Dr. Fellatio

by Author Stella

  “My what? You do know I only have like three friends here.”

  She came back to the living room with sheer confusion etched into her features. “You have more than that. You always have at least eight of us here every Saturday night for tacos and charades.”

  “No…” I dragged the word out. “Those are your friends. You invite them over. To my apartment.” I only allowed her to do so because she seriously made the best tacos. Which sounded ridiculous since it was just hamburger meat and toppings, but no lie, there was something about CeeCee’s tacos that made everything else taste like dog food.

  Rather than respond, she passed me a few menus and took the seat next to me, exactly where she was before she ran out to change her clothes. And it was the same spot she sat while we ate Chinese and watched TV.

  “So when are you moving?” she asked after cleaning up the dinner mess. I was really going to miss her when I left.

  “Well, I have some training to do here first, and then they’re giving me two weeks before I have to report to work there. So I’m looking at four and a half weeks between now and when I actually start my job in Atlanta. Which basically means I have to figure out how I’m going to pack all this up while working and training.”

  “I can totally help. I love packing and organizing.”

  “Really? You’d help me box everything up?” I probably should’ve given it a little more time before jumping on her offer, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to contemplate the pros and cons.

  “Of course. I love doing all that stuff. It’s like Tetris.”

  I nodded…because I was too busy trying to understand how that made sense to form real words for a response. “Awesome. Thank you, CeeCee. Seriously, as random as our friendship started, you really are a true friend. I’m thankful to have met you.”

  Over the next week, CeeCee had come to my apartment and helped me pack my belongings. She had done a lot while I was in training, so there wasn’t much left for me on my time off. But I should’ve known her kindness would come with a price tag. A few days before I was scheduled to move, she took me by surprise.

  “So…I was thinking.” And of course, she waited until I had a mouthful of food before she started to think. “You’re going to need help unpacking once you get to Atlanta. And since I work out of the house”—again, not hers—“I won’t have a problem taking time off to help you.”

  “Define ‘help,’” I mumbled around the spaghetti in my mouth.

  “I could head out there with you, keep you company on the drive, and stay for like a week to help get your new place set up before you start work.”

  “Define ‘like a week.’”

  She waved me off as if it had been a joke.

  It was not.

  If “one night” in her mind equated to over three quarters of a year, I was afraid of what her definition of “one week” meant.

  “This way,” she continued, “I will have a real reason to be there and can spend time—”

  “Where do you plan to stay?” Let’s be real, this was a legitimate concern.

  She shrugged and said, “Your place,” as if it was no big deal.

  “It’s a one-bedroom house. One bedroom. One bed.”

  “Oh, no worries. I don’t have a problem sleeping on the couch.” Clearly. She’d been on Laura’s for long enough that she probably wouldn’t know what to do with an actual bed.

  I should’ve seen that excuse coming.

  “Just for a week…right?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “Oh, of course.”

  Note to self: When a woman wastes no time to say “Oh, of course,” they don’t mean it.

  One week later, I was once again in my truck with a U-Haul behind it, CeeCee in the passenger seat acting as the world’s worst DJ with the music, and I was on my way across the country. However, this time, I was heading to my future—not away from it.

  I had ten days to unpack, move in, and start my job. True to her word, CeeCee slept on my couch while helping me set up. I was a minimalist, so I didn’t have much—to which she took it upon herself to correct. I went from having nothing but a couch, coffee table, and TV in my living room, to a framed picture on the mantle, candles on an end table, and a lamp that I was pretty sure she found on the side of the road.

  As much as I enjoyed CeeCee’s company, nothing could’ve kept me from dropping her off at the airport. Although, my excitement wasn’t only about getting some peace and quiet around the house. Having her gone gave me two days to track down Lexi. I had reached out to Jasmine on Facebook, but I hadn’t heard anything back, so I was left on my own to head down each dead end I came to. I must’ve called every marketing firm in the entire state of Georgia, asking if they had an ad exec named Lexi Cacinicz working there, yet they all said no—even after I spelled it out and enunciated each syllable just to ensure they hadn’t misunderstood…Ka-sin-ich.

  And then Monday morning started.

