by Zuri Day
While a bit disappointed, Julian wasn’t surprised. He’d hoped Natalie’s false allegations had been from her own overactive imagination. But apparently the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, passing on lies her father obviously believed. Because he wasn’t a lawyer, Julian scanned the letter and emailed a copy straight over to Niko’s wife, Monique, a tiger in the courtroom before marrying his brother and reducing her workload. The hotshot attorneys were out of town, campaigning in Sacramento, but she promised to look at it once back in their suite. Julian wasn’t worried. He’d done nothing wrong. But with people like Johnson, and by extension his daughter, all future interaction would require a paper trail.
He walked back into his office and had just placed his laptop in its carrier bag when he heard the door open. What else had Frank forgotten? He did a quick check around, turned to walk into the reception area and came face-to-face with...Dr. Claude Johnson.
Julian recognized him immediately. He looked older, of course, and shorter than Julian remembered. The piercing gray eyes had dimmed, and the few wisps of blond hair left on top of his head were combed over in an attempt to hide the obvious passage of time.
“Dr. Johnson, hello.”
“Who were you expecting, another one of my patients?”
“My client roster is confidential, as you know, but in a town this size I’m sure you’re aware of or can deduce that some who’ve stopped coming to you have made their way to my office. That being said, considering what was delivered by courier today, I wasn’t expecting you. Why are you here, and not your attorney?”
“Last I heard it was a free country. Or have the Drakes bought up the entire town and are now handing out passes to walk around?”
Julian had enjoyed an amazing but exhausting twenty-four hours in LA, followed by several hours of intense counseling. Lunch had been a salad at his desk in between patients. He didn’t need this right now.
“Dr. Johnson, I’ve been taught to respect my elders. But this is my private business and you are trespassing. Please see your way to the door.”
“Can talk behind my back but not to my face. I figured as much.”
“Our inability to converse is entirely your doing, a tone set by what you had delivered today. Any communication between us will now be through our lawyers.” Julian walked past Johnson and opened the door. He was done talking. His opening the door was a very clear message.
A shade of red crept up from Johnson’s collar, evidence of bottled rage. He reached the door and turned to Julian. “Stop trying to steal my patients. Go out and find your own.”
He kept his usual cool, but by the time he arrived home to pick up Nicki for dinner, Julian was in a mood. He tried to hide it from Nicki—wasn’t successful. Her first comment as he drove them to the restaurant made it clear.
“We could have ordered in, you know. Or I could have cooked something.”
Julian glanced over. “When’d you start cooking?”
“I can cook.” Another glance, this one accompanied by a wry smile. “What? I can. I mean, there hasn’t been a stint in culinary school so it wouldn’t be a five-course meal. But I’ve perfected a few dishes.”
“Name one.”
“I’d rather you name what’s bothering you.”
Julian didn’t hesitate. “Claude Johnson.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of two other therapists in town, the older one who had the market cornered for about thirty years.”
“The one whose daughter accused you of stealing clients?”
“You remember that, huh?”
“An old classmate—” she used air quotes “—coming by your office on behalf of her father? Yeah, girlfriends tend to remember ploys like that.” Julian recalled Natalie’s appearance and actions from that day. The heels and mini, flirty hair and mannerisms. He gave a thoughtful nod. “The doctor, what did he want?”
“I really don’t know, especially since a cease and desist from him was what greeted me today when I reached the office.” He shared details about the letter, that he’d sent a copy to Monique and the brief conversation with the doctor.
“What did Monique say?”
“She and Niko are in Sacramento on business, so she couldn’t check it out right away. She did suggest I create a log of interactions with both him and Natalie, which I did before leaving the office. A man is no better than his reputation. Which is why I refuse to have mine sullied by Johnson’s lies.”
“It’s rare I see you get this worked up, babe. Don’t let those haters steal your joy.” Nicki reached over to rub Julian’s shoulders. “You’re a good man, a great therapist, and people around here know it. It’ll take more than a couple rumors from a washed-up psychiatrist to change their minds.”
They reached Acquired Taste and entered a fuller parking lot than expected, given it was a weeknight. Julian pulled into one of two reserved parking spaces, helped Nicki into the restaurant, then moved the car to a regular spot. When he returned, a menu, a shot of premium tequila and a saucer of accompaniments were on his place mat. The same sat in front of Nicki. He looked at her with a raised brow.
“To take the edge off,” she replied with a smile. “Because neither of us are drinkers, I figured one shot is all we’ll need.”
He sniffed it, bunched up his nose. “What is this, gasoline?”
“Close. Enough to smooth out our ride but not rev up our engines.”
“What if I want to get your engine revved up?”
“Baby, you can do that with a single look or a simple kiss. Those scrumptious lips, long curly lashes around those bedroom eyes...” She licked her lips seductively and lowered her voice. “It’s happening right now. I’m getting hot. And wet.”
Julian’s arm shot up as he looked around. “Check, please!”
“Ha! You’re a sex fiend.”
“Yes.”
She held up her shot glass. “Let’s toast to sex fiends, and how much I love the one currently sitting across from me.”
