All About the D

by Lex Martin

  “Well, fuck,” is my not-suitable-for-work response.

  She takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want you to sign any contracts without legal representation. I can review whatever you’ve got, off-the-record, even though you’re not my client, until you find another attorney.”

  “Could that get you into trouble?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m starting to feel like we’re friends, and after all the help you gave me last weekend, I think I owe you.”

  I stare hard into my phone as if willing her to come to me. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Evie. I’ll figure something out.” When I hang up the phone, I’m tempted to throw it.

  Instead, I call Drew.

  “Back to square one.”

  “What does that mean?” he asks, chewing on something.

  “I don’t have an attorney.”

  “No?” Now I hear the sucking of the bottom of a straw and ice rattling in a cup. He really is a slob.

  “No.”

  Drew burps. They hear it on the other side of the river, in Vancouver, Washington, I’m sure. “So no Dicks-R-Us molds of your lap lizard.”

  I groan. “Some days I’m not sure why you’re my best friend.”

  “You’re stuck with me. Just like you’re stuck with your family. And your ex.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. Can you make yourself useful then? Help me find another attorney? I’ve wasted enough time with this shit, and I don’t have time to keep looking.”

  “Yeah, dude. I’ll call around. Tell them your baloney pony needs its own firm because you can’t go to the traditional Cartwright law firm, Sullivan Montgomery.”

  “Don’t you dare, bastard.”

  “Kidding, kidding. I’ll somehow figure out how to hire you an attorney when I can’t say who you are or what it’s for. I’m sure that will go over really well with all of the quality legal professionals in this town. You’re the secret pervert client they never knew they wanted.”

  I shake my head at him—even though he can’t see me—and hang up to his howling laughter.

  Setting my phone down, I glance at the invitation Meredith has left in my out basket for the Waller party.

  Huh.

  Since I’m not going to be a client of WGA, maybe I don’t need to go. But family is family, and I promised Henry.

  My mind turns to Evie. If she’s there—and I’m not her client—then maybe I’ll have a chance to spend time with her. After all, there’s no harm in me hanging with a beautiful woman.

  And it’s not like anyone has to know about my secret dick blog since she’s sworn to secrecy.

  I decide to text her. I’ll still see you at the party on Saturday?

  Yeah! Turns out I’m going! It’ll be great to see you! And she adds a smiley face emoji.

  She’s so goddamn cute.

  And since she’s not my attorney after all…

  Hmm. New ideas spring to mind. Maybe I can touch her.

  That’s not an idea I can think about at work. But on a break I find myself looking at Powell’s Books and order original Craftsman plans and manuals and have them delivered to her with a note that says, “For inspiration.”

  When she gets them it’s early evening, and she calls to thank me, telling me about her new project, and as usual, I love hearing her voice. Talking to her helps me get over the fact that she can’t represent me.

  She’s decided she wants to refinish the built-in cabinets in her dining room—a huge task. After we hang up, I text, Do you have all the tools you need for stripping the paint off the woodwork?

  I know I’d like to strip her out of her woodwork. With my tool.

  Funnily enough, she picks up on it. I’m sure you’ve got the right tool I can use, if I ever need it.

  She’s got that right.

  On Wednesday, I post a picture on my blog, but this time it’s my dick on a farm rather than a stark skyscraper. The blog comments blow up—AATD is going country.

  Of course I’m not, but I’m sure thinking of Evie.

  On Friday night, she texts me. See you at the party!

  And she sends me a selfie of her smiling face, split open with happiness. I stare at it for a really long time.

  Maybe it’s not a bad thing that she’s not my attorney.

  Because now she’s up for grabs.

  The promise of seeing Evie at the gala tonight even makes donning formal wear tolerable.

  When my brother buzzes the front door downstairs, I hit enter with one hand while I duck into my tuxedo jacket with the other.

  Two minutes later, I’ve finally wrestled on the black tie.

  I pat my pockets and make sure I have everything I need.

