SHAY: Yes, sorry.
JAMIE: For listeners, Shay got a job as a hostess at the Red Lodge—what, senior year? Used to be the fanciest restaurant in Heller…which, truthfully, isn’t saying much.
SHAY: When you interview me, are you imagining other people listening?
JAMIE: Of course. That’s what you want, right?
SHAY: Right, it’s just…sometimes I forget it’s not just you and me.
（Silence.）
The Red Lodge was mostly men, except for us hostesses, me and another girl whose name I can’t remember, though I do remember she was homeschooled. It was always a party. The waiters especially. Most of them were community college guys, and they flirted like crazy. One night, they said they were having a party at Zane’s after closing. He was the night manager. He was young—twenty-four or something—so even though he was our boss and engaged, he’d still party.
I got this wild hair I would go, even though they’d always intimidated me. I even convinced the other hostess to come, and she wasn’t allowed to go to parties.
Zane had this dumpy house. I don’t know why I thought he’d be rich since he was the manager. Naive. But he brought a bunch of bottles home from the restaurant, which was what he was good for, and soon we were all drunk, even the homeschooled girl. Actually, especially the homeschooled girl. Her mom had to pick her up an hour in, which was embarrassing.
JAMIE: And you were alone with the guys?
SHAY: I know what you’re thinking, but it was the opposite. They hung on every word. If I ran out of my drink, they’d fetch another. If I asked them a question, no matter how embarrassing, they’d answer it. They fought over who could sit closest to me. It was heady. Actually, out of everything, I think I got drunkest on that.
JAMIE: What?
SHAY: The power.
（Throat clearing.）
There was one cute waiter. They called him Dizzy for some reason. At one point in the night, I looked across the room and realized I wanted to own him.
JAMIE: Excuse me?
SHAY: I don’t know how else to describe it. A conquering impulse. I wanted to hold him in the palm of my hand. Men had been staring at me since I was twelve. Now I was seventeen, and suddenly the attention felt like it was a superpower. I wanted to know how far I could take it.
I found Dizzy alone in the kitchen and gave him this look. I swear he gulped. Then I kissed him.
JAMIE: Was that your first kiss?
SHAY: It was, but I didn’t stumble. I was a natural. I knew exactly what to do with my mouth and my hands. I took him to the guest bedroom in Zane’s house, and we stayed there all night. My mom either didn’t notice or assumed I was at your place.
JAMIE: Did you…you know.
SHAY: We’re adults, Jamie. You can ask me.
JAMIE: I just realized I feel like I’m talking to a seventeen-year-old girl.
SHAY: No. I didn’t have sex with him. I tortured him.
JAMIE: Torture?
SHAY: I don’t know what came over me. I was so dead-set on proving something. I would kiss him, roll my hips. Then I’d stop and tell him to tell me I was beautiful. When he did, I kissed him again and upped the ante, told him to say I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He said it, no hesitation. I kept going like that… My memory’s fuzzy, but it was probably hours. Every time I asked him to give me a little more, and when he did, I rewarded him. There was only one thing left to ask, and it was crazy, but I had to see how far I could go.
I rolled over so I was on top of him. He tried to kiss me, but I stopped him, and said, “You’re in love with me.”