Gimme an O! (6 page)

After a hectic morning schedule, Lecia needed to get out of the office. She had been keeping a low profile, even from the rest of the staff, all because she felt embarrassed about last night’s appearance on the
Tonight Show.
Instead of passing through the main office to head out, she had slipped out the back door and across the street for her lunch break. No one had noticed.

Now, sitting at a table in Nora’s Café, she sipped a strong black coffee as she reviewed the latest issue of
The Journal of Sex Education and Therapy
, a publication of the American Association of Sex Educators, Counselors, and Therapists. She wore a large straw hat and sunglasses, a feeble attempt to disguise her appearance.

Most people at this shop knew who she was—regardless of any disguise—but thankfully, they left her alone. With her newfound fame, she not only enjoyed a semblance of normalcy in her life, she craved it. Part of normal was being able to sit down in a coffee shop and enjoy a coffee and a pastry. She was able to do that at Nora’s Café.

Sensing someone behind her, she turned. Lawrence, the proprietor of the shop, smiled down at her.

“Afternoon, Lecia.”

“Good afternoon,” she replied. Lawrence couldn’t see her and not say hi. He was like that with all his customers. He treated them like friends.

“I missed you this morning.”

“I was running late. I didn’t have time to come in for my morning coffee.”

“At least you’re here now. Like I always say, you bring a piece of the sunshine in with you.”

Lecia simply smiled.

“What’re you reading?”

“Oh…” Lecia closed the journal and covered it with her arm. She had been reading an enlightening article about new perspectives on sexual pain disorders, but she didn’t feel like sharing that information. “Just boring medical stuff.”

Lawrence held the coffeepot high. “Need a refill?”

She held a hand over the opening of her cup. “I’ve had two cups already, thanks.”

Lawrence nodded, and should have been on his way, but he lingered over her, as Lecia knew he would. She glanced at her magazine, then back up at him.

He said, “I saw you on TV. Heard you on the radio, too.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yeah, and you looked great. But then, you always do.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I have to say, I was a bit surprised with what happened on the
Tonight Show.
That football player attacking you the way he did. But I thought you handled him real well.”

“I tried,” Lecia said simply.
As though she hadn’t replayed every second of the confrontation over and over in her mind!
She wished she could put Anthony and the whole event behind her. But
that wasn’t easy to do, not with the television stations replaying the juicier clips.

The one thing she’d noticed while watching the show at her sister’s place, was how adamant Anthony Beals had been. How
passionate
, her sister had said. He hadn’t flinched when he told his version of what had happened the night he was alleged to have propositioned a prostitute, and, in fact, nothing about him made her think he was lying. She’d had preconceived ideas about him, all implanted by the media story and his wife’s description of a man who enjoyed perverted sex, strip clubs, and hookers.

“Lecia?”

Her eyes flew upward. “Oh, sorry. I…What were you saying?”

“I said that I thought you put Depraved Dave in his place.”

Lecia rolled her eyes, remembering the radio interview. “That was crazy. I won’t ever be doing that show again.”

“What about other interviews? Any more lined up?”

“Not in the near future, thank God.” She’d had a crazy few weeks with the book’s tenth printing and was ready for a rest.

“So you’ll be around?” Lawrence asked, his tone unmistakably hopeful.

“Well…I’ll be around, yes, but I’m busy with work.” Lecia didn’t want to give Lawrence any type of opening to ask her out. Because she knew he wanted to.

“Maybe,” he began slowly, “maybe sometime we can get together outside of my shop. Perhaps dinner?”

Lecia knew all about Lawrence. At sixty-three, he had lost the love of his life, Nora, four years ago. He had once been a high-powered executive, but a heart attack at the age of fifty-one had made him realize that life was too short to spend
working ninety hours a week, only to keel over before you’d had a chance to enjoy it. After that, he and his wife—the parents of four sons who lived in the Northeast, where they had been born and raised—decided to retire in the Golden State. After a year, they decided to open up a small coffee shop, a homey kind of place where the owners knew everyone by name. It had been an instant success.

