Chapter 2: The AirBnB and Nervous Energy
Misty pressed her palms into the mattress, a slow, firm push that sent a ripple through the taut, white bedding. She bounced gently on her heels, testing the springs. Satisfied with the lack of squeak, she walked barefoot across the polished concrete floor toward the row of factory windows. Her silk robe whispered against her skin.
Outside, Wicker Park was alive. Nine PM on a Friday, and the sidewalk pulsed with movement—couples laughing, groups heading to bars, the constant stream of glowing taillights painting the street red. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, letting the faint vibration of the city seep into her bones. Her breath fogged a small circle on the windowpane. The edge of her thumb traced it absently. Tomorrow, it would be fogged for another reason.
“Got it dialed,” Eddie said, his voice a low counterpoint to the hum. He was crouched behind the main camera on its heavy tripod, one eye pressed to the viewfinder. He panned slowly from the steel-framed bed to the windows, capturing Misty’s silhouette against the urban glow. “Noise is borderline, but we’re okay. More atmospheric than obnoxious. Gives it an energy.”
“Good,” Misty said, her voice soft. She didn’t turn around. She was staring down at the front stoop, a narrow slab of concrete three stories below. “It’s real. People living their lives right outside. Right there.” She felt a thrill down her spine, a dangerous little joy.
The sharp electronic buzz of the doorbell cut through the room. It was a jarring, practical sound. The kind that announced the end of planning and the start of truth.
They both turned toward the sound. Misty felt the shift in the room’s gravity, a tightening of the air.
Eddie gave a single nod, a silent “showtime.”
Misty took a slow breath, letting it out through her nose. She ran a hand through her platinum hair, then smoothed the silk robe over her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. The cool fabric brushed her bare skin as she walked toward the industrial metal door.
She threw the deadbolt, the sound heavy and final. The knob was cold in her hand. She turned it and pulled the door open.
Derek Simmons stood on the small landing. The city light framed him from behind, leaving his face in shadow, but she could see the bulk of his frame, the duffel bag hanging from one hand like an anchor. For a second, he just stared, his eyes wide behind his thick glasses. He looked at her face, then his gaze dropped—a quick, jerky motion—to the V of her robe where it crossed over her chest. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
He looked exactly like his photo. Maybe a little paler. The patchy red beard was neat but nervous. He wore clean, new-looking jeans and a black t-shirt with some band logo she didn’t recognize.
“Hey,” he managed. It came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. “Uh. I’m Derek. Sorry, you… you know that.”
Misty smiled. A warm, genuine, non-threatening smile. “I know. Come on in, Derek. It’s good to meet you in person.”
He stepped across the threshold as if the floor might give way. His eyes darted past her into the loft, taking in the cavernous space, the bed, the glaring lights, Eddie standing calmly behind the camera. It was a silent visual checklist, and with each item, his shoulders seemed to tighten another notch. He was holding his breath.
“You can drop your bag there,” Misty said, gesturing to a leather chair near the door. “It’s just for the one night, right?”
“Right, yeah. I get picked up tomorrow at noon,” he recited, as if from a script. He carefully set the duffel down, then straightened up, his hands fidgeting at his sides.
Eddie stepped forward then, extending his hand. “Eddie. I’ll be filming. All the boring technical stuff is my department. You just pretend I’m not here.”
Derek shook his hand, a quick, firm pump. Eddie’s calm professionalism seemed to ground him a fraction.“Right. Okay. Thanks, man.”
“I was just about to pour a drink,” Misty said, moving toward a small rolling cart that held a bottle of whiskey and some glasses. Her robe drifted open slightly with the movement, revealing a flash of tanned thigh. She saw him track it from the corner of his eye. “You a whiskey guy, or should I open some wine?”
“Whiskey’s good. Please.” His voice was steadier now. She poured three fingers into two glasses, not bothering with ice. When she handed one to him, her fingers brushed his. He flinched, as if shocked.
She led him to a low, worn sofa positioned away from the bed, angled toward the windows. She sat, curling one leg beneath her, letting the robe fall open enough to be casual, not overt. She patted the space beside her.
Derek sank onto the cushion, keeping a careful foot of distance between them. He took a large gulp of whiskey, coughed, then took another, smaller sip.
“Nerves?” she asked gently, swirling her own glass.
He let out a short, sharp laugh. “You could say that. I’ve seen… I’ve watched you for years. In my room. On my laptop. And now I’m here. And you’re… you’re a real person.” He looked at her, truly looked, and his expression softened from panic into something like wonder. “You’re even prettier.”
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. She let the silence hang for a beat, just the distant city sounds filling the space.
She let the silence hang for a beat, just the distant city sounds filling the space.
"So, filming," Misty began, resting her glass on her knee. "We'll talk a bit more, get comfortable. The release is already signed, so that's done. But I want to hear from you, on camera, that you're good with everything. Eddie will ask a few questions.Simple stuff. Just a formality, for the record."
