Page 14 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Favorite song?” she asks.

“‘Lucky Man’ by The Verve. It’s the one song I go back to over and over.”

“I’ll have to listen to it. Why that song?”

“I really like it on its own merits, but a group of us were hanging out drinking at a bar, and asking weird questions, you know, killing time. ‘What one food would you want on a deserted island’ stuff. The question that night was ‘What song best summarizes your life?’ and Julian says his is ‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together’ by Taylor Swift, and everybody is howling because he had an epically bad breakup. Then my other buddy chimes in and says his life is best summed up by ‘I Need a Lover That Won’t Drive Me Crazy’ by John Mellencamp, which is also hilarious because his girlfriend is, uh, problematic.”

“So ‘Lucky Man’ best summarizes your life?”

“‘Lucky Man’ is the song I want to summarize my life. One day, sitting in a rocking chair and reflecting on my life, I want to know I’m a lucky man. The song reminds me to work for my luck, to value every day. You build and earn that life day after day, year by year. ‘Lucky Man’ is a reminder of what I want in my life, what I’m aiming for.”

“Are you a lucky man, Henry?”

“I feel like one right now.” Ugh. Worse than a cheap pickup line at closing time. I sit in silence, not knowing how to recover from the beyond-cheesy comment, when she graciously saves me.

“Hmmm. ‘Lucky Man,’ huh? I don’t know The Verve.”

“I bet you do. ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ is their most popular song.” I blurt, “Bono once said it’s one of seven songs he wishes he had written. ‘Lucky Man,’ I mean, not ‘Bittersweet Symphony,’ which was partly written by the Rolling Stones.” Stop talking, Henry. You sound like a nerd with an annual pass to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Oh, wait.

“I’ll check it out and let you know if you and Bono are right about this song.” She sounds interested, but that’s her job, isn’t it?

“What song best summarizes your life?” I ask. It’s a great question, and the answer is usually intriguing.

“That’s a serious query about who I am as a person and will require me giving it the time it deserves. It’s kind of a mission statement for life, isn’t it?”

It took me weeks to come up with my song, so I’ll have to manifest some patience. “I’ll accept that answer, for now. In the meantime, I’d like to request that you tell me a secret.” I have this inner battle going where I try not to call, but then I wonder why I waited so long. Our secrets aren’t particularly interesting—my first kiss when I was seven and an older woman of eight took advantage of me, Kait’s addiction to Kraft Mac & Cheese with two cheese packets to one box of noodles. It’s shorthand for “share you with me.” I love it.

The little stories of her life, filling in the fine details on the faceless image of Kait, are delightful. She seems equally entertained hearing my tiny, not-so-secret secrets too.

“You want top secret stuff, Henry?” Is that amusement I detect?

“I’ll take whatever you are willing to divulge, Kait.” Sweet Kait, I want to know you better.

“I don’t have many big secrets. I can’t be bothered to lie about who I am.” After a thoughtful pause, she says, “Okay, here’s one. I’ve really, really been craving having someone to sleep next to, wrapped up in, while simultaneously dreading having someone’s skin stuck to me.”

I laugh out loud. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to laugh at your secret, but that was funny.”

“I don’t recall there being any rules established, and if it matters, I prefer that you’re candid. Besides, it was amusing. I’m f’ing delightful, Henry. You should know this by now.”

It’s these impish, silly moments that make me want to talk to her every day.

“Henry, I propose a truth pact. When we talk, we’re in the cave of confidence. A cone of candor. We tell the truth when we talk, always.”

“I can live with that.” I say it without a second thought, which should’ve been my first clue that it was a terrible idea, but it isn’t like we’re going to talk about anything serious. This is fun and games, not real life and deep truths.

“Truth, Henry, even if it isn’t pretty or kind. I’ll do the same within the limitations of my job, and I will make it clear when I can’t and tell you to go fish. Deal?”

I pause. Maybe there should be a second thought. I’m a lawyer—I don’t make deals without looking at everything from every conceivable angle, but how can honesty be a bad thing? It’s fine.

“I’m in. When we talk, I’ll be all things honest.” What’s the worst that could happen? It’s totally fine.

“Me too. Okay, Henry with the sexy voice, your turn. Tell me a secret.”

“Well, I have this weird thing. Synesthesia. It’s like my life is a movie, and there’s always a soundtrack playing in my brain. I can also tell you what my brain would choose for any situation.” I slip under the covers, fluffing my pillow and settling in. “Sometimes colors and scents have songs, and it can get weird when I have to think about why my brain picked that one.”

“You mean that as you go through the day, you hear music playing in your head?”

“Yes, like right now, my brain is playing ‘Sleep Like a Baby Tonight’ by U2, but the music I have playing is ‘With or Without You.’ The song isn’t always logical, and the song might not make sense to anyone else.”