To: P. Brassard
From: S. Daniels
Tuesday, June 2nd
Subject: Phone … toys.
Persy,
You don’t pay me enough to test your toys. And, YOU ARE KINKY. I listen to your shows every single week, and they don’t suggest that you only do it missionary style. Why are my calls going to voicemail? Call me, please.
Sheila.
P.S. Your parents are lovely, but I know they drive you crazy. I hope you survive the week.
To: S. Daniels
From: P. Brassard
Tuesday, June 2nd
Subject: Technical difficulties…
I lost my phone during the trip. More like I left it in Callie’s ex’s car, and she refuses to call him to get it back. She promised to buy me a new phone—any model I want. Something good might come out of this mess.
Now, let’s discuss missionary style. Every position is good, as long as you do it right, so don’t just disregard it and call it boring. About my life… I’m currently single and though I need to start dating, I am not just going to sleep with the first guy who swipes right. (I don’t want to use an app for this project.) Which is why I need you to test this toy.
I was thinking, and maybe this doesn’t make sense, but … what if I call my exes and try to date one of them? I just have to track them down and see who is available. Maybe they have changed—or I have changed.
The next year is going to be a nightmare!
Yours,
Persy out of love.
P.S. Staying at my parents’ is killing me. They have sex more than once every night, and they are pretty vocal about it. I’m dying slowly. At least they aren’t doing it all over the house while I’m staying with them. I hate summer break—they need a hobby. Someone has to tell them that sex is not a hobby and it won’t be me.
To: P. Brassard
From: S. Daniels
Friday, June 5th
Subject: When are you getting a new phone?
It’s been a week. You need a new phone. I received the executed contract, and I forwarded a copy to Nyx. Also, I have some new sponsors waiting for you to say, “Yes, I’ll shout out your products to the roof!”
There’s a lube company that wants to sponsor your podcast. I’m attaching the information. The guy says it’s edible, but the ingredients are hard to pronounce. You know my rules about food, if you can’t pronounce the ingredients, you shouldn’t be eating that crap.
Two boutiques want to dress you for this season’s shows, and your favorite shoemaker is already sending you pictures of their next line for you to choose whatever you want them to send you. I’m still working on a few more deals. I’ll let you know what I can negotiate for you.
How bad are your finances?
I’ll lend you the money for the fucking phone. You have a social media presence to keep up. Posting shit from your computer is getting old. #CountdownToDay1 is trending, but bringing your old pictures to make up for the fact that you don’t have your number one instrument for work is a big no.
If you need money, let me know, or I can try to get a cellphone company to donate one.
Love,
S
P.S. I mailed you some noise cancelling headphones. Just two more days of parental torture. You can always move into the apartment and sleep on the couch.
To: S. Daniels
From: P. Brassard
Monday, June 8th
Subject: New sponsorships
Ms. Daniels,
I’m impressed. Your hard work in the past few days shows that you are so right. You are the brains of this operation. I’ll leave you to make us more money while I work on… What is it that I do?
Oh right, Eros just told me that I mumble random shit during my podcast, post unflattering pictures of myself, and people drink my Kool-Aid. My brother is an asshole, but I love him.
Now, about the stupid phone. I have money for the artifact—I’m not out of college poor. I have enough to live on until the next royalty check arrives (which is at the end of this month). Refusing to buy the phone is a matter of principal. If I buy it, Callie won’t pay for it. She either confronts her ex-boyfriend, or she gets me a new one. Phone, not a man. (Though, I could use a guy, too).
I offered to call Jared—I think that’s his name. However, she refuses to give me his number. Maybe this breakup is hitting her harder than I thought. I’ll talk to Nyx about organizing a cheering up party.
Attached are all the signed contracts. Except, the lube one. I googled the ingredients, and I swear one of them is used in rat poison. Today, I’ll be working on the book. Also, don’t get me a new phone via sponsorship. That’s a big no. I refuse to say, “Thank you, Big Cellphone Company, for providing me with the best connection in the country.”
Love,
Persy
P.S. Thank you for the headphones. They aren’t noise cancelling, but I like the rose gold theme.
Six
Her
Monday, June 8th
Downtown Denver is a newer city compared to New York, Atlanta, or Chicago. Most of the buildings are from the 1900s or brand new, like the one I’m currently living in. The building is sleek and modern—a state-of-the-art living facility. It has restaurants, shops, and even a spa. The penthouse is beautiful. High ceilings, polished dark wood floors, and smooth dark furniture spread throughout the house.
Before I moved in, the décor was very masculine. Rich leather couches and expensive rugs—already claimed by Simon, my cat—were the theme of the place. Fortunately, I was able to bring my frames, throw blankets, and pillows. Now, the place looks homey and less sterile. Before, it reminded me of a corporate house or a lawyer’s office.
My favorite part of the penthouse are the balconies. There’s one upstairs outside the master bedroom and one on the main floor. Downstairs, you can appreciate the entire city. Upstairs, you can see the mountains. I’m looking forward to spending my evenings watching the sunset with a glass of wine. This weekend, Mom and my sisters are coming with me to the nursery. This place could use some plants.
