Chapter 10: The Interview
The coffee shop near campus had that particular hum that Cherry had come to associate with academic life: the furious clatter of laptop keys, the hiss of the steam wand, the low murmur of conversations that were probably about midterms or breakups or both. Sunlight poured through the big front windows, catching the dust motes floating in the air and warming the polished wooden tables.
Cherry had chosen a corner table, the kind with a view of the whole room, and she nursed a caramel latte that was already growing cold. She'd changed out of the fraternity t-shirt and sweatpants into something more appropriate for public consumption: a soft cream-colored sweater that draped off one shoulder and a pair of dark jeans that hugged her hips. Her hair was still slightly damp from the shower she'd taken before leaving the frat house, and she'd applied just enough makeup to look presentable rather than like she'd spent the morning being enthusiastically debauched by a new generation of college boys.
The kid had texted her three times this morning to confirm the meeting. Lindsay something, the campus paper's newest staff writer. Cherry had agreed to the profile because it seemed like good publicity, and also because she genuinely enjoyed talking about herself.
The door chimed and a young woman hurried in, clutching a notebook to her chest like a shield. She was maybe twenty, with a mop of brown curls that looked like they'd been chewed on during the walk over, and she wore a cardigan with a coffee stain on one sleeve that she kept trying to cover with her free hand.
Cherry raised her arm and waved. "Lindsay!"
The girl's head snapped toward her, and Cherry watched her freeze for just a second. It was a reaction she was used to by now, that brief moment of recognition and recalibration when someone saw her in person for the first time. The campus paper had apparently run a piece about her legend a few years back, and Cherry knew her reputation preceded her.
Lindsay made her way over, nearly tripping over a backpack strap on her way to the table. She sat down with the kind of awkward grace that Cherry remembered having at that age, all elbows and apologies.
"Miss Valentine? I'm Lindsay Park. Thank you so much for meeting with me." The words came out in a rush. "I didn't expect you to actually say yes, honestly. My editor said you were elusive, but then you texted back in like, two minutes, and I almost dropped my phone in the toilet."
Cherry laughed, a warm sound that made several nearby students glance over. "Please, call me Cherry. And I'm not that elusive. I just have a lot of stuff going on." She took a sip of her latte. "I heard you wanted to profile me for the campus paper. That's very flattering."
Lindsay had already flipped open her notebook and was scribbling furiously. "Okay, so, I've done some research. You're a freelance journalist now, you've published pieces in like, six different major magazines, you specialize in adventure and human-interest stories. Local legend says you got your start here, at State, which is why I pitched this piece." She paused, looking up at Cherry with wide eyes. "And then there's the other stuff."
Cherry's mouth curved into a knowing smile. "The other stuff?"
"The Sigma Phi Epsilon thing." Lindsay lowered her voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. "The whole campus talks about it. I talked to like, four different guys who were there back in the day, and they all gave me different versions of the same story. There's even a group chat called 'Cherry's Cherry Poppers' that still exists."
Cherry's laugh came out delighted, surprising her. "That group chat still exists? God, I thought Marcus died in that or something."
"No, Marcus is alive and well. He's a personal trainer now in the city. He actually told me a very detailed story about your initiation as an honorary pledge." Lindsay raised an eyebrow. "And about how you showed up this morning."
Cherry settled back in her chair, crossing her legs. She had learned long ago that there was no point in being coy about her extracurricular activities. The truth was too well known to deny, and besides, she had never been particularly interested in pretending to be someone she wasn't.
"So you've heard about my visit to the frat house today."
"I heard you initiated the new pledges." Lindsay's pen was poised over her notebook. "Is that accurate?"
"It's accurate." Cherry took another sip of her latte, letting the moment stretch. "But it's a little more complicated than that. See, I didn't just show up out of nowhere. I got nostalgic. I was watching an old video from my freshman year, and I realized I wanted to see the place again. When I got there, I found out that most of the guys I knew had graduated. But the new generation had heard all about me."
Lindsay was writing so fast that Cherry was surprised the girl's hand didn't cramp. "So it was like revisiting your glory days?"
"Younger me would hate me for saying this, but I think it matters. It was about the tradition of it all." Cherry twirled the straw in her cup, thinking. "Those boys, they knew about me before I even walked in the door. They knew my name, they knew the stories, they knew about what happened with Chad and Marcus and all the others. And when I showed up, they treated me like some kind of legend."