“Wait.” Julian nodded toward the saucer. “What’s all this for?”
“Oh, right. There’s an art to this. So, we’re supposed to place a little of the salt on our tongue, drink the shot straight down and follow up with a bite of the lemon slice. The salt and citric acid will cut the tequila’s burn. So wet your finger—” she licked her forefinger “—like this.” Julian licked his finger. “Now stick it in the salt.”
Again, he complied.
“Now, you lick the salt off my finger and I’ll lick...well, for now, I’ll lick your finger.”
Julian smiled broadly. “Stop that nasty talk. It’s making me uncomfortable.”
“A little too much for my conservative doctor?”
“A lot to try to keep calm between my legs.”
“Ah, got it.”
She held out her finger. He placed his near her lips. Each licked the other’s finger. Julian’s action was straightforward. Nicki took longer, swirled her tongue around Julian’s pointer and suckled as she eased it from her mouth.
They picked up their glasses, downed the tequila and bit the lemon. With closed eyes Julian absorbed the tequila’s heat and the lemon’s tartness. A few seconds later he smiled. “That wasn’t too bad.”
Nicki’s face told a different story. Her eyes were scrunched, her lips pulled into a grimace. She finally spoke, her voice low and raspy. “That burned everything from my mouth to my anus.”
At that very moment the waiter arrived. “May I take your order?”
“Ooh!” Nicki started after the question. “I thought he was going to offer to take something else.”
Nicki and Julian cracked up.
So into themselves they took little note of who dined around them. For two women in particular, the oblivion fit perfectly into their
plan. A few choice snaps and they left unnoticed, their targets not knowing they’d been there at all.
The next morning Julian woke up to texts from his siblings and a missed call from Jennifer, all regarding a picture making its way across the web and a story on the gossip blog Ask Ashley titled Dancer Dates Drunk Doctor?
Chapter 20
The Drake clan circled the wagons. Sunday brunch got moved to Friday night. Attendance wasn’t mandatory. Didn’t need to be. When Jennifer called, the clan came. Being out of town was the lone reason one would be absent. London and Ace were doing a show in Dubai. Niko’s narrow lead in the polls and crisscross campaigning across the state meant he and Monique wouldn’t be there, but that didn’t stop their making an important contribution. In addition to the response she’d written for the cease and desist letter from Dr. Johnson, she’d given Julian legal options for dealing with Ashley’s gossip.
Julian and Nicki were there with his parents, Ike Jr. and Quinn, Warren and Charli, Terrell and Aliyah, and Teresa and Atka. The table had been set informally, the household staff sent home to enjoy their weekend off. Jennifer entered the dining room bearing two trays, a very pregnant Charli waddling behind her. Julian hopped up to take the bowl from his expecting sister-in-law.
“I’ve got this, Doctor,” Charli replied, batting his hand away.
“Are you sure?” Terrell asked.
“Bro, you took the words right out of my mouth.”
“Mine, too,” Quinn and Aliyah chimed together.
Everyone laughed. The women set down the evening’s first course—jalapeño–and–goat cheese hush puppies, stuffed artichokes, and spicy chile crostini with a variety of sauces.
Terrell accepted a tray from his mom, removed a stuffed artichoke and then passed it on. “Is the third time the charm, making this the last little dogie for the ranch, sis?”
“I beg your pardon.” Charli acted appropriately incensed.
“What? Y’all are ranchers. I thought a pet name quite appropriate.”
“Then call him a kid, but not a dogie. God’s will, he’ll be neither motherless nor neglected.”
“Oh, is that what the word means? My bad.”
“Simple city-dweller ignorance,” Charli said, nonplussed, as she filled her plate with a serving of each appetizer. She picked up a stuffed artichoke and smiled. “You’re forgiven.”
“You need to serve Quinn some of whatever you’re drinking. It’s time for me to pass on the name and usher in Ike III.”
“Yes, and give some to Aliyah,” Terrell added. “We’re going to have a baseball team, so best get started.”
“Easy for the man to say,” Aliyah said. “Let’s get you through that first one’s midnight feedings and diaper changes and then see how you’re talking.”
The first courses were removed. Teresa helped Jennifer bring out piping-hot bowls of seafood chowder, flown in from a favored New Hampshire restaurant just that morning. Jennifer set down the last bowl and took her seat. She immediately reached for the soupspoon for a taste.
“Delicious.”
The others followed suit and agreed.
“I’d have you all over every night if I could,” she continued between spoonfuls of soup. “But there is a specific reason I invited you over tonight.”
“Ask Ashley,” Aliyah answered quickly.
Terrell lifted his linen napkin and sat back as he wiped his mouth. “I told y’all how to handle her when she started tripping years ago. Money. Give her some money to shut her up or threaten her livelihood to shut her down.”
Jennifer emitted an uncharacteristic humph. “What livelihood?”
“Exactly,” Teresa said. “What we need to do is give her a taste of her own medicine.” Teresa ran a successful blog with a million opt-in readers.
Terrell looked up surprised. “Not on your blog.”
“Why not?”
