure being called every nasty name under the sun, all of which you deserved? Neither option seemed palatable to Monica, which left inviting Eric up to her apartment for a coffee, and facing the drubbing she had coming to her.
âWould you like to come in for a niâcoffee?â Shit, sheâd almost said nightcap . Did people even say nightcap anymore? They did on W and F , which is why she almost slipped. Characters were always inviting each other in for nightcaps, where one of them would pour brandy from a cut crystal decanter sitting on a brass drink trolley. Monica had never met anyone in her life that had a drink trolley. She needed to talk to the exec producer about this. It was one of the anachronisms that helped make daytime a butt of jokes.
Ericâs eyes flickered with intrigue as he accepted her offer. Maybe this was a mistake. She still had her mace with her in case Mr. Hyde reemerged.
âDid you have a good time?â she asked Eric in the elevator as it rose twenty-seven stories up into the sky.
âIt was weird,â said Eric, loosening his bow tie.
âBecause Chim Chim couldnât sign his name the way you expected?â
Eric ignored the barb. âBecause youâre all so phony with each other.â
Monica blinked. âExcuse me?â
âAll that air kissing and âDarling, you look stunning,â and âIsnât so-and-so wonderful,â and âYes, we must to get together. âAnd then the minute someone turns their back, youâre all whispering about how their ass looks enormous and did he have work done and whom did she blow to get that movie part. Itâs kind of sickening.â
âAs sickening as you crawling up the ass of everyone at the table, telling them how much you love their characters?â Monica snapped.
âI do!â
âYou were being just as disingenuous as anyone else. I heard you tell Gloria she didnât look a day over fifty.â
âI was trying to be nice! I was trying to be a good date!â
Monica gritted her teeth. âEscort.â
âYou said date when you introduced me,â Eric maintained stubbornly.
The elevator doors slid open. âIf Iâd said escort , it would have sounded like I was paying you.â
Eric touched her cheek. âI can think of ways for you to pay me.â
Monica jerked away from him. âJesus,â she hissed, storming to her apartment and throwing open the door. Bad idea, having him up here. Bad, bad idea. Christ, she wished she did have a drink trolley. Sheâd drink the brandy straight out of the decanter.
Eric followed, closing the door behind him. âI was just trying to be a good date,â he repeated. He regarded her coolly. âYouâre not the only one who can act, you