Lecia had first started coming there when she began working in Los Angeles, just over two months ago. And she’d known that Lawrence had taken a liking to her since that time.

“I’m honestly so busy,” she told him. “I really can’t say yes.”

“Oh. I see.”

She didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “But if my schedule changes, I’ll let you know. I’d enjoy a friendly dinner.”

Lawrence nodded his understanding. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re reading.”

She tucked the magazine under her arm and stood. “Actually, I’d better be off. I wouldn’t mind a fresh cup of coffee to go.”

“Large?”

“Medium this time. I don’t want to be too wired this afternoon.”

“Sure thing.”

Lecia followed Lawrence up to the front of the shop. She opened her wallet, but as he turned to hand her the to-go cup, he closed his hand over hers and pushed the wallet downward.

“You know all refills are free.”

Lecia didn’t bother to argue. She grinned, nodded her appreciation, then headed to the door.

On the short drive from Nora’s Café back to the office, the sky had gone from bright and sunny to overcast, promising rain. Lecia took her umbrella out of the backseat of her Lexus before making her way to the clinic’s back door.

The Merkowitz Wellness Center had started out as a three-room building, but had been expanded over the years to house offices for six therapists. Sharon Merkowitz, a psychotherapist, had built the clinic twenty years ago as a single therapist operation. Now, four full-time therapists worked out of the offices, while part-time therapists shared the other two.

Two and a half months ago Lecia had joined the Merkowitz Wellness Center as a part-time therapist. Sharon had been ecstatic to have her, as the previous sex therapist had left to start his own practice. Between all the counselors, they covered every aspect of mental health, sexual health, and spiritual well-being.

Located on Wilshire Boulevard, the center was close to many film studios and busier than it had ever been. Several film executives had appointments during the day. Lecia had acquired regular patients almost from the moment the word went out that she had joined the clinic.

Between the clinic, her own website clinic, and her writing, she barely had any time to herself.

There was no one in the hallway when Lecia entered the building, and she quickly slipped into her office. As she dumped her purse in her desk drawer, she decided it was time to stop hiding. If nothing else, she needed to retrieve her mail.

When she reached the front desk, Samantha, the receptionist, grinned up at her widely. Sam was an attractive, robust woman of African-American and Mexican descent. Now in her mid-forties, she had been with the clinic from the moment it first opened its doors.

“Dr. Calhoun,” she said. “You’re finally coming up for air.”

“Yes.” Lecia smiled sheepishly. “It’s been a busy morning.”

Sam gave her a knowing look, but Lecia didn’t mind. If there was one thing she could rely on here, it was that the staff would respect her privacy.

“Saw you on the
Tonight Show
,” Sam said. “I thought you were great.”

“Thanks.” Lecia supposed there was no avoiding the topic, which was to be expected, especially in this office.

The phone rang. As Sam answered it, Lecia turned to her mail slot. There was a ton of it. She had no doubt much of it was fan mail. Even though she hadn’t listed an address for mail in her book, people had tracked her down to this office.

“That was
another
woman interested in an appointment with you,” Sam said, spinning around in her swivel chair to face her. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook, by the way. More potential clients.”

Lecia knew that if she took on many more clients, she would have to increase her time at the office from three days a week to five. Sharon had already told her she would be more than happy to have her on a full-time schedule, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Yes, therapy was unlike obstetrics, where she had been on call during the middle of the night. But she wanted more time to work on her second book. She hadn’t decided yet what it would be, but she and her editor were tossing around the idea of a book based on actual clinical experience, something for which she would have to get permission from interested clients. She liked the idea, but wasn’t sold on it. For the time being, she was still in
The Big O
mode, and more than happy to continue promoting that book.

“I’ve input all the messages in the computer, and I’ll send you the attachment via e-mail.”

“Thanks.” Lecia had her phone set up to bump people directly to voice mail this morning, something she did when she was in the middle of a session. Sometimes, people called back to speak directly with the receptionist, feeling that was a better way to get through to her.