  Wallet. Phone. Keys. Check.

  I hate black tie events. If I never attend another one in my life…

  The thought withers in my head the moment I open the door to my condo.

  Because it’s not my brother Henry, who was supposed to give me a ride to the party.

  Standing there, looking wide-eyed and nervous, wearing a long, slinky, strapless black dress, is Tiffany, my ex.

  “Surprise! I’m your ride tonight!” she squeals, like we haven’t been broken up for almost eight months.

  What the fuck?

  I’m going to kill my brother for setting me up.

  I just have to get through tonight first.

  9

  Evie

  Butterflies thrash around in my stomach like drunk revelers, and I have to remind myself I’m just getting dressed for a birthday party.

  As I turn my head to take a peek in my bathroom mirror, Kendall yanks on my hair.

  “Jesus Christ.” I rub my scalp where she nearly created a bald spot.

  She laughs. “Sorry, that was harder than I intended.” She coughs comically and then mutters, “Speaking of harder, did you see Mr. Man Muscle’s blog entry last night?”

  I roll my lips to keep from grinning. “So hot.” I think I’ve masturbated more this week than in the last month combined. Something about Josh turns me on. And it’s not just his blog. Sure, his photos are scorching, but it’s knowing the actual man himself that gets me going. It’s the fact that he knows Chaucer and architecture and looks so damn good in my kitchen.

  A little shiver runs through me.

  “I can’t believe you guys hung out last Saturday, and you waited three days to tell me about it, you wench. I can’t get over the books he sent you. That was too sweet.”

  “Sorry, Ken, I wasn’t sure how much I could say since he was going to be my client, but now that he’s not and we’re just friends…” I shrug. “I mean, I still can’t tell anyone his name, but I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you that his face is as fine as the rest of him.” I let a beat go by. “Or that we’ve been texting.”

  Her eyes widen. “Has he sent you dick pics?”

  “No, you freak.” I laugh as I wave a hand at her. “Everyone sees you as the prim and proper one, but I know you’re really the deviant.”

  “I’m in public relations, so I can’t exactly let my kink flag fly.” She blows me a kiss, and I laugh.

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  We reach for wine glasses and clink before taking a drink.

  I should slow down. I don’t want to get trashed before I attend the Waller party. Part of me is irritated I didn’t get an invite until this week, but the other part is tickled pink I get to wear my new dress.

  “Will Nathan be there?” she asks as she takes another swath of my hair and pins it up.

  “Yes.” I set my glass on the back of the toilet seat. “I heard him and Angela talking about it earlier this week.”

  Odd. When I saw her blatantly flirting with him the other day, it didn’t bother me one bit.

  “What time is the car coming for you?” Kendall asks as she resumes torturing me.

  “We have an hour.”

  “Perfect.”

  When she’s done beautifying me, she helps me slip into the dres
s and then turns me toward the mirror. My eyes bug out of my head, and Kendall squeals like a fashion-obsessed teenager.

  Clasping her hands, she gushes, “You look so hot right now, I’m willing to switch teams.” I giggle-snort and cover my mouth. “I wish Mr. Dick Blogger could see you tonight.”

  Um. I lean into the mirror to avoid looking at her. I hate lying to my best friend, but I can’t tell her Josh is attending the party. Knowing that he’ll be there hits too close to home. I promised him anonymity, and I won’t break my promise.

  “Evie.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Look at me.”

  Turning toward her, I reach for my wine so I can shove it in my face before I make eye contact with her.

  “He’s going to be there tonight, isn’t he?” Her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifts slowly.

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t give me that ‘hmm?’ bullshit right now. I’ve known you since before you had boobs.” She shoves a pointy finger into my shoulder. “The dick guy is going?!”

  I cringe when that last part comes out a shriek, and then my shoulders drop in defeat.

  “I must be a suck-ass lawyer if it’s written all over my face.”

