* * *
Chip: Wow. So she’s trapped you with sex voodoo. That’s what you’re saying.
* * *
Zack: No. Not voodoo. Just…her.
There’s something about her.
* * *
Chip: Fuck my life…
* * *
Zack: What? LOL. Why?
* * *
Chip: You’re in love with this girl.
* * *
Zack: I am not. I told you, I barely know her.
* * *
Chip: Doesn’t matter. I know love-sick when I hear it. That’s why you’re doing crazy shit. You’ve caught a bad case of love-itis, and as long as you’re infected, you’re going to give this woman a baby and your future and anything else she asks for, wrapped up in hundred-dollar bills.
I would ask if you want me to come personally remove you from her clutches, but you don’t have that much sense left, do you?
* * *
Zack: I’m not in anyone’s clutches. And love isn’t a disease. If I were in it, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. But I’m not. I don’t fall in love overnight. I need time to establish that kind of connection with a woman.
* * *
Chip: That’s what they all say. Right up until they meet their Buttercream Frosting Girl.
* * *
Zack: Should I ask?
* * *
Chip: You know from your first bite of buttercream frosting, man. You don’t need to spend months forming a connection with the frosting, finding out the frosting’s politics or how many lovers the frosting has had or if the frosting chews with its mouth open or snores or has a bad habit of throwing dirty socks on the floor. One bite and you know—that shit is good, and you want as much of it as you can get and you always will, even after it gives you such a raging case of diabetes you have to have your foot amputated and end up walking with a limp for the rest of your life.
That fucking frosting will own you until the day you die.
* * *
Zack: Who broke your heart, Chip? Whoever she is, I bet you can get her back if you put your mind to it. You’re charming when you want to be. You shouldn’t have to walk with a limp for the rest of your life.
* * *
Chip: Hell, no. I like my limp. It keeps me grounded when I’m tempted to agree to meet a girl’s parents or help her put together furniture. Dealing with my clients’ parents and furniture is enough for me at this point in my life.
So I’ll ask again—do you want me to come rescue you?
I can be the bad guy, explain everything to Colette as sweetly as possible, and get you back on track to not ruining your life.
* * *
Zack: I’m not going to ruin my life. And I feel a lot better than when we started chatting. Thanks for the talk.
* * *
Chip: Um, you’re welcome, but I’m confused. WHY are you feeling better?
* * *
Zack: Perspective, I guess. It’ll all work itself out. I’ve never let fear get in the way of something I’ve wanted before. Why should I start now?
* * *
Chip: And what about the out of character behavior? How did you go from thinking you need therapy to being the master of chill, dude? I mean, I like chill, don’t get me wrong, but at the moment, panic seems more appropriate.
* * *
Zack: It’s what you said. It got me to thinking that maybe my behavior isn’t all that out of character. When I care about someone, I’ve always been the kind to go all out.
Maybe you’re right, and Buttercream Frosting Girls are a thing.
* * *
Chip: Oh, they’re absolutely a thing. A bad thing. Buttercream Frosting Girls ruin lives and crush souls, my friend. But it’s clear I’m stabbing my thumbs in vain. You’re already too far gone. Call me when your head breaks the surface of the Love-sick Ocean and you start gasping for air, okay? I will be there in a hot second to pull you out and get you the help you need.
* * *
Zack: I appreciate that. Don’t think I’ll need it, but I appreciate it. Oh, and I sent a rough track of the song I wrote last night to your Dropbox. It’s a cappella—I didn’t want to wake Colette getting out the guitar—but you’ll get a feel for the direction I’m headed. See what you think. Because I kind of want to scrap everything I’ve written so far and start fresh with this vibe.
* * *
Chip: Oh God. Now I wish I had a girlfriend so I’d have someone to fucking hold me right now. I’ll listen, but remember, you’re going up there to make demos so we can narrow down the list of choices for the final recording session, not to write an entire album from scratch. In two weeks, I’m going to need thirteen to seventeen demo songs to take to the label.