"You are a kind of legend, though." Lindsay looked up from her notebook. "At least on this campus."
"Maybe. But it was different seeing it from the outside. I remember being their age, nervous about everything, trying to figure out who I was. And now I'm a decade older, and I'm giving a profile interview to the campus paper. It feels like a full circle moment."
Lindsay stopped writing and studied her for a long moment. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"You can ask. Whether I answer is another question."
"When you came back to the frat house, was it just about nostalgia? Or were you trying to, like, prove something to yourself?"
Cherry appreciated the question. For all her nervous flapping, the girl had a reporter's instinct. It reminded Cherry of herself at that age, desperate to find the angle that would make the piece interesting.
"Both, maybe. Neither? I don't know." She set down her latte and leaned forward, matching Lindsay's conspiratorial posture. "Here's the thing about getting older. You start to wonder if the best parts of your life are behind you. You look back at your twenty-one-year-old self and think, God, I was so alive back then. I was so free. And you worry that you're never going to feel that spark again."
"And did you feel it today?"
Cherry's grin stretched wide. "Oh, absolutely. But not because of the sex. Well, not only because of the sex. It was because I walked into that house and realized that my legacy isn't just a story people tell. It's something that shaped the people who live there now. Those new pledges, they're going to tell their own stories about today for the rest of their lives. And I got to be part of that."
Lindsay scribbled something down, then looked up, chewing on the end of her pen. "That's a really interesting way to think about it. Most people would just say they went back to bang some college guys."
"That's also true." Cherry laughed. "I'm a woman of depth and simple pleasures both."
"Okay, so I've been reading through the old articles about you. The surf piece in Hawaii, the ski lodge thing, and that's just the stuff that made the magazines. I'd love to hear what your editing process looks like for a piece. What would I call your style? Gonzo journalism? Immersive reporting?"
The question was earnest, and Cherry took a moment to appreciate it. How often did anyone ask about the actual work instead of the extracurricular activities? Almost never, in her experience. People heard what she did between the interviews and then they stopped listening.
"I guess I'd call it experiential journalism. I'm not a journalist who observes from the outside. I need to be in the story, to experience what my subjects are experiencing. That's how I get the real truths, the ones that don't show up in a standard Q and A." She paused, letting the thought settle. "I've sat across from a corporate CEO who was sweating through his shirt during the most important interview of his career because I could see exactly how nervous he was. I've interviewed people who would have never opened up to a stranger, but because we'd already done something intimate together, they were willing to share parts of their lives that they'd never told anyone."
"That's why you have sex with your subjects," Lindsay said, writing quickly. "To build rapport."
Cherry tilted her head. "That's an interesting way to frame it. But yes, it's essentially that. We break down all the walls, all the social conventions, all the barriers that normally keep people at a distance. And once you're naked and vulnerable with someone, you can't go back to lying to them."
The words hung in the air between them. Lindsay stared at her with a mixture of fascination and something else, something Cherry recognized as the beginning of a realization.
"Do all your stories work like that?" Lindsay asked slowly. "You have sex with whoever you're writing about and then interview them?"
"Not always. Sometimes there's no one to have sex with and the story is still good. But I'd say a significant portion of my best work has come from those kinds of encounters." Cherry picked up her latte, then set it down again. "My boardroom piece, the one about the hostile takeover of a tech startup, that was so much better because I had the inside perspective. They told me everything after we were done. The locker room exclusive after the championship, I got details that no other reporter had because they trusted me in a way they wouldn't trust a stranger with a notepad."
Lindsay's pen had stopped moving. She was staring at Cherry like she was trying to parse a complicated equation. "So your reputation, the whole legend thing, it's actually a journalistic method? You're not just, you know, a nymphomaniac who's also a good writer?"
Cherry burst out laughing. She laughed until tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she had to wipe them away with the back of her hand. Nearby, a couple of students looked over, curious about the commotion.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she managed, still giggling. "No, that's not. I mean, I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I don't enjoy it. I do. A lot. But the sex was never the point. Well, okay, the sex was always part of the point. But it wasn't the only point."
Lindsay looked relieved. "I'm sorry if that was too forward. I've just heard so many versions of who you are. Some people say you're a slut, some people say you're a genius. My editor told me not to treat you like either one, just to ask questions and see what you had to say."
"Your editor sounds like a smart person."