  A huge grin splits her face. “No, you’re an amazing attorney. I’ve seen you in action. It’s just that you froze and then your nose did that thing.”

  I rub my nose. “What thing?”

  “You know, it’s like a half-crinkle. But don’t worry. If I hadn’t known you most of my life, I’d never notice it, especially when you give me that lawyer glare.”

  I need to work on that wiggle. Crap, I must look like a rabbit.

  She grabs both of my shoulders. “Holy hell. He’s really going to be there?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “I already know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Reaching into my makeup bag, I dab a little more powder on my nose, the one that apparently wiggles like Bugs Bunny.

  “You’re right. I don’t know.” She gives me an exaggerated wink. “But let’s just say that he was going. Hypothetically. Would you be excited?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I sigh.

  She snaps her fingers. “You’re wearing the sexy lingerie. You’re all set for a night of seduction. Just don’t get too hammered, so you can… get hammered.”

  She laughs at her joke, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.

  “Ken, he sent me a whole box of books to help me renovate my house. Holy shit, right?”

  “He wants to nail it. Get it?” She snickers. “I bet you’re not bummed anymore about your firm turning him down.”

  “It’s a blessing and a curse. I need some heavy-hitting clients, but I have to admit I’m excited to see if we really have chemistry and I wasn’t imagining it last weekend.” I chew on my bottom lip. “It’s kinda fast to be getting naked with him, though.”

  “He gets naked online daily. I’m pretty sure your idea of fast and his are different.”

  I drop my shiny ass on the toilet seat, feeling a little bummed at the prospect that thousands of women ogle Josh online. Including my best friend. Weird. So weird. Of course, if I told her to stop looking at the blog, she would. But there’s more to my unease. “I don’t want to be a booty call. You know I’m not wired that way. You know I can’t handle the stress of the morning after. Do I slink away? Do I act all nonchalant and cool? Do I pretend it was no biggie and play it off? But then I’ll freak over whether or not he calls me. Ugh, the pressure!”

  “First of all, I’ve seen the goods here and can safely say it’s a ‘biggie.’” She winks, and I roll my eyes. “Second of all, don’t be too quick to dismiss him. What kind of booty call sends you books about renovating your historic home? And washes your dog and fixes you lunch? Maybe he wants more than a quickie. But if you actually do the deed, I say play it cool. Most guys fear commitment more than a prostate exam. I don’t care if Ryan Reynolds is rolling out of my bed, I’m not going to fangirl. Because you can’t dial back that shit. Once he knows you’re really into him, you can’t go, ‘Whoops, just kidding! I only kinda like you.’”

  I nod, still nibbling on my lip. Kendall would know. She always has guys falling at her feet.

  She grabs the wine bottle off the window ledge and refills our glasses. “And hey, maybe you’re getting all worked up over nothing because he sucks in bed.”

  We look at each other and crack up. Because come on. The guy definitely wields his package online like he knows what the hell he’s doing.

  “Evie, play it by ear. Have fun tonight and see where things go. Stop trying to map out your life in five year increments.”

  “Says the perfectionist.”

  She shrugs. “Worst-case scenario, you can pounce on Nathan. That man is gorgeous too, and you’ve known him for ages.”

  I’m about to tell her I’m not sure Nathan does it for me anymore when my Uber driver honks outside.

  Kendall jumps around like she just threw a touchdown. “It’s showtime, baby. You got this.”

  I hope she’s right.

  The car stops in front of the Portland Art Museum, and I pay my driver and slowly step out, clutching my silk shawl. It might be the middle of May, but it’s cold enough to see my breath. It’s only seven. Although the sun hasn’t set yet, the thick cloud cover makes it seem later. I suppose I should be grateful it isn’t raining.

  Unfortunately, the shawl doesn’t do a damn thing to keep me warm, but tonight I’m a slave to fashion, much to Kendall’s delight. She insisted there was no way I could wear a coat over my dress.

