Gimme an O!

Lecia Calhoun cringed as she read the heading of the chapter that the radio host expected her to discuss—in full, juicy detail, no doubt—during her scheduled interview. An interview that was to take place in—she glanced at her watch—eight minutes and counting. And not just with any radio host, but with Depraved Dave, arguably one of Los Angeles’ most foulmouthed, irreverent talk show hosts. Loud and obnoxious, he was the antithesis of the feminist, the kind of man’s man who commanded attention in the worst possible way. A chauvinist pig who believed that women had been put on Earth to serve men in general and him in particular. She wouldn’t put it past him to roll off a woman and belch right after orgasm, or even to belch as he was coming. He was that kind of guy. A month ago at Spago Beverly Hills she had seen him stuff a tip down
the hostess’s blouse—groping the startled woman for a good few seconds—and he was at the restaurant with his wife.

She could only imagine how he would handle her now.

Knowing this was going to be her worst nightmare, Lecia again glanced at the open book. The words
How to Drive Your Woman Crazy with Passion!
danced on the page, mocking her. Oh, yeah—she could imagine the fun Depraved Dave would have at her expense. After all, she had written the words.

A part of her had held out hope that Depraved Dave wouldn’t earmark this chapter, because…well, because one could entertain fantasies, couldn’t they? Fantasies were a normal, healthy part of life. It was part of what she preached in this very book, which now felt like a cement block in her hands.

In reality, she was hoping that the universe would spare her this with Depraved Dave, simply because she had already discussed this very chapter with 99.9 percent of the hosts and reporters who had talked to her. It was the very last chapter in the book, but the one the media were interested in. The one that read like a tabloid sex column, a marked departure from the other chapters. The one that was thrown in half as a joke, but her editor had loved it nonetheless.

Given that she had discussed this chapter so many times, she knew she should be prepared for any question. But she had not yet discussed it with Depraved Dave, whose middle name was Shocking. He poked fun even at the holiest of topics. She had once listened to his show in open-mouthed horror as he challenged nuns to “get laid” so they would know exactly what they had given up.

Oh, God. How was she going to handle him?

Slinking down in the worn leather chair, Lecia lifted her face to Angela, the publicist who had accompanied her from
her publishing house. Angela was a tall, pretty blonde who could easily have been a model if she’d decided to pursue that career. She was smiling and chatting with Joe Balfour, the producer of
Get Real with Dave
.

“Um, excuse me. Angela….”

Angela glanced down at her. Lecia realized she must have worn a petrified expression on her face, because Angela’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What’s the matter? You need to use the bathroom?”

“Not exactly.”
And thanks for saying that in front of Joe!
“I, uh, need to speak with you for a moment.” She paused. “Privately.”

Joe’s eyes flitted between both women. “No problem. I need to get some water anyway. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to bring you in for the show.”

Even though Lecia had heard the man speak already, Joe’s voice was still a shock to her. A shock because it told a lie. Deep and husky, it said he was at least six feet of well-muscled man. In reality, he was five-foot-four—max—and if he had any rippling muscles, they were camouflaged by layers of fat. Yet Joe had an easy smile and a confident glint in his eyes that said he thought he was as sexy as the Denzel Washingtons and Brad Pitts of the world.

Lecia forgot about Joe the moment he left the room. She was on her feet in a flash, holding her book open for Angela to see. “Chapter Thirteen,” she said, aware that her voice was higher than usual. “Depraved Dave wants me to discuss
Chapter Thirteen
. You assured me we’d discuss something else!”

“I tried,” Angela said. “I told Joe you’d been interviewed about that chapter several times already, that I thought it’d be a more interesting slant to concentrate on another aspect of the book. Last I heard from him, he said Dave was more inter
ested in you and your background. But what can I say?” She shrugged. “It’s Dave’s show. What he says goes.”

“I can’t do this,” Lecia protested. “Not
this
chapter. Not with Depraved Dave.”

Angela took a swig of her bottled water, but Lecia didn’t miss the smirk before the plastic had hit her lips. “It’ll be fine.”

