Pris picked up the first round. I stared into the fizzing abyss of a double Jack and Coke and figured fuck it.

Thirteen days was a decent streak. I could find another piece of string in London. I just needed a day or two to decompress, sleep late and jerk off in private. Figure out my next move and maybe check in with Margaret. Then I could start tying fresh knots. Re-establish my commitment to a healthy new Now.

Bourbon's magic spell went to work and my wickered ribs relaxed. I governed my intake to slow down and keep up with Pris, sipping a G and T through a hummingbird straw, talking endless trash about Sally.

"I reckon," Pris said, "Sally's one-a them grief-seekin' Munchausen mums. The sorta cow oo posts a photo of 'er own kid cryin' on his birthday 'cause nobody came to the little weirdo's party, yeah? I say it's sick. S'like callin' a press conference and pushin' yer child down a flighta stairs, just ta demonstrate how much it hurtcha when the brat fell down a flighta-fackin' stairs."

One of Pris' subscribers recognized her.  He discreetly paid the bartender to set us up again. She insisted on thanking the dude at his table and obliged him with some selfies, grinning and gracious.  You could see it in his eyes.  The guy would have moonwalked off a cliff for her.

I had to know how Pris became OnlyFans' "naughtiest nan".

"Men like him," she said, stirring a fresh G and T, "are the reason my Dennis was able to die comfortably at home. I owe them everything."

Pris worked for decades as an early childhood educator. Her husband was a career police sergeant.  Four years from retirement he was diagnosed with Parkinson's and screwed out of his full pension. 

Pris considered posing for topless photographs to raise some money, remodel the house and keep Dennis out of a nursing facility.

"I planned on somethin' cheeky, like those charity calendars fulla farmers' wives wearin' nothin' but gumboots," she said. "I was aimin' for a few grand, just enough to widen some doorways and fit the downstairs with a walk-in tub."

A niece convinced her to try for a wider audience with an OnlyFans account.

"I lost a few friends straight away," she said. "Got some judge-mint from a couple of cousins I was quite fond of, and that was harsh, but I'm sweet now. My grandkids go to top schools. I launched a non-profit shelter for women and children. I only set my alarm when I want, so if I'm bein' exploited or objectified or degraded, I guess I'm too well-rested and flush with fackin' cash to notice."

I got the last round. We traded stories until it was time for Pris to board. She gave me a wobbly hug at the Qantas gate. Put her hands on my shoulders and hung from her fingertips, ass out like a cat about to scratch.

She straightened up and said:

"You're a sincere an' sennymental cunt. But that's a liability in this profession Vinny. Ya gotta stop caring so much what people think. And quit drinkin' doubles. My Dennis drank doubles. They'll get you inta trouble."

Pris put her hand against my face. Her eyes opened, endless realms like oceans.

She kissed the tip of my nose and said:

"Bewp."

I watched her plane push back and thought about Margaret for a minute. Found another place to drink until it was time to board. I DM'd a blurry photo of the receipt to Pris, proof that all six of my drinks were singles.  Then I deleted the backlog of unanswered texts and voicemails from Peachy.  I didn't know if she was my agent or something else.  Whatever she had to say, it could wait until I had a minute to hide out and get my shit centered in one of Maxim's flats.

Alone in my row I developed a pawn offense of tiny liquor bottles on my tray table. Without a smokescreen of small talk based on survival scenarios, it was impossible to enjoy myself because I couldn't spin my behavior as safe or sane or entertaining.

I got a look at my reflection in the black window, a tragic cameo framed in plastic. I felt precisely as weak and pathetic as I appeared.

I pulled down the window shade.  Put my head against it and closed my eyes.

The bare skin on my wrist ached like a burn.