“Oh, and your publicist called twice already. Said she keeps getting bumped to your voice mail, and that she couldn’t reach you on your cell phone.”

“Oops. Must have forgotten to turn on the ringer.” In reality, she had deliberately left it off. She wasn’t interested in chatting with Angela right now. Knowing Angela, she was calling with an idea on how to maximize yesterday’s negative publicity.

Lecia was mid-pivot when Sam spoke again. “And a reporter from the
L.A. Times
called. He’d like you to get back to him.”

As if!
The last thing Lecia needed was any more rope with which to strangle herself.

“Ginger didn’t want to settle,” Keith said.

Anthony gripped the receiver with all the strength in his fist. “Son of a bitch.”

“I have no clue why,” Keith went on. Anthony could envision the man shaking his head. “She can’t possibly expect to get more than what we offered.”

“Apparently she does.” Anthony couldn’t believe that his wife wanted to slug it out in court. Unless…“Maybe she doesn’t want to end the marriage.”

“Oh, she wants out. Her lawyer said that she explicitly stated she’s not interested in any talk about reconciliation. She wants to move on with her life.”

Why was Ginger doing this? “If she wants out of our marriage, I want her to tell me that face-to-face. She needs to talk to me. Can’t you force a meeting?”

“Ginger said she doesn’t want to see you. That there’s nothing to discuss.”

How could she totally dismiss him without even sitting down to talk about what had happened? Before they’d gotten married, she had always listened to what he had to say, even
when he was discussing football plays she didn’t understand. Whenever they had a disagreement, they talked things out at length. She was always patient and peaceful. So what had happened to the woman?

Ginger had explicitly told him she wanted to be married once, and had presented herself as the type never to bail on him. Hell, she had nursed a paraplegic mother from the time she was only fourteen, until her mother’s death a couple years ago. A woman who would do that certainly wouldn’t up and leave a guy based on one problem. Anthony didn’t understand the change in her.

“Try again,” he told Keith.

Keith sighed wearily. “Can I ask what you hope to accomplish?”

“I want to save my marriage.”

“You know my—”

“I do, but I’m telling you to try again. My mama always said that anything worth having doesn’t come easy.”

“All right.” Keith’s tone sounded defeated. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Maybe I should have shown him my boobs.”

Bo stopped kissing Ginger’s inner thigh and looked up at her. “What’d you just say?”

Damn her big mouth. She would have to do a better job of keeping her private thoughts private. “Nothin’. I didn’t say nothin’.”

Bo frowned. Clearly he didn’t believe her. But he lowered his lips back to her leg again.

He rained gentle kisses along her skin, and Ginger wished she could let herself be seduced. But she was upset with the
way things had gone today. She was back at square one, and she needed a new game plan.

Bo’s lips moved higher. Ginger lay back, sighing softly. But seconds later she abruptly sat up. “What an asshole lawyer. I mean, who does he think he is, quitting on me?”

“Ah, hell.” Bo rolled onto his back in frustration.

“Sorry, Boo.” Ginger sat up and reached for his arm. “I just…I can’t stop thinking. I’ve got a headache over this whole thing.”

“Time was, I could help you get over a headache.”

“Not this time. All the lawyers I’ve called can’t see me for at least a couple weeks. I don’t have that kind of time.
We
don’t.”

“Why don’t you try that guy we’ve been seeing on all those commercials? Don’t he say if your case is urgent, he’ll see you right away?”

Ginger stopped moping to look Bo in the eye. “What guy?”

“You know. We seen him at least ten times tonight alone. Jeff or Bob. Something like that.”

“You mean Zack Mulroney?”

“Yeah. That’s the guy.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “He’s an ambulance chaser.”

“A what?”

“Doesn’t he deal with personal injury?”

“I don’t know.” Bo shrugged as he sat up. “Seems to me he’s the kind of guy who dabbles in a bit of everything. It wouldn’t hurt to call.”