"She's pretty cool. She's doing her PhD in media studies, and she said your approach to journalism is actually a really fascinating case study in breaking down the subject-interviewer power dynamic."
Cherry grinned. "I like her already. If your piece does well, maybe I'll write something about her too."
The joke was probably more suggestive than Cherry had intended, and she watched Lindsay's cheeks flush pink. The girl had been handling herself well so far, asking smart questions and keeping up with Cherry's meandering tangents, but Cherry knew the moment she let a little of her natural energy leak into the conversation, people of Lindsay's temperament tended to get flustered.
"Take your time," Cherry said, deliberately softening her tone. "You're doing great. Honestly, this is one of the better interviews I've given."
"Really?" Lindsay perked up. "Because I feel like I'm fumbling through it."
"The good ones always feel like that." Cherry leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "The best conversations happen when you're not sure what question to ask next. It means you're actually listening instead of waiting for your turn to speak."
Lindsay wrote that down. Then she sat back and took a breath, looking like she was gathering her courage for the next question.
"Can I ask you something that might be a little too personal?"
"You can ask. I already gave my disclaimer."
"What are your regrets? Like, you've had this incredible career, you've had all these experiences that most people would never dream of having. But is there anything you look back on and think, I wish I'd done that differently?"
The question landed in the space between them and sat there for a moment. Cherry had been asked versions of this before, usually by late-night talk show hosts who wanted her to cry on camera or by magazine writers who were hunting for an emotional turn. But Lindsay asked it like she genuinely wanted to know. Like there wasn't a right answer.
Cherry took a sip of her cold latte and considered. "I wish I'd kept count."
Lindsay blinked. "Count of what?"
"Of all the men I've been with." She said it with a smile, watching the girl try to process it. "I know, it sounds insane, right? But a lot of the time, when you're in the middle of something like that, you're not exactly thinking about tally marks. You're just, you know, being present. And then afterwards you try to do the math and you're like, okay, there was definitely at least three, but was it six or was it seven? And by that point you've lost the thread completely."
"So you do regret not keeping count."
"I regret it every single day." Cherry's grin was warm. "Think about it. I'm going to be old someday, sitting on a porch somewhere, and I'd love to be able to look back and know exactly how many wonderful, varied, enthusiastic encounters I had in my life. I could make a chart or a spreadsheet. I could have categories. Frat boys, professional athletes, rock stars, porn performers, mechanics, surf instructors. There are so many ways to slice that data."
Lindsay was trying not to laugh. "You're saying your only regret is not creating a data set of your sexual partners."
"Is there anything else worth tracking?" Cherry's eyes sparkled. "Memories fade. Details blur. But a good spreadsheet, that's forever."
"I think that's the most chaotic answer I've ever heard to that question." Lindsay was shaking her head, but she was grinning too. "My editor is going to expect something more serious for the interview. Something about your journalistic philosophy or your sacrifices or your journey to success."
"Your editor can write her own profile if she wants a tidy narrative." Cherry tilted her head, studying Lindsay. "But you know what I think? I think the real story is more complicated than any of the things people expect me to say. I didn't get here despite being a woman who loves sex. I got here because of it, and everything else about me got to grow around that truth. All the journalism skills, the interviewing instincts, the passion for storytelling, they all grew in the space that opened up when I stopped trying to be somebody I wasn't."
The coffee shop hummed around them. Lindsay's pen had stopped moving, and she was just sitting there, absorbing what Cherry had said.
"That's actually a really good quote," Lindsay said finally. "Can I use that?"
"You can use whatever you want. As long as you're not making anything up, you're doing journalism the right way."
Lindsay flipped to a new page in her notebook, but she didn't write anything. Instead, she looked at Cherry with that wide-eyed intensity that made Cherry feel like she was being studied by a curious scientist.
"I have one more question, and it's going to sound really dumb, but I have to ask."
"I doubt it's dumb."
"What does it feel like? When you're in the middle of it, I mean. With all those people, all that attention. What does it actually feel like?"
Cherry understood why the girl would ask this. She'd done a lot of interviews in her career, and this was the question that every reporter seemed to circle around eventually. They wanted to know if there was some secret, some hidden key that would unlock how she did what she did.
"Imagine you're at the center of the entire universe," Cherry said, and she watched Lindsay lean in. "And imagine that everything else has fallen away. All your worries, all your insecurities, all your obligations, they just disappear for a few hours. You're completely present, completely in your body, and every sensation feels like it's being magnified a hundred times because it's all happening at once."
