orange chair.
“What occurred to you?” asked Max, his expression neutral. “That I’m paying you two hundred bucks to give you head? Doesn’t seem fair, does it.” He snapped his gum like a surly teenager.
“No.” Crane flipped to the first blank page he found and penciled in the date. The only way he could keep himself from panicking about the tangled, depraved quagmire his life was turning into was by holding onto the fiction that Max was his patient and he was committed to helping him. Pretend everything was normal and aboveboard. Otherwise—Crane felt his heart kick at his chest for a few beats, anxiety like a fist around his windpipe… And then it receded and he felt normal again. As normal as anyone could be after putting himself in the hands of someone like Max. He cleared his throat. “So… Do you remember when we talked about whether childhood trauma could have been responsible for your lack of empathy?”
“Yeah. And I said there was none.”
“I was thinking about your mother. About how she, ah…” Crane made a vague gesture, suddenly embarrassed. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of the wet white streaks on the black tarp.
“How she what?”
“How she was a professional… ah, you know…”
“Gosh, you’re cute. C’mon, spit it out: porn star,” Max prompted him.
“About how she was a porn star,” Crane said in a faint voice. “And how that might have affected you in a negative way, growing up.”
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?” Max sat forward, his smile wide. He’d gone for a haircut that week. The sides and the back were cropped close, and the top was a mess of clean soft-looking brown curls. Paired with the short dark stubble on his jaw, it was a handsome look. Max was handsome. Even before Max had touched him in a sexual way, he’d found him attractive, which was strange for him.
Do I think he’s even more handsome now because he’s been sucking my dick?
“Yes, I’m serious, Max. I can’t imagine what it must have been like in school—”
“All right. I’m going to stop you right there.” Max’s smile faded, and a wrinkle appeared between his brows. “One: I didn’t know what my mother did for a living until my first year of high school. I knew she was an actress, but not what kind of actress, so that couldn’t have ‘scarred’ me the way you’re implying. Two: Do you really, I mean really think that I gave a single shit about what anyone said about me in school? If you do, you’re a fucking idiot. Three: There is absolutely nothing wrong with doing porn for a living. My mother happens to enjoy sex. All sorts of sex. And she’s open about it.”
“But… seeing that sort of—”
“You’re honestly going to equate having been raised in a sex-positive environment with suffering trauma? Where did you get your license to practice, you uptight, puritanical…” Max rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes dark with anger.
Crane had never seen Max get so worked up before. He tightened his grip on the pencil, his only weapon should Max lash out at him, and felt sweat bead on his upper lip. Diligently keeping his expression professional, he used a calm voice and chose his words carefully.
“I didn’t think before I spoke, Max. This is not an area I’m very… comfortable with. I don’t have the same experience… in these matters. What does Eddie feel about—”
“Leave Eddie out of this.” The words were snarled, startling Crane, but Max only turned to stare out the window for a moment, his gaze distant.
“Listen… There is nothing shameful about fucking, Doc,” said Max, the anger fading from his voice. He looked at Crane. “There’s nothing dirty or wrong about figuring out what makes you feel good, and I pity you for thinking that way.”
Crane grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your sorrys, Doc. I need you not to hold me, or my mother, to your fucked up standards.”
“I’ll try not to.” And, to remind himself, he wrote the words sex-positive in block letters in the margin of the notebook. “You’re very fond of your mother?”
“She’s fine. She’s a decent person, not very good with money, and sometimes gets depressed, but she’s fine.”
“Do you think you would feel sad if she died?” Crane asked, cautiously curious.
“Doubtful,” replied Max, sitting back in his seat. He shrugged. “Probably not.”
“And she knows things about you?”
Max tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… She obviously knows you’re gay.” Mrs. Ouimet hadn’t