Zack Mulroney. He was sleazy, that was obvious. Ambitious—certainly. He was…

Ginger leapt onto Bo, pinning him on the bed with her legs astride him. “Bo, you are the
smartest
!”

“Really?” He eyed her suspiciously.

“Really. You’re right. That guy’ll see dollar signs and do exactly what I need him to do. Boo, I love you so much.”

Ginger smothered his mouth with a kiss. Suddenly, her headache was gone.

Anthony spent the next two days on edge. Waiting for word from his lawyer was driving him nuts. He had been keeping a low profile, fielding calls from reporters about the incident on the
Tonight Show.
The way these people were keeping after him, it was obvious they needed to get a life.

Low profile or not, he had gone to Cal State each day for a run and to throw the football. Kahari Brown, his best friend off the field and key receiver on the field, always went with him. But even Kahari had noticed his slump over the past two days.

“Dawg, maybe you need to rest your arm,” he’d said after Anthony had nearly taken off a female jogger’s head. Today, he had skipped the ball throwing and stuck to racing Kahari around the track.

Anthony was a runner—he had first toyed with the idea of a career in track before making the move to football—but Kahari had beat him by a country mile when Anthony tripped over his own feet and landed on a knee. His ego was hurt more than anything else, but he had been walking with a slight limp ever since.

He simply didn’t feel like himself.

He was preoccupied with thoughts of Ginger, yes, but the moment when he’d stumbled over his feet, he’d actually been thinking about Dr. Lecia Calhoun. A dozen times he had contemplated making a few inquiries about where he could reach her. A dozen times he had decided against it.

Calling her would be a bad idea. In the clip they kept re
playing from the
Tonight Show
, she looked afraid of him. Could she actually have believed he was going to hurt her? And if she did, who knew how she would react if she heard him on the other end of her line? Yet that was exactly why he wanted to reach out to her. Maybe it was a moot point, but he wanted her to know that she had no need to fear him. Not then, not ever.

Now, back at the hotel, he wondered what harm there would be to try and get through to Dr. Love. Freshly showered, he was sitting on the sofa, wearing a plush terry-cloth robe. He had his right leg extended and resting on the coffee table, a bag of ice plopped on his injured knee.

He glanced at the phone. All he had to do was pick it up and call Ben. His agent would be able to track the sex doctor down.

“Forget the doctor,” he said aloud. “All you’re trying to do is pass the time, waiting on Keith to call with some word about Ginger.”

But he found himself reaching for the receiver. And before he knew it, he was dialing Ben’s number.

Ben’s voice mail came on. “Ben, it’s T. I need you to do me a favor. Find out how I can get in touch with Dr. Love. A phone number to her office would be great, or even the office address. Get back to me.”

Screw the right thing. He wanted to talk to Dr. Love, and soon.

Ginger blew her nose into the soggy tissue, then began sobbing loudly once again.

Zack Mulroney passed her another Kleenex. Ginger paused to look up at him through her tears. “Thank you,” she said. “So, will you take my case?”

“Of course,” Zack told her, gently patting her back.

Thank God for her acting experience, she thought. Though she had a feeling Zack wasn’t as hard-nosed as her old lawyer and would have been willing to take her case with a lot less tears. There was something to be said for B-list lawyers. Or C-, or D-list. Whatever Zack was. Just like there was something to be said for B-list actors. They tried harder, were hungrier for that big break.

Thinking of B-list actors made her remember the message Sha-Shana Dane had left on her cell phone this morning. Lord, but wasn’t Sha-Shana becoming a big thorn in her side? She would just have to keep putting her off—until she had the money in hand.

“So you think I won’t have a problem collecting the five million?”

“Your pre-nup is explicit. If your husband cheats, you get five million dollars. He cheated.”

“Finally, someone who understands.”

“Of course I understand. I’m glad you chose to trust me with this case. Believe me, I’ll give it the attention it deserves.”

Of that, Ginger had no doubt. She was probably the most affluent wife Zack Mulroney had come across in his career. It didn’t matter to her, as long as he could get the job done.

