Page 9 of So Thirsty

“Is it plastic?”

She shrugs. “Might as well be.”

“How was your trip?” I ask her.

“The tour, or coming here?”

“Both.”

She takes another bite, then sets the apple down on the counter. “Good. Bad. Fun. Exhausting.”

“Band must be doing well, though.”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful. ‘Kitchen Floor’ pays the bills. But if I hear that song one more fucking time…”

She turns to me, puts a finger gun to her temple, and pulls the trigger.

“It’s still weird to hear Lee on the radio,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, sighing. “The song is so thoroughly mediocre. I can’t wrap my head around it. That’s their big hit? Depresses the shit out of me.”

Thoroughly mediocre is generous. “Have you had the talk yet? About them getting someone else?”

“Not yet. Mm. I gotta get that authentic fruit taste out of my mouth,” she says, pulling a handful of Dum-Dums from her coat pocket. She started with the lollipops to help her quit smoking. They were effective in that she doesn’t smoke anymore, but she’s been on a lollipop a day for about three years now. “Want one? Think I’ve got a cream soda.”

“My favorite!”

She hands me the cream soda–flavored one and selects a blue raspberry for herself.

I appreciate the treat but suspect it’s a means of deflection from talking about work. Naomi studied photography in college and had some success working in fashion after graduating. She started managing PR for Levi’s band as a side gig, to be supportive. But then Data Ave took off and took over both of their lives.

For the past year or so, she’s expressed to me some dissatisfaction in working with Data Ave. With Lee. She’s talked about wanting to get back to being an artist. When I asked her why she couldn’t do both, she lost it.

“Because it’s not fucking possible! It’s not a part-time thing, Sloane. It’s consuming. Twenty-four seven, for years now. How did I end up on my boyfriend’s payroll? How did I end up in this position? Where my life revolves around him?”

I didn’t know what to say, how to respond. I could sense in that moment that I was failing her, but I couldn’t figure out what to do about it. What the right advice was.

“I’m sorry,” I’d said, finally.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Never mind,” she’d said, changing the subject.

Like she does now.

“So, what do you want to get up to?” she asks me. “You look hot. We should go out. You want to go out?”

“Whatever you want,” I say, unwrapping my lollipop.

“Let’s go into town,” she says. “It’s so cute and quaint. We can walk around, get some dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds pretty PG.”

“Well, we’re doing a mountain of cocaine first,” she says. Joking, maybe. “Where’s the bathroom? I have to pee. Takes me, like, fifteen minutes to get in and out of this jumpsuit.”

“Just there.” I point, and she twirls away.

“Thanks, birthday girl!” she says. “Ah, damn. I forgot your crown.”

“No Ouija board, no crown. What’s even in that giant suitcase, then?”