Page 32 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Christina Logan and Brixley Carter. One an escort, the other an OnlyFans model.”

“Would I be able to send you a list of questions?” Lucy asks. “You don’t have to use any, but I’m really fascinated by all this.”

I take a bite of my doughnut and contemplate this offer. “Do you want to come?”

She looks up at me like I just invited her on a free trip to Aruba. “Can I?” she says slowly.

“It would have to be strictly as an observer,” I clarify.

“Yeah, of course.” Her eyes light up like she’s truly appreciative of this opportunity, which is only more reason why she should come along. “Thank you, Marsh.”

“Sure,” I say.

“So, uh, what’s your process like for a story like this?” Lucy prompts.

“Well, usually I’d be finding out all of the information I can about a certain topic—in this case, escort services.” I sit back inmy chair and try to think of all the steps that come so naturally to me at this point. I’ve never had to list them out. “So, the different types of escort services, infamous escorts, even sex workers that haven’t necessarily been made newsworthy. Then, I would learn everything I can about each person I’m interviewing. Most times I would do enough research for the interview and then let their answers determine the rest.”

“Noted,” she says. “Empathizing with them.”

“If time permits, and depending on how big the story is, sometimes I’ll go to their hometown, see where they grew up, then see where they worked, their interests, what they like, et cetera.”

“And then what do you do in that instance?” Lucy asks. “Document everything?”

“Everything,” I agree. “I don’t necessarily take pictures or anything like that but aside from the recording of the interview I make notes of everything I see. What kind of chair am I sitting in, what’s the weather like that day, who was the server bringing me my lunch, anything I observe I try to make note of it.”

“That’s so interesting.” Lucy takes a final bite of her doughnut.

“What about you? What’s your approach?”

“I’m sort of similar,” she says, wiping her hand on the side of her jeans. “I just write down everything Ifeel.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, so for example: Does the chair make me feel like I’m a CEO at a company? Or does it make me feel like I’m about to attend an AA meeting? If it’s sunny, does it feel like nothing can go wrong? Or does the overcast give me an unsettling feeling? Was I attracted to my server or did she remind me of my grandma? Things like that.”

For a moment I’m dumbfounded. In complete awe of Lucy’s approach and how she’s innately a storyteller. There’s something so raw and authentic about Lucy’s column that when I read it, Icouldn’t possibly imagine hitting an emotional nerve the way she does.

“Wow—”

“But I so appreciate this perspective,” she says. “To observe everything and take it in allows me to separate myself from the story and not make it so personal.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “I meantwowin a good way. Your approach is something that I should be doing more of. It’s just impossible to make stories personal when you’re churning out bylines about school shootings, gang violence, and immigration laws. You kind of have to be numb to it.”

“Oh, I know how to be numb,” she laughs to herself, but I don’t see what’s funny.

On Thursday afternoon, Lucy and I find ourselves sitting in comfortable silence at a coffee shop in Brentwood waiting for Christina Logan. I pretend I don’t overhear a conversation between two women and the fact that both their dogs are Virgo moons—whatever that means.

“So.” Lucy’s body shifts to me as she takes a sip of her iced latte. “Are you excited?”

I chuckle because I don’t think that’s the word I would use. “Areyouexcited?”

“Hell yeah I am! Marsh, this is fun,” she says in a way like she’s trying to convince me.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t having fun.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” I say.