  Car doors shut behind me, and I roll my eyes when I see another couple emerge from their vehicle in their raincoats. Freaking Kendall.

  But I can’t be too ticked off at her. She did find me a gorgeous pair of heels that match my gold dress perfectly. Although they might kill my feet by the end of the night, they make me feel sexy. Thankfully, my ankle is better, so I’m ready to rock this outfit.

  Shivering, I hustle up the stairs and through the entryway. I’m ushered toward a giant rectangular room decked out with Dale Chihuly glass sculptures, some extending all the way to the ceiling in wild, explosive color.

  I exhale at its beauty.

  I’ve been here for a few weddings, but never when an exhibit inhabited the space during a party. It’s like an underwater garden with blue, green, and purple pond fronds and red sea anemone that glow with an ethereal light. I bet my boss is delighted by how this turned out. Everything is exquisite. A quintet plays a Frank Sinatra tune along the opposite wall, while guests mingle around banquet tables covered with crisp white tablecloths and blue lilies.

  “You should see the next room,” a familiar voice whispers next to me.

  I turn to see Nathan, who is his usual handsome self in a dark blue suit. “Why, hello, Nathaniel,” I say saucily. “You clean up well.”

  He leans in for a hug, and I awkwardly wrap my arm around his shoulder. We’ve never hugged before, so I’m not prepared for it.

  “You’re looking pretty great yourself. Here, let me take your shawl.”

  After unwrapping the delicate fabric, I hand it to him and force myself to ignore the artwork to check out the guest situation. The party is a who’s who of Portland. At the other side of the room, Malcolm’s wife Gwen is chatting with the mayor, two humongous guys I’m guessing are NBA players, and several attorneys.

  Nathan clears his throat. “I might have spoken too soon.”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  I return my attention to him, and he leans close.

  “Describing you as looking great was an understatement. Wow, Evelyn, you look phenomenal.”

  My face reddens when he leans back and lets his eyes trail down my body. The girl who’s been trying to catch his eye for the last year should be doing a high kick and jazz hands, but I’m surprised to realize I just want to see if Josh has arrived.

  Adjusting my dress, I try to shrug off the ner
ves that hit me full force at Nathan’s expression because this is not the guy I want to have notice me tonight.

  “I think I missed the memo. Everyone is wearing dark colors, and I show up in a gold cocktail dress.” I’m in love with this outfit, and for the first time ever, I rather like displaying my curves, but I’m still not used to being the center of anyone’s attention.

  “If you’re not careful, you’ll steal the show from Gwen.”

  I chuckle. “Stop. Let’s not get crazy.” And since when has Nathan ever looked at me this way?

  He puts his hand on my lower back, and we head to the bar to grab drinks. I nurse a glass of chardonnay as we meander around the room, talking with guests and enjoying the delicate Venetian sculptures.

  When we finally make it to Gwen, she gives me a wide smile. “Evie Mills. My goodness, aren’t you all grown up? How’s your dad?”

  You’d think she hadn’t seen me since middle school. “Hey, Gwen. He’s doing great. He wanted me to send you some birthday wishes.”

  It’s a teeny lie, but I’m not under oath. She doesn’t need to know my father hates everything about this scene. I give her a quick hug and am engulfed by her powdery perfume.

  “Darling, you should have brought him. It’s been ages!”

  I want to tell her it’s probably been about fifteen years since she’s seen him at something like this. Ever since my mom ditched us and returned to Boston, to go back to “her people,” as she described it to my poor, broken-hearted dad.

  But Gwen knows enough to not ask about my mother. Which makes me wonder if they’re still friends after all this time.

  Except I don’t care enough to ask.

  Nathan leans down to hug her, and when he returns to my side, she looks like she wants to say something. But her focus is quickly diverted to someone behind me, and she claps wildly. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it, Mitzy!”

  An elegant older woman with a chin-length black bob and floor-length black ball gown waltzes in front of me to air-kiss Gwen on both cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my love.”