Send Me No Flowers (3 page)

“Uh-oh.” Gina sat up straighter on the sofa. “I recognize that look in your eyes. It was the same one you had when you released all the frogs in our high school biology class.”

Irma pushed up her bifocals. “What are you going to do, Dr. Grant?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m going to boycott Valentine’s Day.”

They all just looked at her. But the more Rachel thought about the idea, the more she liked it. No more sending flowers to herself. No more overpriced greeting cards. No more of those candy hearts with the cutesy messages.

“I don’t think you can do that,” Irma said at last.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s tradition,” Frank said.

Gina nodded. “It’s an annual event.”

“So is the flu,” Rachel countered, “but I still try to avoid it.”

Lacie looked at her. “Are you really considering a boycott, Dr. Grant?”

“I’m not considering it, I’m going to do it!” Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Action was always the best remedy for a case of the doldrums. She could already see the group’s despondency replaced by an air of expectation. “I said it once, and I’ll say it again,
You don’t have to be in love to be happy.
Why celebrate a day that disputes that?”

Her enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. Everybody started talking at once, their conversation peppered with laughter.

“So who’s with me?” Rachel asked, her mind already racing with ideas. “Who wants to boycott Valentine’s Day?”

“Count me in,” Gina said with a grin. “Murder might be a felony, but picketing isn’t even a misdemeanor.”

“I’m in, too,” Lacie declared. “And the first thing I’m going to do is refuse to wear those stupid heart-shaped tassels at work.”

Frank’s weathered face lit up. “This means I won’t have to play Cupid on the Bass Club’s float in the parade. I’ve always hated wearing those sissy red tights. I’m no Transylvanian.”

Irma rose, raising one manicured fist in the air. “Let the boycott begin!”

“Her name is Rachel Grant,” Charlie said, pulling on his dress socks. “She’s a therapist over at the Rosemont Clinic. And she’s not only a nut, she’s a dangerous nut. Three days ago she declared a boycott of Valentine’s Day. Can you believe it?” Charlie shook his head in disbelief. His mother and father had both been police officers, raising their son to believe in law and order and civil obedience. He even refused to jaywalk. He obviously thought that a Valentine’s Day boycott in Love was tantamount to treason.

“Are you sure she’s not a patient instead of a therapist?” Drew asked, not quite ready to believe such an outlandish story. He and Charlie enjoyed playing practical jokes on each other, so naturally he was skeptical.

“Positive. I found out about it when Frank Anders called me and told me he wasn’t entering a float in the Cupid Parade this year. Since then I’ve been getting a flood of calls from members of the Bass Club saying that if Frank’s not entering, neither are they.” Charlie threw up his hands. “How can I be the Cupid Parade chairman if there is no Cupid Parade?”

Now Drew knew his friend wasn’t joking. Charlie took his job as parade chairman very seriously.

“So this Grant woman has something against parades?”

“No. According to Frank, she’s got something against Valentine’s Day. She’s declared a boycott and is recruiting citizens to join it.”

Drew scowled as he shrugged into his jacket. The woman sounded like a menace to society. “She can’t do that. It’s not only ridiculous, it’s stupid. Doesn’t she know the economic boon Valentine’s Day gives this city?”

“I guess someone needs to set her straight.”

“So give her a call. Maybe this has all been blown out of proportion.”

“I thought the mayor might have more influence with her.” Charlie grinned. “So what do you say, Mayor?”

Drew shook his head. “I’m still not used to people calling me that.”

“It’s been three months since the city council appointed you to the position. And you’re definitely an improvement over Mayor Babcock. I hear he’s adjusting well to prison life.”

“Well, he certainly left the city finances in chaos.” Drew was an attorney, not an accountant, but he didn’t need a calculator to figure out how close Love was to operating in the red. He’d been chosen as mayor for his negotiating skills and natural leadership abilities. But it was his competitive streak that had made him eagerly accept the challenge.

“Believe me, I know. Our finances certainly won’t be helped any if this boycott succeeds.”

“You mentioned that when we started playing racquetball. I think you were trying to throw me off my game.”

“And as usual it didn’t work,” Charlie complained. “I still owe you a pastrami on rye. Good thing I always bring extra cash on Wednesdays.”

“Hey, don’t forget the barbecue potato chips this time.”

“Got it.” Charlie ran a comb through his damp hair. “Now we just need to convince this Grant woman to forget about the boycott. So are you ready to turn on that legendary Lavery charm?”

Drew grimaced. “Is that really part of my job description?” .

“Just consider it one of the fringe benefits. Maybe Dr. Grant isn’t as horrible as she sounds.” He shrugged. “Although it’s hard to tell what kind of woman would instigate a boycott against Valentine’s Day. One thing, for sure, she’s not a romantic. Probably doesn’t even like men.”

“Then I doubt I’ll have much luck with her.”

“Just give her that lady-killer smile and she’ll be putty in your hands. She’s probably not used to a lot of male attention.”

“Well, I’ll give it a try,” Drew said as he closed his locker door and inserted the padlock. “I can picture her now. Middle-aged. Bitter. One of those stiff, academic types.”

“Think of it as a challenge.”

“I’d rather beat you at racquetball again.”

“Don’t worry, Lavery. Whether it’s women or racquetball,” Charlie said with a wide grin, “you always come out on top.”

