The Sex Whisperer: Book 1 in the Whisperer Trilogy (11 page)

Charlotte
had 25 dresses laid out on her bed when Olivia showed up. “We’ve got to narrow these down to 12 for the trip.”

“You know we’re only going to be there 12 days,” Olivia said.

“And I’m going to wear a dress every single one of those days,” Charlotte said. She insisted on modeling each of the 25 dresses for Olivia. She draped them dramatically over her body and struck Marilyn Monroe-ish poses. Even though she was acting silly, it was impossible not to notice her beauty. Charlotte was the opposite of Olivia in many ways. Where Olivia was dark-skinned with dark hair and dark eyes, Charlotte had a fair complexion with blonde hair and aqua eyes. She was short, but carried her height well, shoulders tossed back and her smile quick and always at the ready. Being around Charlotte made it impossible to ever feel like things were going to turn out badly — so long as they didn’t talk about Mike. And that’s exactly what Charlotte wanted to talk about.

“
Did you bring up his asshole-ish comments at the opening?” she asked.

“No,” Olivia said. “I just don’t have the energy for fighting with him anymore.”

Charlotte got a serious look on her face. “Honey, you really need this vacation. I think the ocean, the sand, the sun; they’re going to clear your head. Maybe this trip will remind you what it’s like to be happy.”

“The weird part is I
keep blaming myself for Mike being unhappy,” Olivia said. “I don’t know if there’s some other way I should act, some hobbies I should take up. Maybe I should get a job? A 9-to-5.
Something.”

Charlotte sat beside her on the bed.

“I think you need to stop thinking about it,” she said. “Changing yourself isn’t going to change him. He’s got issues he’s obviously working through, and he’s either going to become a loving husband or he’s going to lose an incredible wife.”

Olivia was startled by her friend’s bluntness.

“You know I’m all for working things out,” Charlotte said, “but life’s too short to be mistreated, and I think the way he talked to you at your opening —
your opening
— is the very definition of mistreatment. I think you need to communicate that to him somehow. Tell him he’s on the verge of losing you. Put the ball in his court, and see if he’ll fight for you. If he’s not willing to do that, what’s the point of staying with him? All the million-dollar bonuses in the world don’t mean anything if you’re unhappy.”

“I can’t give him an ultimatum,” Olivia said.

“I’m not saying that,” Charlotte said. “Just tell him that you’re really worried about the future, and you want to work to make it better. See what he says. Maybe do it before the trip so that the two of you have some time to think about it while you’re apart.”

Her ideas
made sense, and they seemed straightforward, but the idea of even talking to Mike about their marriage made Olivia’s stomach tighten. “I wish you could talk to him for me.”

“I just might have to if you don’t,” Charlotte said.

Something about the look in Charlotte’s eyes said she wasn’t kidding.

Out of nowhere,
Olivia felt like crying. She looked out the window quickly, turning her face away from her friend. She forced herself to slow down her breathing, and then, for the first time in four years, she wondered what it’d be like to leave Mike. Her reaction scared her. “Let’s get back to these dresses,” she said, “or we’ll never get packed.”

∞

The silence weighed on her like a heavy, wet jacket. Olivia sat at the kitchen bar looking at the calendar on her phone. Her flight left Wednesday afternoon, and she imagined Mike would have some work-related reason why he couldn’t see her off at the airport. That meant she only had one evening to have a meaningful conversation with her husband before she left.

Armando had made two enormous Greek salads. They
looked like exotic house plants. Olivia picked at the platter of hummus, olives and cheese. She uncorked a bottle of wine to let it breathe.
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I have a glass while I wait,
she thought, pouring herself a Napa cab.

Mike showed up uncharacteristically
early. Perhaps it was the wine, but Olivia took it as a good omen.

“Mmmm,” Mike said. “It smells like the Mediterranean in here.”

“That’s my olive breath,” Olivia said.

“I’ll take olive breath over doggie breath,” Mike said.

As always, he disassembled his business clothes in the kitchen. He draped his tie over the back of a chair, hung his suit jacket near the door and took up his seat at the head of the table. He poured himself a very large glass of wine to go with Olivia’s more modest glass.

“How was work?” Olivia asked.

“Not bad,” he said. “I’ve been interviewing candidates for my No. 2.”

“Anyone good?”

“All of them,” Mike said. “I think the hard part is going to be picking which one’s better than the rest.”

“Maybe you should take a page out of your boss’
s book, and pick the hottest one,” Olivia said.

Mike sm
iled and cocked his head to the side giving Olivia a devious look. “They’ve all been guys so far, so I’m not sure how good of a judge I’d be.”

Olivia slid Mike’s salad onto the table.
“So, I’m leaving in three days.”

“The house is going to feel lonely,” Mike said.

“Do you really think that?”

“No,
” Mike said, sighing. “I’m just saying whatever comes to mind.”

Olivia took a
long drink of her wine, and set it down slowly in front of her.
I’m not going to lose my cool.
She thought about all the books she’d read on conflict resolution, and she knew how important her next few words would be.
Use “I” statements,
she thought.

“When you talk to me like that, I feel like I’m getting made fun of,” Olivia said.

Mike continued eating casually.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m sitting right here.”