“And when he chews me to pieces before his male chauvinist audience?”

“He won’t be able to chew you to pieces. Everything you say in the book is fact. Especially Chapter Thirteen. If you ask me, it’s high time men get it.”

“Like that’s gonna happen with his audience.”

“Lecia?”

“Yeah?”

“Calm down. Honestly, there’s no need to panic. You know your stuff, and when you’re through with Depraved Dave, he’ll know it, too.”

“I’m not too sure about that.”

“Stop stressing about it. No one’s gonna remember what you said anyway. They’ll tune in for one reason only—the topic. Sex sells. Men are as intrigued by the female orgasm as women are. Which is exactly why your book is hot.”

Lecia drew in a sharp breath, willing herself to relax. Angela was right about sex selling. Did it ever. Her sister said the same thing when she’d first broached the topic of perhaps writing a book for women about sexuality and orgasm, considering that so many of the women she’d met in her medical practice had trouble achieving one. Not only had Tyanna encouraged her to write the book, she’d challenged her to do it. And not because of the money potential—anyone with a brain knew most writers didn’t make squat—but because her sister knew that writing was what she had always wanted to do.

From the few fiction-writing courses Lecia had taken, she knew that the first rule was to write what you knew about. She knew the female anatomy. As an obstetrician-gynecologist, she knew it inside out. Then, as a sex therapist, she learned a thing or two about female orgasms. In fact, after dealing with more clients than she could count who’d either never experienced orgasm or had trouble experiencing it, she had veered off the fiction-writing path and toyed with the idea of nonfiction. It was her sister’s challenge that gave her the final push that led to
The Big O
—a lighthearted but factual look at women’s orgasms and how to achieve them.

Lecia was proud of the book, even if her parents blushed when reading it. And with its surprising success, she would never be able to put herself in the category of the writer who didn’t make decent money. She was loving every minute of her accomplishment, even the crazy interviews. Her only concern was that with the focus of the interviews being on the so-called cheesiest part of her book, people might forget that she was actually a medical professional. A doctor and not a hack. Chapter Thirteen screamed hack.

Then again, maybe she was simply obsessing because Depraved Dave scared her to death. She wouldn’t have agreed to the interview if Angela hadn’t begged and pleaded with her to do it.

Lecia frowned, then said to Angela, “Maybe you could suggest to Joe that we discuss the first chapter. Myths about the female anatomy.”

“Honestly, Lecia. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.”

“No, no. You’re right.” It was high time she resigned herself to her fate, she told herself. “It’s no big deal,” she added. Digging into her shoulder bag, she withdrew her inhaler, and holding it like a lifeline, she shook it, exhaled then inhaled while pressing two spurts of the medicine into her mouth.

“Oh, God. You’re really not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Lecia said when she released her breath. “My asthma acts up a few times a day. This is simply one of those times.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She ran her fingers through her short tresses. “How’s my hair?”

“This is radio.”

“Right,” Lecia conceded. But she still didn’t feel better.

“What’s the worst that could happen even if Depraved Dave chews you up, as you say? People love controversy, especially in this town. They’ll buy the book for that reason alone. If men in production offices or on film sets are standing around the water cooler dissing your work, that’s fabulous.”

Fabulous?
“Um…”

“The more they talk about you, the quicker you’ll become a household name. And that translates into more sales.”

Lecia’s lips twisted as she gave Angela’s words thought. Maybe the energetic publicist was right. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“Listen, if I’d written this book, I’d be riding the sex wave until the orgasm died. And laughing all the way to the bank. Because the way sales are going, this is a multiple orgasm.”

Lecia managed a genuine smile at Angela’s sexual puns. And they were right on the mark. The book was making her a pretty penny. “You’re right, Angela. I’m forgetting the bigger picture.”

“Exactly. What’s half an hour with Depraved Dave in the grand scheme of things?” Angela looked beyond Lecia. “Joe.”

Lecia whipped her head around. Joe stood with both hands shoved in the front pockets of his khaki pants. Perhaps to make his bulge look bigger? “Ready, Dr. Love?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s head inside the studio and meet Dave Brooks.”

