Gimme an O! (12 page)

“I went to confession immediately afterward.”

“But you had sex with your husband.”

“Yes, I know. But…”

As her client’s face grew a bright shade of red, Lecia studied the older woman. This was her third time seeing Gertrude Kennedy, but the first time the woman had had the courage to share her thoughts about sex and why she thought it was “dirty.” Before today, Gertrude had simply told her that she had problems with intimacy and it was ruining her relationship. From what Lecia had learned today, the woman’s biggest problem with sex was enjoying it.

“You have to understand, I was raised a good Catholic girl. I told you that. The way my mother went on and on about sex, I thought it was a horrible thing, an evil thing. I grew up believing it was for my husband’s pleasure, and of course to make babies. When I first made love to my husband, I wondered what my mother had been talking about. Sex wasn’t horrible. But then I remembered that she said it was also evil, that it wasn’t a woman’s place to like it. Whenever I think of my mother, I know she would be ashamed that I’m still hav
ing sex at my age, much less experiencing new…new
things
.”

“Your mother’s dead?”

“Going on twelve years.”

Lecia nodded. “You think trying new things is bad?”

“I guess it depends on what you try. I’m not supposed to like anything dirty. But I do. God forgive me, I do.”

“Do you believe that what two people do in a committed relationship is dirty? Not an expression of love?”

“It depends on what you do. And how much you enjoy it,” Gertrude added, grinning from ear to ear.

Lecia raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Please understand, I started off doing this stuff for my husband,” Gertrude explained, as though Lecia was judging her. “Because it turned him on. Now, it turns me on.”

“So you’re both enjoying it.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why do you think that is bad?”

“I can see in my husband’s face that he’s disappointed with me. Oh, I know he enjoys himself, but he doesn’t really expect me to have fun doing it.”

So far, the woman hadn’t explicitly said what “it” was. Given the woman’s age—mid-fifties—it could be anything from oral sex to swinging. She had grown up in a different generation, and being a churchgoing woman had only made things more complicated.

“Has your husband explicitly told you he’s disappointed in you?”

“Oh, no. Harry would never tell me that. He tells me that he loves me.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Gertrude, you’re really feeling guilt where there’s no cause.”

“I know that rationally—but how do I get over it?”

Lecia didn’t anticipate many sessions with this woman. She leaned forward across her desk. “One thing I’ve never bought into is the view that sex is more for men’s enjoyment than it is for women’s. Nor that sex is strictly for procreation. You need to allow yourself to enjoy whatever it is you’re doing. Are you hurting anyone?”

“No.”

“Hurting yourself?”

“God, no.”

“Then what exactly is the problem? That you enjoy it?”

“When you say it like that, it doesn’t really make sense.”

“I have a great book I can recommend for you and your husband to read. It’s about love and intimacy. I think it will be a great help to you.” And just maybe that should be her next book, she thought. Too many women she met had the view that if they enjoyed certain sexual acts, they were whores. Of course, it was fine and dandy for men to do whatever they wanted sexually and not be branded.

“Does it have a chapter on…” The woman blushed. “…on…”

“On?” Lecia prompted.

“On dressing up?”

“What kind of dressing up—cross dressing?”

“Good Lord in heaven, no.” Gertrude’s hand flew to her heart. “Dressing up like…like a schoolgirl. You know, the way that Britney Spears did once in a video. That’s where my husband got the idea.”

Lecia bit back a chuckle. It was almost sweet, this old-fashioned woman feeling guilty for some innocent role-playing. Especially in this town.

“Gertrude—” Lecia stopped talking when she heard some sort of commotion outside her office. There were at least two sets of voices.

“—not go in there.” That was Sam’s voice.

“Get out of my way.” That voice was deeper, and clearly belonged to a man.

“Sir!”

“Gertrude, will you excuse me a—”

The door flew open, startling Lecia. But she was even more shocked when she saw Anthony Beals standing there.

“Lecia, I need to speak with you. Right away.”

Lecia’s brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. Anthony was barging in here to see her? What on earth for?