“Because the name of your blog is Tip-Top Taste. Ashley has none.”
The men chuckled.
“Attention is what she wants,” Aliyah said.
“Craves,” Warren added.
Teresa stirred her soup. “She tries to push our buttons because we ignore her.”
Jennifer agreed. “Precisely. Not quite the effect we were seeking.”
“Perhaps,” Nicki said. “But I agree that we shouldn’t give her any of our energy. Unless it’s in the form of a Brooklyn beat down like the bullies in grade school.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Aliyah laughed and raised her hand to high-five. As a native New Yorker, she totally understood.
Julian cleared his throat. “Sorry to break up the New York lovefest, ladies. But there will be no fisticuffs. That’s not the way we Drakes like to make the news.”
“What do you suggest, son?” asked Ike Sr.
“That we send a letter to both the blog and the company that hosts it demanding an apology and retraction, threatening to take legal action if our order is ignored. That was Monique’s suggestion, the same as she gave when it came to the doctor, and in that case it seems to have worked very well.”
It was true. The day after Dr. Johnson’s unexpected visit, Monique took over. She’d taken affidavits of support from the patients who’d chosen Julian as their therapist. His notes were transcribed and filed along with his letters recommending to some that they stay with their current doctor. Finally, she’d expressed Julian’s desire not to have unexpected visits to his office by either Dr. Johnson or Natalie. He’d not seen or heard from either since.
Teresa stood to help Jennifer gather the soup bowls. “I don’t know, I’m kind of leaning toward that Brooklyn-style beat down.”
Julian’s sensible solution prevailed. He texted a note to Monique right from the dinner table. The conversation shifted from gossip to Gallup polls and what each family member could contribute to ensure Niko’s win. As they left the estate, Jennifer reminded Nicki about their meeting on Monday. Problems solved or at least addressed, the dancer and doctor spent a quiet weekend making more memories.
That Monday, Nicki left the town house feeling optimistic. She’d had a phone consultation with Dr. Allen, which was very welcome good news. He told her if the bone had set and begun to heal, the cast could be removed. She’d still have to wear an Aircast or boot, but at least she’d be able to rent a car to get around instead of being chauffeured. Not that she didn’t enjoy the perks of having a car at the ready, transportation a mere phone call away to take her wherever she desired. But she also liked being independent and looked forward to being able to check out the town and surrounding communities on her own.
She adjusted the shoulder strap on her oversize bag, secured her crutches and walked out of the house.
“You got it, Miss Nicki?”
“Yes, thank you, Devante.” He opened the car door. “And what did I tell you about calling me ‘miss’? I thought we handled that last week during the drive to the club.”
“I’m sorry mi—I mean, Nicki.” His nervous laugh revealed straight white teeth set in the handsome face of a man she guessed to be in his early twenties. He closed her door softly, then hurried around to the other side of the car. “To the community center, right?”
“That’s right. How far is it?”
“Ten minutes or less.” He backed out of the drive and headed toward the town’s main drag.
“Not far at all.”
“No, ma’am. Nothing is really far in this town.”
She didn’t correct him this time, though the formal title made her feel old. She knew he was only being respectful. “Where are you from, Devante? With those ‘miss’ and ‘ma’am’ manners, I’d guess down south. But you don’t have an accent.”
Another smile. “No. I’m not from down south.”
He was cute.
A good kid. She liked him. “Where, then? You seem to know your way around the city, but I get the feeling you’re not from here.”
He eyed her through the rearview mirror. “I’m from LA.”
“Ah, that’s where the city swagger comes from. I didn’t think you’d grown up here.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Swagger? Oh, yeah. Definitely. Have you ever been to New York?”
“No. I’ve never been out of California.”
“Wow, really? You’ll have to get out and see a little bit of the world.”
“One of these days.”
“How’d you get here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“To PC?”
“Yes.”
“Flew in on Southwest Airlines. Then it was straight down the 101 to the 77.”
She met his twinkling eyes in the rearview mirror with a smirk and a shrug. “Hey, I’m not trying to get in your business. Just making conversation with one of the few people in this town who seems to be real, unlike some of the fake, shallow people I’ve run across.” Her thoughts were on Ashley and the link Paige had sent to the misleading blog post highlighting Julian and Nicki’s Thursday night dinner at Acquired Taste. The story had been picked up by a New York–based blogger and by Monday had even gotten a mention on a national network. Ashley had gotten some of the attention she wanted. That it was from a story based on a thinly veiled lie, Nicki thought, a bit sadly, probably didn’t matter to her at all.
“So you’ve checked that out, too, huh?” Devante waited for a car to pass, then turned left onto one of only four major thoroughfares in all of Paradise Cove. “You know Monique, the mayor’s wife?” Devante clucked and shook his head. “What am I saying? Of course you do.”
“Yes, I know her, though not very well.”
“You know she’s an attorney, right?”
“Yes.”
“She used to practice in LA. Around the same time I was being a hardhead, getting into trouble, trying to prove my manhood and other stupid stuff. She saved me. Kept me from a long lockdown, know what I’m saying?”