The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,59
it’s just a side hustle. Clearly the girl wants more than she has. That, and she’s cool as hell, so I want to give her a little behind the scenes glimpse into what I do.
She meets me near Central Park, looking fabulous. And she brought coffee! Love her even more now.
“I didn’t recognize you without a name tag.”
“It’s weird, I know. My corporate overlords have given me my freedom today. Not that they didn’t work me half to death this weekend.”
“Busy?” I ask.
“Insane in the membrane. People get nasty when you don’t say their names correctly. One lady yelled at me ‘cause I pronounced her name the way it’s spelled.”
“Wait, what?”
“Like, don’t yell at me—a lowly barista—because you decided to have some pretentious pronunciation of your otherwise totally normal name.”
I snicker at the thought of some caffeine deprived monster screaming at a downtown Starbucks. It’s sad and kind of funny at the same time. “Okay, you got me, what was her name?”
“Queen Elizabeth the Cunt, first of her name.”
“Okay, that seems basic enough. What happened, you call her ‘Liz’ or something?”
“Not even. I called her by her name.”
“So?”
“So, apparently Elizabeth is not Elizabeth. It’s E-LIE-za-Beth—long E.”
“Oh, God. And she made an issue of that?”
“Called for a manager and everything. Said how dare we hire someone as rude as me.”
“Are you serious? People can be such shits. Hope you didn’t get in trouble.”
“Nah. Lucky for me my manager saw that the lady was off her rocker. We get that a lot. It is Manhattan after all.”
“The land of the crazies.”
“I’m getting sick of dealing with it. You know I did the math the other day and realized that I’ve been there for 2 years? Not only is that depressing, it’s about 1 year and 11 months too long.”
“Well stick with me, maybe you’ll be inspired.”
“Thanks again for thinking of me. I’ll do my best today, I promise.”
She’s so sweet, but I want her to de-stress, she looks tense. “You’ll be fine, it’s basically just pointing and hitting record—you got this. The cameras today do most of the work, then it’s just a matter of sitting on my couch and editing.”
She perks up when I talk about what I do. “Ohhh, I’d love to learn how to do all that—I think the whole world of making vlogs is really interesting.”
I smell an opportunity. “What are you doing later?”
“Nothing except finishing a blog I want to put out by Friday, why?”
“Good,” I say, smiling. “Then the answer to my question is that you’re learning how to edit videos.”
“Really?”
“Scouts honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. That’s a really depressing expression, isn’t it?”
I don’t expect it but she wraps her arms around me so tight that I almost spill my coffee all over my brand-new shoes. “Thank you so much, Shoshana! You’re the best.”
I hug her back. “I’m alright. Now let’s finish our legal drugs and get to asking women about their sex lives.”
“Huh?” she asks.
I get the big-eyed reaction I was going for. “It just so happens I texted you to help on a special once a month vlog I do—it’s The Boyfriend Designer, Sexy Edition.”
“And what does that mean? We grab random women and start asking them, like, how many times a week they do it?”
“Not exactly, although I’m not above asking that at all. How many times a week do you do it?”
I’m trying to freak her out but she has some kind of Shosh kryptonite or something that stops my powers of shock from working on her.
“Does my vibrator count? ‘Cause if it does, then I’m pulling down some serious numbers. But if we’re talking actual men here, that’s going to be exactly zero times per week.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot that you’re still dating-dating.”
“Haven’t had a boyfriend in. . . let me see. . . like a real boyfriend. . . probably a year and a half.”
“You’ve been penis-free for a year and a half?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Her grin is devious and a little embarrassed at the same time. I like it.
“Oh, excuse me, look at you all casual penis-getting. My mistake. Get yours Sabina!”
“Don’t get me wrong, there’ve been a few random guys here and there—the ones who don’t take me on dates like the one I told you about.”
“You mean the ones who knock you to the floor of a crowded restaurant and then stiff you with the bill? No panty dropping for them?”
“Uh, nope. I’m snobby like that. There have been a few guys