She had the sudden image of a hero at the end of a movie when he tracked down the heroine to proclaim his undying love for her.

“Anthony, I’m in the middle of a session.”

“I tried to get him to leave,” Sam said.

“It’s okay, Sam. I’ll take care of this.”

Sam scowled at Anthony before she disappeared. Anthony watched her walk away, then said, “This is urgent. It’s about Ginger.”

Lecia wanted to throw her notepad at him. Not Ginger again. And God was she ever way off base with that ridiculous movie thought. “Then it’s definitely going to have to wait.”

“No can do, Dr. Love.”

“Excuse me?”

Anthony looked at Gertrude. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to do this.”

Lecia glanced at her patient. Gertrude’s eyes were volleying
back and forth between the two of them. “Gertrude,” Lecia said, “I’ll be back in a moment, okay?”

“Oh, no.” Gertrude got up. “I don’t mind finishing early. You take care of this man.” As Gertrude hustled past Lecia, she winked at her. “You’ve just given me an idea for Harry.”

Good grief. If the woman only knew.

“This had better be good,” Lecia told Anthony once Gertrude closed the door behind her.

“It is. I need you to come with me. Now.”

“Anthony, you can’t just barge into my office—”

“I’ll explain everything when we’re in the car.”

“The car? Oh, no—” But Lecia stopped short when Anthony strode toward her desk. A moment later he lifted her purse off the back of her chair. “Hey!”

“I’m not robbing you, so don’t freak out. But I really do need you to come with me. I’ll bring you back as soon as I can.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll drape you over my shoulder if I have to.”

“A modern day Tarzan. How sweet. Please put my purse down.”

Anthony started toward her, and Lecia’s heart leapt to her throat. “Oh, God. What are you doing?”

“I just really…I really need you.”

There was a vulnerable edge to Anthony’s voice, one she couldn’t quite ignore. “This feels like…a nightmare. A recurring one.”

“All the more reason for you to help me as soon as you can.”

“You won’t leave me alone, will you? Not until you win your wife back?”

Anthony merely shrugged.

Lecia sighed. “Lucky for you my next appointment canceled.”

Anthony’s face exploded in a grin. “I appreciate this, Lecia. Really I do.”

Lecia walked up to him and plucked her purse from his hand. “You had damn well better.”

When Anthony was driving on Wilshire Boulevard, Lecia faced him and said, “You know, if this is a ploy to spend time with me, there was a better way than this.”

Anthony’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “That’s what you think this is about?”

“Actually, that was a joke. You know, ha ha. I guess a bad attempt at one. I know you want your wife back.”

Anthony didn’t say a word, and Lecia lay her head back against the headrest. When Anthony turned left onto Beverly Drive, she asked, “Where are we going this time?”

“My place.”

“I really would have appreciated you setting something up with me. We could have made arrangements for me to meet—”

“I guess you haven’t heard the news.”

Anthony met her eyes briefly before looking back at the road.

Lecia asked him, “What news?”

“People are saying that Ginger’s missing.”

“Missing as in no one can find her?”

“That’s right.”

“But you…I thought you wanted me to talk to her. You must think she’s at your place. I’m confused.”

“I’m hoping she’s there.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I just want to get to my place, and if Ginger’s there—”

“Wait a second. Are you even supposed to go to the house? Didn’t you say she has a restraining order against you?”

“Right now, that’s a moot point.”

“Is winning your wife back worth landing in jail?”

“Why don’t you try calling?” Anthony suggested, ignoring her question. “She doesn’t know your number. She might pick up.”

“My God. You have no clue what you’re doing. Do you hear yourself? Anthony—”

“Tony.”

“Tony,” Lecia repeated, exasperated. “You’re sounding…insane. I know that sounds harsh, but I have to call it as I see it. If you have to go to these lengths to get your wife even to speak to you—”

“It’s about more than that. I think she’s playing some kind of game with me, and I don’t know why. The big issue is seeing whether she’s at the house. Then we can go from there.”