Even though I favor takeout, I like to cook, and with this ultramodern kitchen, I’m going to have a blast. Maybe people will forget about my dating life while I bake up a storm every day. I could even use the polished black marble countertop for my social media pictures. This place is a dream, and even with all these amenities, I am not paying as much as I thought. There’s a hint of uneasiness in my stomach. You know, the usual this is too good to be true kind of deal. I shouldn’t care, really, but take it from me, life is never too easy.
As I adjust some of the throw pillows, I look toward the forbidden door. Sheila didn’t call it that, but in her instructions, it said to stay away from that side of the penthouse. There are two doors. One on each floor. Glancing one last time at the door, I walk toward the balcony, where I start setting up my electronics.
Thankfully, there are a couple of outdoor outlets right next to the patio table. I spot a grill on the left corner, along with a counter and a sink. This place is set up for entertaining, yet, I doubt anyone has lived here. Dad is going to love this space too. Maybe I can convince my parents to visit me for a change.
Once I plug in the outlet surge protector, I make sure my tablet and my laptop are charging and clap when everything is set.
“This is picture perfect.” I grab my camera and take a photo. Once I download it to my computer, I post it on my social media. #NewProject, #NewHome, #NewSeason, #LifewithPersy, and #HappyisU.
The whole ordeal takes me ten minutes. This can’t continue any longer. I really need a phone. I swear things never change with Callie. She’s hoping that I’ll just give in and buy it with my own money. Nyx warned me about it, but I want to trust my baby sister. I’m trying to be strong, but I can only be phoneless for so long.
“Forget about her,” I say out loud.
Simon comes over to me and purrs. For a guy who wasn’t sure about the new place and refused to leave h
is carrier for hours, he looks too happy.
I set up the recording application on my tablet. I search for the date applications I’ll be using for the next few months. One of them can be set up from my computer. I should start with that one. Loosening up my shoulders, I take a deep breath and start recording what will become part of my first draft.
Monday, June 9th, first recording. Setting the ambiance for my next adventure. No, this isn’t an adventure. Setting the tone for the next book. Should I start with an anecdote or the story of my life? Maybe an introduction.
Everyone has a story to tell, secrets to keep, and values to follow. I’m Persephone Brassard. You probably know me as Persy from the weekly podcast, Life with Persy. Personally, I have infinite stories to tell. My parents are archeologists. They dragged us children all over the world during their excavations. Needless to say, all four of us speak several languages, have eaten all kinds of delicacies, and even know our destiny—according to shamans, elders from remote tribes, and a tarot reader from New Orleans. Everyone has a different version about my future. One of them has to be right, right?
More about present-day Persy: I have values and base my life on them. They help me set boundaries with the rest of the world and keep my sanity in check. In fact, I have my own set of ten commandments:
1. Happiness is you
2. Be you
3. Believe in yourself
4. Always feel
5. My choice
6. Take charge
7. Think before you act
8. Give zero fucks
9. Be confident
10. Do something nice for yourself every day.
My favorite one is “give zero fucks.” If you follow me on social media, you must see a lot of #GiveZeroFucks #HappyisU #LifewithPersy. They are my way to live.
All those commandments do not line up with my current situation. I have the usual secrets. My brother, Eros, didn’t break the Christmas angel; it was my sister Nyx. I might’ve lost my virginity at seventeen while visiting my grandparents. I learned that you should never have sex for the first time with a stranger.
Picture this: you’re visiting your grandparents during Christmas, and there’s a big holiday party happening. Your friend’s cousin (Note: erase that because you don’t want Sheila to know about her slimy cousin). Do not disclose anything. What if Grandma picks up the book?
I grab my pen and tap the notebook, trying to think of another fun secret.
Sometimes, I post reviews of couples’ sex toys on my blog, pretending I’m the one who had all the hot sex. My married friends are the ones who have try them and give me the deets on how good, or how bad, those toys performed. [nope, erase that or you’ll get yourself in trouble]
My current status is single, and after my failed two-year relationship, I decided to veto all men from my life… Ugh, I can’t add that to the book, can I?
[Note to self: Don’t add that part either.]
Is there anything safe I can disclose? How about the weather is beautiful, and I am subleasing a gorgeous penthouse from a family friend and staring at a screen that’s asking me to create a profile, so I can date. That’s not a secret, and it’s your current status, which you can’t share online because your sister hasn’t bought you a replacement phone.
I’ll let you in on a little secret, I’m a dating app virgin.
How crazy is that?
At twenty-eight, I have never swiped left … or right? Newly single, ready to find a guy, and write a happy beginning, I sit on the balcony of my brand-new home. Second confession of the day, my oldest brother, Eros, is the one who recommended me the applications—because they work for him.
What am I using?
Hinge, which promises a second date unlike all the other apps. Tinder, because who doesn’t have that app. And Lowing, because I have to dive into the world of interesting people, exciting dates, and love that waits.
[Second note … or is it third? Ugh, who cares. Just make sure to create a blog post about writing a bio for a dating app. What makes the best bio to have guys swiping right? Maybe another, soon after, on how to avoid the wrong swiper.]