Derek nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "Okay. I can do that."
"We can stop anytime," she added, her voice lowering slightly."Seriously. A word, a gesture. It's done. This is about it being good for you. So I want to know what you're into. We've got hours, if you can handle it. So… what are you picturing? What do you want?"
Derek stared into his whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light from a nearby lamp. He seemed to be gathering his courage. "All of it, honestly," he finally said, a rough edge to his voice. "Just… you. I read the thing. What you like." He glanced up, meeting her eyes. "You really like it from behind?"
"More than anything," she answered honestly, without a hint of performance. She shifted on the sofa, the silk rustling. "And you pick the position."He swallowed. "Okay.That. And… I've never gone without a condom before." He looked almost ashamed to admit it. "That’s, like, the main thing I keep thinking about."
Misty leaned in, her movement deliberately fluid. "It's a different feeling. The heat of it. A complete connection. Eddie will have cleanup ready after." She watched his jaw tighten. "Anything off the table for you? Hard limits?"
He shook his head quickly, his mind clearly racing through possibilities he'd only ever watched through a screen. "No. Nothing you said isn't okay. It's all… perfect." He exhaled. "My ex always said I was too soft, so. This is different."
"A kindness isn't a weakness, Derek," she said softly. "But tonight, you're not here to be kind to me. You're here to take. We'll make it feel good. For both of us." She took another sip, her gaze steady. "Other question, reality check. Your people. Will anyone be upset if they happen to see this later? Roommates see your face on a screen?Girlfriend?"
He barked another short, nervous laugh."No girlfriend. Not after the last one. My parents… they wouldn't get it. But they don't know how to use the parts of the internet where this might show up."He shrugged. "My friends would probably hi-five me until my shoulder fell off. Is… is there a payment?"
"A flat fee," she said, glad she'd included it in the fine print. "Five grand.Transferred afterward. It’s for your discretion as much as your performance. Not exactly taxable." She let it land.
Derek just nodded, absorbing it. It was one more enormous detail in a night of them.
She watched him, saw the clench in his fists slowly ease as the weight of the reality settled over him like a blanket. He didn’t look panicked now. He looked resolved. "You look more solid now," she observed.
"That’s the whiskey," he said, attempting a joke. It fell flat, but the tension cracked a little.
"It’s your decision," she pressed gently. "I can turn the lights off and call the car for tomorrow, and it's over. No hard feelings."
"No," Derek said immediately, his voice firmer than it had been all night. "No, I want to." He put his glass down on the concrete floor with a decisive clink. The ice inside rattled.
Misty felt the charge in the room thicken and settle. She stood up, the robe swaying around her legs. She offered him her hand.
He took it, his palm rough and damp. He stood, his height surprising her slightly, their faces closer now.
"Alright then," she murmured, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Let's get your sound on, and we'll do the interview. Then we start."
She led him toward the center of the room, where Eddie had set up a single, elegant chair against a relatively plain backdrop of brick. A small microphone with a clip was laid out on the seat. While Derek was still, momentarily frozen by the machinery, Eddie stepped over.
"Simple rig," Eddie explained, holding up the clip-on lavalier. "Just a battery pack that goes in your pocket. It picks up everything."Everything?" Derek asked, a flicker of the earlier anxiety returning.
"Every laugh, every sigh, every goddamn wonderful little grunt," Misty said from behind him, her voice low and playful. She was standing by the now-lit bed, untying her robe but not opening it yet.
Derek watched her, mesmerized, as Eddie clipped the small microphone to his collar and tucked the pack into his back pocket. He barely seemed to feel it.
"Alright, Derek," Eddie said, moving back behind the camera and pressing a button. A tiny red light glowed on its side. "Just pretend it's a conversation. I'll ask a few things. You speak directly into this little fellow on my camera.Ready?"
Derek took his seat in the chair, the leather cool through his jeans. He took a deep breath, aimed his face toward the lens, and nodded.
"Misty has explained the parameters of today's session to you?" Eddie asked, his voice steady and neutral from behind the camera.
"Yeah," Derek said, his voice too loud. He winced. "Yeah, she has."
"And have you consented to the terms, including the bareback and full-anal consent clauses?"I have. I signed it all."
"And we've cleared medical?"
"The nurse was at my hotel this afternoon," Derek confirmed. He glanced sideways toward Misty, who was now watching him with a faint smile, the sash of her robe loosely held in her fingers."Everything's clean."
"One last thing," Eddie said. "On camera, with Misty here as witness. Do you expressly consent to the filming, distribution, and commercial use of the media created here today, indefinitely?"
Derek took a final, deeper breath, puffing out his chest. He looked directly into the unblinking glass eye of the camera, his face going serious, even proud. For the first time, he looked like he believed where he was.
"I absolutely do," he said, clear and firm.