Lecia bit her tongue and stared out the window. They were on Coldwater Canyon Avenue now. As they traveled the winding road she couldn’t help thinking that this truly
was
a recurring nightmare. Perhaps Anthony would show up at her workplace once a week, force her into his car, and take her to swanky Beverly Hills mansions each time—over and over again until he finally got his wife back. How much more of this could she stand? She had to help him get his wife back, and as soon as possible.

Why did that thought not sit well with her?

“I think this is a bad idea,” she suddenly said. “If your wife is avoiding you, then showing up on her doorstep is bound to make her feel cornered.”

“Yeah, you should give her a call. See if she picks up.”

Lecia sighed. “I think it would be better if I called her in the morning. In fact, we can do all of this in the morning. I’m not in the office tomorrow.”

“And if I wait until tomorrow, I won’t find you, will I?”

“Of course you will.”

“No, because you think I’m a nut. You said that only moments ago.”

“I’m not going to tell you where I live, if that’s what you’re asking. But we can meet somewhere. And I’ll even give you my cell number.”

Anthony gave her a saccharine-sweet smile. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“You can call it now if you like. It’s my voice on the message.”

“Let’s get real. I know you don’t want to spend any more time with me now, much less tomorrow. So I say you grin and bear it and we get this over with today. I told you before, Ginger’s a big fan. She’ll be thrilled to hear your voice.”

“You have serious control issues,” Lecia said, glaring at Anthony.

“I just want my life back. I don’t want to wait another day.”

For some reason Lecia couldn’t fathom, Anthony’s words stung her. But why should they? She knew what she was to him, simply a tool for him to win back his wife’s affections.

All the more reason to call the woman now, get it over and done with, as he’d suggested. Then she could look forward to a future without Anthony Beals constantly barging into her life.

“What’s the number?” she asked.

Anthony recited the number, and Lecia punched it into her cell phone.

The phone rang and rang as they drove past the gated
mansions along Mulholland Drive. Lecia ended the call. “No answer.”

Anthony nodded his understanding, but Lecia watched his face change. His jawline tightened, growing tenser. She was no psychic, but something else had to be going on here.

Lecia didn’t ask. The best thing she could do was keep out of the Bealses’ marriage. At the house, she would be as brief as possible and hope that Ginger didn’t make this difficult for her. Then she would call a cab and leave Anthony and his wife to talk.

As Anthony’s Navigator started to slow, Lecia perked up. So he actually lived on the ritzy Mulholland Drive. Her eyes took in every detail. Leafy tree branches hung over a stone wall. Where the wall ended, a gate began. Anthony pulled up to it, and moments later they were rolling forward onto the property.

Large pines and oak trees helped obscure the view of the house from the main road, but once they were past the gate, it came into view. And what a house it was. It wasn’t as large as Kahari’s, but it was certainly impressive. Probably around eight or nine thousand square feet, she thought. Enough to hold a few families.

The stately white mansion could easily have been located in the South. Two stories, it was complete with four large columns on either side of the front door. Two shorter columns stood on each side of the house, holding up two sizable balconies.

Lecia couldn’t stop staring. The red interlocked driveway was extensive, wrapping around a water fountain. Pristine lawns started at the edges of the driveway and went on for several yards, leading to the backyard. An array of potted flowers hung from the window ledge on the right, where
there were also two white wrought-iron chairs and a table. It was the only homey touch.

“Ginger’s Mercedes isn’t here. Unless she parked it in the garage.”

“You don’t think she’s here?”

“I won’t know until I check.” Anthony opened his car door and climbed out.

“I’ll wait here.”

“I’d rather you come inside with me,” Anthony said. “I need you as a witness.”

Lecia’s eyes widened at that statement. “A witness?”

“That I didn’t come here to hurt her,” Anthony explained. “’Cause Lord knows, with the negative press I’ve gotten, I need witnesses for everything I do these days.”

“Tony, is this going to get you arrested?”

“I’m hoping this will do the opposite.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

“Just come with me to the door. Please,” he added when Lecia didn’t move.

She heaved a weary sigh and hopped down from the SUV. God help her, she hoped she hadn’t gotten herself into a mess she couldn’t get out of.