“This is WXJY, All Talk Radio, and you’re listening to
Get Real with Dave.
This is your host, Depraved Dave, and for the next two hours, I’m yours, baby. If you’re listening to me for the first time, congratulations! You’ve finally crossed over to the other side, and no, you didn’t have to die to do it. Now, you’re probably wondering why they call me Depraved. I dunno. Maybe it’s because I like to call it as I see it. I don’t tiptoe around issues. Maybe that’s not politically correct, but hey, at least I don’t make small talk with people I can’t stand. So, if you’ve got a problem with me, you can exercise your constitutional rights and switch the dial. You know what—forget I said that. What you ought to do is expand your horizons. Listen to my show and maybe you’ll learn something.

“All right. On to today’s show. Do I have a treat for you. You may have already heard of her, and if your woman’s now getting off—and I’m not talking about off the telephone—you probably have this lady to thank.”

Lecia winced.

“Who am I talking about?” Depraved Dave panted like he was in the throes of passion. “Why, I’m talking about Dr. Love. Author of the runaway bestseller,
The Big O.
And I have to tell you, this woman is hot. She’s like Halle Berry, only better. Dr. Love, it’s a pleasure to have you in my studio today.”

Lecia steeled her shoulders and forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Good. Now let’s get to the nitty gritty. To the nuts and bolts, if you know what I mean. Because we have a lot to talk about. Your book.” He held it up high, as though he were presenting an item to a courtroom. “
The Big O
,” he all but
shouted. “And no, I’m not talking about Cheerios, guys. I’m talking about orgasms. Female orgasms, to be exact. When I learned about this book, my first thought was, why isn’t there a book like this for guys? But I know why. Because guys don’t need help when it comes to orgasms. We know how to do it. We don’t get all emotional and weepy and mentally shut down. We know how to have a good time.”

As Lecia watched Depraved Dave emote with his hands, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke fervently into the mike, her stomach sank. He didn’t seem at all interested in talking to her. He wanted to preach his own opinions.

What am I doing here?

“No offense, Doc,” he said, finally facing her. “A certain ex-girlfriend of mine—who shall remain nameless—should have had a copy of this book when we were together.” He laughed, his voice hoarse from years of nicotine abuse. “Okay, about your book. You tell women how to get themselves off?”

It couldn’t have sounded more crude. Which made her hate to have to admit, “Well, to a certain extent, yes.”

“I could talk about your credentials, but I don’t want to bore anyone to tears. Besides, anyone who looks as good as you must know her stuff when it comes to orgasms. So let’s get right to the book. I decided to skip all the crap at the beginning and go right for the juice. Chapter Thirteen.” He held the book open and read. “‘How to make your woman scream with passion.’ And before any of you guys out there think I want to discuss this because I need pointers, let’s not get stupid. Because I make all my women scream. Even that certain ex-girlfriend of mine, who had issues up the wazoo. But there are some guys out there who don’t know the first thing about pleasing their women, which is why I’m assuming you wrote this chapter.”

This was going to be bad. Very bad. Lecia hoped the thirty
minutes wouldn’t feel like thirty years. “Actually…” She cleared her throat. “As you can see, that’s the last chapter of the book. And the story behind my motivation for it is kind of funny. I received one of those ‘enlarge your penis’ e-mails—you know, that annoying spam everyone gets—and the subject said something like, ‘Lecia, make your woman scream.’ After I rolled my eyes and deleted the message, I thought, why not put something like this in the book? Not that exactly, but something as…I don’t know. Shocking? The kind of thing that would get people talking. So I did. But while the chapter title is a bit outrageous, it’s actually a serious—”

“Right, right,” Depraved Dave said, cutting her off. “Let’s get to the juice. The creamy center,” he added in an exaggerated tone. “The stuff everyone in America has tuned in to hear about. Point one.
Talk to her
. Okay, Doc. What exactly do you mean by that? Role-playing? Pretending, for example, that your wife is a French tramp? Or a school girl who’s begging to get laid?”