“ONLY THREE MORE MINUTES, Mr. Kasper,” Rachel called toward the closed closet door in her office.

“I can’t breathe,” yelled a panicky voice from inside the closet. “I gotta get out of here!”

“Take slow, deep breaths,” she replied in calm, soothing tones. “Close your eyes and envision a safe place. Imagine you’re in a cocoon.”

“All right,” came his shaky voice from the closet. “I’ll...t...t...try.”

“I know you can do this, Mr. Kasper.” Rachel kept her fingers crossed. Jonathan Kasper had been a regular patient for the last three years. A short, balding man on the brink of retirement, he and his wife had big plans to travel around the world. The only problem was he suffered severe attacks of claustrophobia every time he got on an airplane. He’d been making wonderful progress conquering his problem, but the acclimation phase was the hardest part.

She glanced at her watch. This session was almost over. Her new impotency case would be next, then she’d be free for the rest of the afternoon, and the delicious rush of a Twinkie melting in her mouth. So far, she’d successfully avoided the vending machine in the clinic’s employee lounge all day, but she could feel herself weakening.

The door to her office cracked open, accompanied by a light knock. “Excuse me,” intoned a deep, masculine voice. “There wasn’t anyone at the receptionist’s desk. I’m looking for a Dr. Grant.”

“You found her,” she said, as the door opened wider.

The man walked in, his dark brow furrowed.
“You’re
Dr. Grant?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, extending her hand toward him with an encouraging smile. “But you may call me Rachel.”

She knew he must be well over six feet tall, because she had to look up at him and she was five-nine. Tall enough to scare a lot of men away. But this man just looked surprised, and a little intrigued. He also looked vaguely familiar.

“I’m Drew,” he replied, clasping her hand in his big, warm callused one. A tingle shot through her arm as he gently squeezed her fingers.

His cocky, self-assured smile surprised her. She hadn’t expected a man with such an easy, confident air. But maybe it was all an act. On the surface she saw a trim, athletic body in a tailored Armani suit. A handsome, square-jawed face. Heart-stopping blue eyes. But underneath that delectable exterior probably lay a shy, insecure, sexually frustrated male.

She could hardly wait to get her hands on him. Figuratively speaking.

He smiled again, niggling that faint sense of recognition. The name on her appointment calendar read Smith. Drew Smith? No that didn’t sound right. Then it clicked.
Drew Lavery.
The new mayor. She’d seen his picture several times in the newspaper. Although she’d never imagined he’d look this much better in person.

His smile grew shy. “This is a little awkward. I’m not sure where to begin...”

“Why don’t we just take some time getting acquainted fast.” She steered him toward the sofa. “That will make both of us more comfortable.”

He looked somewhat reluctant as he sat down, but that was only natural.

“You’re not exactly what I expected,” he began, raking his long fingers through his sable brown hair.

“Please, just relax. I know why you’re here and I admire your courage in talking about something like this with a total stranger.” She hadn’t expected a man so young, so attractive, so outwardly virile. The paradox intrigued her. His case might make an interesting article for the
Journal of American Therapists.
Of course, she’d make certain his identity remained anonymous.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, still sensing an air of uneasiness about him.

“Sure,” he said, settling into the sofa.

Neither of them said a word as she poured the hot coffee into a white ceramic mug, although she could feel his steady blue gaze fixed on her. She blamed the fiery blush in her cheeks on the steam rising out of the coffeepot.

“Shall I go first?” she asked, as she handed him the mug. She sat in a chair next to the sofa, kicking off her heels. Then she tucked her legs underneath her, unaware of the way her gray silk skirt rode up her thighs until she caught him staring at her legs.

“Drew?”

“What?” He looked up. “Oh. Right. Sure, go ahead.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Well, I grew up here in Love, then attended Michigan State University. That’s where I got my doctorate degree in clinical psychology. I’ve been in private practice for the last four years.”

She hesitated, uncertain if she should relate more personal information. It seemed the least she could do, since he was about to divulge his innermost secrets to her.

“I’m thirty years old and single,” she continued. “Which still seems to shock my family. I collect antiques, and am seriously thinking about getting a dog.” Her life didn’t sound too exciting, although he seemed quite interested. He leaned back against the sofa, watching her intently as he sipped his coffee.

Time to get down to business.

“Are you single or married, Drew?”

“I’m uh...I’m single.”

She nodded. At least he didn’t have to suffer from performance anxiety on a regular basis. “Do you date much?”

“I haven’t lately. I’ve been pretty busy these last few months.”

Rachel folded her hands in her lap. “Do you feel that’s just an excuse to avoid intimate relationships?”

He looked surprised. “I’ve never really...thought about it.”

“For many men, it’s an issue that’s easier to avoid. One more thing...”

“Yes?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Do you suffer from premature ejaculation?”

He spit coffee halfway across the room.
“What?”

“I know it’s a sensitive subject. But I really think we should talk about it.”

He set the mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I don’t think you understand. I came here to talk about something else. Something else
entirely.”

“We can talk about whatever you’d like. This is your time. But impotence is a very complex problem. Once the physical reasons have been ruled out, we need to turn to intensive therapy.”

He stood up, the color draining from his face. “I certainly don’t need any therapy. Intensive or otherwise.”