She paused, gathering the words. "It's overwhelming in the best possible way. You're not thinking, you're feeling. Your body is doing things you didn't know it could do, and it feels incredible. And you have all these people around you who are just as lost in it as you are. You're connected to every single one of them in a way that is almost impossible to explain."
"Sounds intense," Lindsay whispered.
"It is. But it's also the most alive I've ever felt." Cherry shrugged, a simple gesture that somehow conveyed the enormity of it all. "Some people skydive. Some people summit mountains. I let a bunch of frat boys re-enact my freshman initiation. We all find our bliss."
Lindsay laughed, and it was a genuine sound. "I think I really like you."
"I get that a lot," Cherry said, grinning. "I also get a lot of other things, but 'I like you' is definitely up there."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Lindsay looked down at her notes, flipping through the pages of her notebook, and Cherry took the opportunity to finally finish her latte. It was cold and a little bitter, but it was still caffeine and she needed it after the morning she'd had.
"Okay," Lindsay said, looking up. "I think I have enough for a solid piece. Is there anything else you want to share? Any tidbits you think I should know before I submit this?"
Cherry thought about it. She thought about the way the new pledges had looked at her, like she was a story come to life. She thought about the old video she'd watched the night before, watching her younger self discover something that would change the entire course of her life. She thought about all the cities and all the men and all the stories she'd written, and she thought about how it all connected back to that one moment, freshman year, when she'd walked into a fraternity house and made a choice.
"Just tell them the truth," she said. "Whatever you think that is. Tell them I was a girl who wanted things, and I wasn't ashamed to ask for them, and I made a life out of it. Tell them I'm still that girl, just with better shoes and a stronger orgasm."
Lindsay scribbled something down, and Cherry had the feeling it was direct quote material.
"Also," Cherry said, standing up and gathering her purse, "your coffee is getting cold. I'm not the only one who forgot to drink it."
Lindsay blushed, looking down at her untouched latte. "I was too focused on the interview."
"Classic rookie mistake. Always keep one hand on the caffeine and one hand on the story." Cherry slung her bag over her shoulder. "It was lovely meeting you, Lindsay. I'm excited to see what you write."
"Thank you so much, Miss Valentine. I mean, Cherry." The girl was already flipping through her notebook, no doubt trying to find the page with Cherry's direct quotes. "I'll send you the draft before I turn it in, so you can fact check everything."
"I appreciate that." Cherry paused at the edge of the table, looking down at Lindsay. "And Lindsay?"
"Yeah?"
"Write the wild parts too. The campus paper has been printing safe stories for too long. Give your readers something to talk about." She winked, a deliberate gesture that made the girl's cheeks flush bright pink. "A little scandal never hurt anyone. And it's a lot more fun."
She didn't wait for a response, just walked toward the door with her coffee cup in hand, feeling the weight of Lindsay's gaze on her back. When she reached the exit, she looked back over her shoulder and caught the girl still staring, notebook clutched to her chest like a shield against the storm of information Cherry had just unleashed.
Cherry blew her a kiss and pushed through the door into the afternoon sun.
The walk back to her car was pleasant, the kind of early afternoon that held the promise of warmth without the discomfort. Cherry unlocked her door and slid into the driver's seat, checking her phone. Several texts had come in during her interview: a message from Koa that she'd read later, a reminder from her editor about an upcoming deadline, and a notification from the Sigma Phi Epsilon group chat that she wasn't a part of but that someone must have added her to.
She smiled, thumbed open the chat, and saw a rapid-fire exchange about the morning's events. She didn't reply. Let them have their gossiping.
She sat in her car for a long moment, thinking about what Lindsay had asked her. About regrets and feelings and what it all meant. And she thought about her answer, how she'd made a joke of it but there was a truth buried beneath the humor. She did wish she'd kept count. Not because she needed a number to validate her experiences, but because every single encounter had been meaningful to her in its own way. Each one had taught her something about herself, about other people, about how utterly strange and wonderful it was to be a human being with a body and a mind and a deep hunger for connection.
She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back toward her apartment. The afternoon stretched out before her, full of possibilities. She had notes to write up from the frat house visit, an interview to schedule with the new house president, and maybe, if the mood struck her, she'd text Koa back and see if he had any recommendations for her next assignment.
She grinned at the thought and pressed the gas pedal a little harder. The day was young, and Cherry Valentine had places to be.