She sniffled, then said, “I won’t have to go to court, will I? The other lawyer I spoke with said something to that effect. But I got the feeling he just wasn’t as conscientious as you are, ya know? That he wanted to milk me for every last dime…”

“Well…”

“Oh, no.”

Zack held up a hand. “Hear me out. I have every confidence it won’t come to that. But there’s a chance, if your hus
band refuses to negotiate, that yes, you could have to go to court to prove your allegation of infidelity.”

“But his picture was plastered on every paper with that—that whore!”

“Calm down, Mrs. Beals. I said that was a worst-case scenario. If I get your husband to admit to his infidelity—”

“But he’s denying it!” Ginger sobbed harder. This time, Zack handed her the entire Kleenex box.

“Where is this woman?”

“The prostitute, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Ginger didn’t answer right away. She dabbed at her eyes, her nose. “I don’t know,” she lied. She didn’t want to bring Sha-Shana any further into this, but she would if she had to. Just like she’d go to court and cry a river if that would help.

Zack bit his bottom lip. “That’s too bad.”

“But I’m sure I can find her,” Ginger quickly said. “Through the police, I mean. Or an investigator.”

Zack lowered himself onto his haunches beside Ginger, who sat on the pleather chair opposite his desk. The fabric was a plastic leather imitation. “I think if this woman comes forward, we could present her to your husband’s lawyer in a meeting. It would be a damn good argument for settling. At the very least, it would be in your husband’s best interest to settle, unless he wants even more bad press.”

“I would think so, yes. But he can be very stubborn. He’s…spiteful. He doesn’t want to see me get a penny. After everything I did for him.”

“How long was the marriage?”

Ginger swallowed. She knew this was the sticking point. “Five months. But to me, it was like five years. I gave him everything I had.”

Zack stood to his full height, which couldn’t have been more than five feet seven inches tall. “Look, if he doesn’t want to pay, we’ll just play hardball. If we can find this woman, I’ll make sure she talks to anyone who will listen.” Zack shrugged, as if to say, What more could I do? “Depraved Dave will be only too happy to give her air time. And all the tabloids will eat this up. Your husband will be paying you just to make her shut up.”

That’s exactly what Ginger was counting on.

“Thank you, Zack. I could tell from the first moment I saw you that you were the kind of man who would understand.”

As he sat behind his desk, his eyes suddenly narrowed on her. Ginger’s heart slammed against her chest. “What?” she asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know.” He continued to scrutinize her. “You look familiar to me. Could we have met somewhere before?”

“I—I—” Ginger stammered. “I’m sure you’ve seen me on the news, in the papers. After this story broke—”

“Of course,” Zack said. The answer satisfied him.

Ginger pulled her purse strap off the back of the chair. The way she saw it, the sooner she got out of there, the better.

“Not so fast,” Zack said. He leaned forward in his pleather chair. “One more thing to discuss.”

Ginger swallowed. “Oh?”

“My fee. Twenty-five percent.”

“Twenty-five!”

“Ten thousand when you agree for me to represent you, the rest once the deal is worked out.”

“But twenty-five percent—that’s more than a million bucks!” And from the look of the wood-paneled walls and dollar store ornaments on his desk, it didn’t look like Zack had ever seen that kind of money in his life.

“Fifteen, then,” he quickly said. “But that’s as low as I’ll go. I have things to consider—like extra safety precautions. You say your husband has a violent temper. I don’t want him coming after me.”

She had already promised Sha-Shana fifty grand. Another fifteen was a huge chunk of her change.

But fifteen percent of five million was a helluva lot better than fifteen percent of nothing.

“All right,” she told him. “But I pay you when I get paid. My money’s tied up, so I can’t afford the ten grand right now.”

Zack frowned ever so slightly but finally said, “Okay.”

“Hopefully this will be resolved sooner rather than later, and neither of us will have to wait on the money.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll see the money very soon. I’m certain of that.”