According to Eros, I don’t need more than one picture and my age. Nothing else. My brother is one of those guys who looks like a model from the cover of a magazine. Of course, every woman who sees his profile swipes right.
With my luck, I’d just conjure the undateable ones. [What is an undateable man? Research that before assuming or sounding like a petulant person. Really, I don’t even know who I want to date. The anti-Ian? Okay, post a poll on your social media group. That’s a great fan question.]
So, here I am, filling out my information. How does this sound?
You want a queen? Earn one.
You want a whore? Buy me a piña colada.
No, that might get a lot of Game of Thrones’ fans clicking or is it swiping … Ugh, I don’t even know if there’s only swiping on those apps. Back to GOT—don’t get me wrong, I liked the books, and I had a good time watching the show, but I’m not a super fan.
That ending … I’m still cringing. Also, I’m waiting for the last two books. Dad and I read the series long before the television show began to air. The show is over, and yet, there’re no books. I know that everyone is saying that book are never going to be published, but the fangirl inside me hopes that it’ll happen, and the end will be different from the show.
[Stop the nonsense and focus.]
Okay, I upload a candid selfie and my name. Then, my bio. How about…
Psychologist, influencer, sex therapist. I’ll probably get in your head, before giving you head.
What if I say, I’ll probably get in your head before you attempt to rip off my panties.
Now that’s sexy. Oooh, what if he pulls them down with his teeth, while his big calloused hands caress my legs. Okay, I’m officially horny for a man I haven’t met yet. Not to be shallow but [Note: make sure he has big, manly hands. Callouses a plus. Corded arms and a broad back. Focus Persy!]
Or
Loves outdoorsy stuff, owns a lot of sex toys :winks:. Join me in my sandbox.
[No. Ew … that reminds me of my parents.]
Yogi and former dancer, so I’m flexible.
Maybe that’s too forward, and they won’t take me seriously.
I turn off the recording and sigh.
“Why am I doing this to myself?” I ask, slamming my forehead against the glass table. Gently, so I don’t hurt myself or break it. “Wait, I think I have it.”
Instead of recording, I type on my computer. “Listen to this,” I tell Simon, who is somewhere around the place. “Alcohol lover. Pizza addict (only cheese). No hookups. Excellent trivia partner. Knows how to handle a Roomba. Likes random walks. Looking for someone who can make me laugh. Nap lover. Swipe right, only if you’re looking for a second date.”
“Yes, maybe I’m adding fake lines, but it’s harmless. I like to drink but I don’t love alcohol. Pizza is okay, but really not an addict… I’ve never played trivia with a partner,” I confess. “You can cut in at any point.”
Still, Simon doesn’t respond. Not even a meow. What kind of co-worker is he?
“If you’re expecting me to add you as part of my bio, you are wasting your time,” I explain. “I have to convince these guys that I’m a catch in less than four hundred words. Adding you won’t be appealing.”
They are going to think I’m the crazy cat lady, I don’t say out loud. The last thing I want to do is hurt Simon’s feelings. He’s a very sensitive guy.
“Well, then, what do you suggest?”
“That you keep your voice down and start working.” I jolt at the sound of a low, yet firm voice.
I turn toward my left, where the gravelly baritone voice came, and all the air inside my lungs is sucked away. Good God, who dropped this guy right next door? He is fucking gorgeous. He was chiseled with diamond by the hands of Zeus. Maybe he is Zeus—or Hades, I grin. He is hot as sin, and I wouldn’t mind
sinning with him.
High cheekbones, sharp jaw, dusted with facial hair, and his nose has a small hook on the tip that gives him character. I could say that, so far, my favorite part is the eyes. They are blue and have a teal tone. I want to stand up and study him closer because the sun and his dark eyebrows, almost as black as his hair, don’t allow me to see their exact shade.
Stop staring and say something, Persy, I try to make myself speak, but it’s hard. I’m still shocked by his sexy voice and his masculine beauty.
He is HOT!
“Who are you?” he asks, when I don’t respond. “Are you the cleaning lady? I don’t think the DuPonts pay you to fill out your dating profile. And that thing you said, “You want a queen, earn one…”
“I know it’s going to get me weirdos who live in their parents’ basement,” I finish his sentence. “Do you have any suggestions?”
This guy must be like Eros. They just get dates and don’t need to say more than “What’s up?” with a wink.
He glares at me and snaps, “Do you make it a habit to talk to yourself and answer a question with a question?”
Okay, so he’s a grump. What does he want me to say? I don’t know the DuPonts.
I’ll have to ask Sheila. For now, I have to establish some boundaries with this guy. Is he my neighbor? I hope so and really, I wouldn’t mind if he oversteps. With that body and those hands, we could turn on the heat and even combust the entire building.
No wait, this is serious. He can’t just interrupt me in the middle of the day while I’m working.
What if I was recording or doing a live video for my social media?
“What kind of person listens to a private conversation?” I give him that look my mother used with us when we were young and would eavesdrop while she was having an adult conversation.
His nostrils flare, as he studies the area, and then focuses back at me. “Lady, there’s no one around here.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I flap my hands in desperation.
Why do I even bother to explain anything to him? Who is he anyway?
Wrong Text, Right Love Page 4