Page 3 of Wells

Ultimately, though, I know this isn't realistic for me. The internet lives forever. Nothing is ever scrubbed.

"That's not an option for me, Locke. I can't show my face," I say, and I am startled to hear that it's still not a no.

"I am still applying for real jobs. Corporate, background-checked, business-casual jobs. I can't be someone who wants to be taken seriously at a firm by day and be attached to an online sexually-objectified side hustle that will live forever."

"So don't show your face. And duh, we don't use your real name or IP address."

"Showing your face is the entire deal. I doubt someone will pay to look at my feet.”

“Actually, that is a thing.”

“Huh?”

“Feet. Never mind.” He sits up, and his eyes light from the inside the way they do when an idea has him. "Half the appeal is mystery. Give them a fantasy they have to finish themselves."

He is already reaching for his phone. "You don't need your face. You need a face."

Before I can stop him, Locke pulls up Amazon and starts adding things to his cart with the focus of a man planning a heist. He's moving so fast I can barely keep up.

He adds a masquerade mask first, black lace over a hard shell, a scatter of tiny rhinestones around each eye, and silk flowers running down the side. It's the kind of mask I've seen a hundred times around New Orleans during Mardi Gras.

"Absolutely not," I say.

"Absolutely yes. She isn't you. That's the whole point. Just wait. I'm building her."

He keeps scrolling. Next comes a platinum wig, short, with a blunt fringe, nothing like my own long, dark hair and nothing I would choose in a hundred years. Then a tube of red lipstick lands in the cart, because he knows I don't own lipstick and never have. I’ve been a Chapstick loyalist since birth.

"I know you don't normally wear make-up, but do you have any at all? Like the basics? If not, we need some liquid liner and a smoky shadow."

"How do you know more about make-up than I do? No, I don't have liquid liner and a smoky shadow, whatever the hell that is."

"Darlin', I've helped enough of my friends with drag shows that I could make anyone look like Tammy Faye Bakker."

"I'm not doing all of that, Locke. Stop it."

"Let's order it, and then we can decide. Mmm-k?"

I shake my head but stop protesting. He's on a mission, and there's no convincing him otherwise. Let him think he's solving a problem by making me his next drag persona.

"Cover the perfect little beauty mark above your lip," he says, nodding at my upper lip. "It's cute, it's distinctive, and distinctive is the one thing you do not want to be." He adds a tube of concealer, powder, then a set of "Deep-As-The-Ocean Aqua" colored contacts.

"Colored contacts, Locke? Really?"

"We're going all in, girl. Hold on for the ride."

He taps to place the order before I realize what he's doing. Thank goodness he is a Prime member and can return it all when he comes to his senses.

"Two-day shipping," he says, and kisses my cheek, and tells me he loves me. Just like that, he has planned an entire alter ego and what he thinks is a realistic plan for me in my dire straits. It isn't, but I'm done telling that to deaf ears.

He pulls up OnlyFans and tells me we can sign up together. He gets as far as naming her Masked_Maiden and spinning up a fresh Gmail to match, [email protected]. That's when I deliver the hard stop. He can have his fun dreaming and scheming and ordering an entire costume. But he is not creating an account for me, VPN or no VPN.

He reluctantly puts his phone down, but I notice he didn't close the tab.

After we finally move on to his upcoming trip next month to India for three weeks, and finish the entire bottle of wine, we both call it a night. Once he leaves me alone in an apartment that is too quiet, I realize his pushiness is exactly what I need right now.

And I seriously consider a Murphy bed in his apartment. Just not an OnlyFans account.

The Amazon box has been sitting on my counter for three days.