A Lady's Guide to Selling Out by Sally Franson

Author:Sally Franson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2018-04-09T16:00:00+00:00

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“I dunno, I feel icky about it,” I said to Ben later that night. I was filling him in on the most recent developments of my moral dilemma over FaceTime. There was a lot you could do with another person over long distance, thanks to technology. I was lying on my side on the hotel bed in my underwear, looking at my phone, which I’d propped up on the pillow next to mine. Ben’s face filled the screen, save for the corner where I could see myself. Often, instead of looking at him, I’d find myself worrying about the hotel room’s lighting and criticizing my own features.

Ben grimaced. “Yeah, that’s tough. Most writers are pretty clueless. I can’t think of a single one of my writer friends who could even tell you what the price of milk is.”

I stiffened a little, though I was still draped in a self-consciously artful repose. “Do you think we’re taking advantage of her?”

“I don’t know.” Ben scratched his head. His unruly hair was sticking up everywhere. Seeing him rumpled like that turned me on terrifically. “Maybe if she’s that fragile?”

“It felt like I was bringing a lamb to slaughter.”

“But if she’s willing to slaughter herself so the pit bulls can be redeemed—”

“Ugghhhh, God, that’s terrible!” I flopped on my back. I was tired of having a moral dilemma. It was the first one I’d ever contracted, and I could see why people avoided them. They didn’t make you happy. They weren’t fun.

“We should keep talking about it. It’s interesting.”

I turned over on my side again and propped my head up with a bent pillow. “Is there something wrong with you? Some genetic defect you have that makes you a good listener but is also going to give you, like, liver disease?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve never met a dude who’s not just waiting for his turn to talk about himself?”

Ben didn’t laugh like I thought he was going to. In fact, he looked a little dismayed. But this was one of my favorite subjects, so I kept going. “Even the guy sitting next to me on the plane, oh my God, wouldn’t stop going on about his trail races and how many miles he earns from work travel. It’s like, you idiot, don’t you see I’m reading Us Weekly and I do not care?”

Ben frowned. “Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to.”

“We all want someone to talk to,” I interrupted. “Men just think they have the right to that whenever they want.”

He made a whuffing sound. He cast his eyes down toward his lap.

“I mean, not you,” I added. I concluded, “But most of you. Anyway, we can talk about something else. How was your day? How’s your mom doing?”

Ben talked about his mother rarely. Though he was open about most things—his work, friendships, even past relationships—something in his eyes flinched every time I brought her up. I don’t think he believed that I could understand. When we’re

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