Henri: Of course, I won’t feel like I third wheel! I’ll bring a date, too, and get all four of us on the VIP list. Thank God you came to your senses, woman. I was afraid I was going to have to bribe a tarot card reader to nudge you in that kid’s direction. I know you don’t want to mix work and pleasure, but I did a little digging on The Cutest Boy after happy hour yesterday and DEAR GOD, Nat, he’s like Mary Poppins!
Natalie: Excuse me?
Henri: He’s practically perfect in every way! Just like Mary. Your Cameron is not the kind of man you toss aside without serious consideration, Miss N.
Natalie: He’s not MY Cameron. And I can’t believe you did the internet deep dive on one of my employees! You’re so nosy!
Henri: I am. And I’m proud of it. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t already know that your Cam’s social media is flawless and Henri-approved. There wasn’t a homophobic, racist, or otherwise repellent meme in sight. And he actually comments on his mother’s stained-glass-project posts, only occasionally shares pictures of food, and volunteers to grill at the emergency responders’ fundraiser in Battery Park every summer.
I have pictures of him in a black tank top and a red bandana tied around his forehead to catch the sweat rolling from his noble brow that are ON FIRE. I’ll text them to you after we’re done so you can touch yourself while you look at them. It’s a fucking gun show under Cam’s chef’s coat, my friend. And those lips!
And the eyes and all the other parts. He’s a cornucopia of sensual delights.
If he weren’t straight, I’d be visiting you at work every day until he fell under my Distinguished Older Man spell and let me whisk him away to a nudist beach on Mykonos.
Natalie: He’s twenty years younger than you, you pervert!
Henri: Age is just a number, baby. And who am I to deny some sweet, fine-ass man access to my charms because he had the misfortune of being born too late?
Natalie: That’s what Cam said. Well, the part about age just being a number, not the creepy, old-guy part.
Henri: You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. I’ve never had any complaints from the under-thirty set. They’re delighted by my age and experience. Though they can get a little clingy once you’ve blessed them with your smoldering, senior sex vibes. You’ll want to have a solid exit strategy in place in the event he wants you to put him on a leash and lead him around the Village wearing an “Ask me How Much I Love Being a Boy Toy” t-shirt.
Natalie: Ugh, now you’re making me rethink this whole thing! I don’t want a boy toy. I want a partner who’s my equal. Can I have that with a man who’s not only my employee, but ten years younger than I am, to boot?
Henri: Who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. The alchemy of personal relations can’t be foretold from a safe distance, sweetheart. You know that. The important thing is that you ride this gorgeous boy like a pony express rider desperate to get the mail across the prairie. And that you don’t get sued for firing him when you’re tired of him humping your leg and not remembering a time when not everyone had a smartphone.
Natalie: I barely remember that time.
Henri: That’s it. Keep rubbing your youth in my face, bitch, and I may rethink that free plus-one ticket.
Natalie: LOL. Sorry! You know I think you’re the sexiest guy around. If you’d been even a little bit straight, I would have devoted myself to tangling you in my seduction web.
Henri: I appreciate that. If I were even a little bit straight, I would have eagerly jumped into your web and avoided every nightmare relationship I’ve had since the day we met. Because you’re a Mary Poppins, too, honey. You’re practically perfect, and you deserve some light-hearted happiness after everything you’ve been through. Just talk to The Cutest Boy. Tell him what you’re looking for. If he’s game, you can plan how you’ll proceed at work if things go sour together.
Natalie: That’s a very mature, logical plan of action.
Henri: I know. I’m surprised, too. I think the sober East Coast winter is rubbing off on me already. Also, the heat in my apartment is making my skin so dry that I looked like the crypt keeper this morning. I’m ordering a misting humidifier as we text.
Want me to order you one, too? You can put it by your bed, turn it up all the way, and roll around in the sexy mist with your new lover, pretending you’re fucking in the jungle and only have moments to spare before you’re attacked by a tiger with a taste for human flesh.
Natalie: Your sex fantasies are not my sex fantasies, but thank you, yes, I’d love a humidifier. And I love you. I wouldn’t have made it through the last few years without you. You’re a dear, appreciated friend, and I can’t wait to sip champagne with you on Friday and toast our takeover of the big city.