“I especially felt like that when you were talking about my work at the opening this weekend,”
she said.

Mike sat his fork down and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand.
“I was out of line,” he said quietly, “and I’m not sure where it came from.”

“I’m not either,” Olivia said.
“What
you were saying didn’t bother me as much as the fact that you said in front of our friends. And you said it
at the opening.
I should have been happier than I’ve ever been in my life, and I spent the first 10 minutes crying in the bathroom like a teenage girl.”

“Look, Ollie,” Mike said, “I know I’m not a knight in shining armor. I know I need to treat you better, and it’s at the top of my priority list right now.”

Olivia had to restrain herself from snapping at him.
He sounds like he’s in a goddamn business meeting.

“I don’t ask a lot out of you,” Olivia said, “but I need you to know that I’m worried about us.”

Mike was silent. He stared at his massive salad.

“I’m not worried about this week or next month,” she said. “I’m worried about
us.
I’m worried about long-term, where this is headed, and I thought we might be able to use this trip, this time apart as a chance for us to regroup and prioritize.”

Mike smiled.
“I think that’s pretty easy when you’re sitting on the beach.”

He’s mocking me
. Olivia ran her hands through her hair unconsciously. “Yeah. It’s such a blast sitting on the beach wondering if my husband even gives a shit about me. It might be fun if you had the balls to take time off work and come with me.”

Mike stood up
suddenly and stomped toward her. His eyes looked dark and menacing, and Olivia froze in panic. She’d never seen that look before, and it scared her. She needed to back away, to run even, but she couldn’t will herself to move. She was rooted to the spot cowering like a child. Just before Mike reached her, though, he turned and walked out of the room. He kept going, out to the garage. And then he left — again.

What’s happening
to us?
Olivia asked herself.
What’s happening?

∞

She poured the last of the cab into her glass and walked unsteadily up the stairs to the office. After three glasses, the wine had the curious effect of making Olivia forget about Mike and fixate on Thomas. She fired up her laptop and started writing.

D
ear Thomas,

Thank you so much for the whisper. It certainly did say a lot, although I’m not sure what my takeaway should be: that you wished I would have given you a blowjob behind the trailers? Or that you want to court me? :) I had a friend tell me once that every guy’s idea of dream sex is getting a blowjob while driving down the highway in their convertible. That’s not you, is it?

Regardless, I want to genuinely say thank you for your kind words at the opening. I needed them more than you’ll ever know. Keep your whispers coming, sir.

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Dear Hawaii Girl,

It’s confession time. I’ve been checking my email incessantly for the past two days wondering what you tho
ught about my last whisper. And of course, I don’t want the takeaway to be that I dream about you giving me BJs behind a trailer (or in a convertible)! Such a thought would never cross my mind :)

Let me go out on a limb and say that I feel a bond with you. I don’t understand it, but I felt
it at your gallery opening. I even felt it the first time you contacted me. You should see what other women have told me about their fantasy men! You, on the other hand, want something real, something meaningful. You want a confident man, a dreamer, an artist. You want a man in love with
your
body. I wrote that fantasy behind the trailers because I wanted you when I saw you there. I wanted to touch you. You were so confident, so in charge. You’re a powerful woman. I felt that when you first wrote me, and everything I’ve learned about you since has been icing on the cake.

Seeing a photo of you
,
seeing you in person,
it’s been … strange for me. Let’s just say I’ve never wanted to meet a client before, and now, I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.

I bought three of your pieces at the show, you know. Klaus tells me they should be available in three days. I’ve been debating where to hang them, and I’m eager to see them again. When I look at your photographs, I feel like I’m seeing the world in an entirely new way. It’s the same
feeling I get when I’m around you. Having your photographs on my walls means that even though you’re off to Hawaii, a part of you will be here with me in Oakwood.

Your Faithful Servant,

Thomas

∞

Dear Thomas,

Exchanging emails with a
writer makes me self-conscious. Please dumb down your correspondence henceforth! :)

I’m humbled that you bought three of my works. You have to tell me which ones. I’m even more humbled by your compliments, though. T
hey’ve brightened what would have otherwise been a rather pathetic night.

Before I log off tonight, I’d like to ask you one question:
What would you do if you had $10 million dollars and no responsibilities?

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Dear Hawaii Girl,

How do y
ou know I don’t already have $10 million dollars and no responsibilities?

I’ll save you the guessing game, though, and tell you I don’t. I’m actually barely scraping by … especially after
buying three of your photos :). I’m happy with my life, money or no money.

If I
did
have $10 million dollars, though, I think my biggest problem would be deciding what I
don’t
want to do. I’d try just about anything and everything at least once.

Mostly, though, I’d travel. I might even try to talk you into going with me. I’d set off with a motorcycle and a tent and ride to South America.
Then, I’d go so far off the map I might stumble onto a spot no human being has ever been to or seen before. There’s got to be somewhere like that left, don’t you think? Some lonely, beautiful, secret spot that exists for no one but us.

You should be asleep now, young lady, so I won’t bother you with more questions. Someday, though, tell me what you’d do with all the money and time in the world.

Before then, promise me this: you’ll check your email when you get to Hawaii. I’m not sure I can tolerate being out of touch with you.