  Being the new guy was one thing, but coming into a position that constantly turned over was something entirely different. I couldn’t make heads or tails of why the Atlanta office couldn’t keep an IT director for longer than a year.

  I found out why a week later.

  Not only did I have to pull twelve- to fifteen-hour days just to catch up—which prevented me from stalking Lexi…I mean, finding her—but come my second week on the job, it didn’t look like I’d ever leave the office. There was one fire after another, and only I could put them out, because they all had something to do with the software this branch used. Apparently, no one here knew how to use a freaking computer.

  And as if that wasn’t bad enough, ten minutes after I got home from work on Friday—the end of my second week in the office—someone knocked on my door. I didn’t even have my ass off the couch cushion before the door swung open. There was no point in turning my head to see who it was. There was only one person in the entire United States of America who would knock, and then invite herself in.

  “I have great news!” Please be a dream. Please be a dream.

  CeeCee closed the door behind her and then joined me on the couch. I had so many questions to ask, starting with, why are you here, but I couldn’t manage anything other than opening and closing my mouth…and blinking slowly. I’d dropped her off at the airport. She’d gotten on the plane. I’d watched her.

  Her excitement would’ve been obvious to a deaf and blind man. “Do you remember me telling you about that salon I had applied at? The one who asked for my résumé and portfolio?”

  No. “Yeah…what about it?”

  “They called me back, asked a few questions about technique and whatnot, and then told me the job was mine if I was still interested!” She practically bounced in her seat on the couch. “Isn’t that exciting?”

  “So exciting. When do you start?” And why are you here?

  “Monday!”

  “Wait, what?” I had to have heard her wrong.

  “It’s not like I had anything keeping me from taking the job or starting right away. So I hopped in my car and drove back from California. Isn’t this fantastic?”

  More silent mouth moving. Even slower blinking.

  I wondered if maybe she planned to spend one last weekend here in Atlanta with her boyfriend before heading back home for a very long time, but I wasn’t sure how to ask. There was no way she could drive from Georgia to California to be there Monday. It was clear we must’ve had some sort of conversation about her applying at this salon, except I didn’t remember a word of this supposed discussion.

  “Refresh my memory…where is this new job at?” And why are you here?

  She twisted her lips to one side and glanced up in thought. “I can’t remember exactly what the street name is, but it’s like ten minutes from the house.” The house…that could’ve meant anything. At least, that’s what I told myself. Laura more than likely changed the locks when CeeCee came to help me move in, and it forced her to buy a house when she’d returned and
had nowhere to live. Yeah, totally logical. “It’s on the same road as that baseball thing.”

  Well, that was no help.

  “What baseball thing?”

  “You know, the big field. Where all the baseball games are.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh—at her. “You do know they play games in lots of places.”

  “No, silly.” She waved me off with an airy giggle. “The one for their own team.”

  If she were anyone else, I would’ve thought she was messing with me.

  “Yeah…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The brave people.”

  “The Atlanta Braves?” Please say no. Please say no.

  “Yes! Them!”

  “Seriously?” Please be lying. Please be lying.

  “I know, right? How cool is that? I mean, the salon is like a few miles away from it, but it’s a busy street. So that means they probably stay booked. This is going to give me so much exposure. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited about anything.”

  I had no idea how this happened.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to find a place for my stuff.” She couldn’t have fit much into a VW Bug.

  I literally stared at her as she made her way toward the door. The word “goodbye” was on the tip of my tongue, right before I choked on it. Rather than leave, she grabbed the neon-pink handle of a suitcase I hadn’t seen her bring in—because I hadn’t bothered to look at her for fear it’d make her presence real—and wheeled it down the hall.

  “Just in case you were wondering,” I called out after her, “this house didn’t grow another bedroom in the last seven days.”

  “Don’t be silly, silly.” She giggled as she came back to the living room. “I just put my bag in the hallway closet. I don’t need much space. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Yeah, and the atomic bomb was just a firecracker.

  “How did your boyfriend take the news of you moving to Atlanta…where he lives?”

  “Oh, he was so thrilled he was speechless.”

  I bet. “So he didn’t say anything about it?”

  “Well, once he got over the initial shock of it, he just kept saying ‘wow’ over and over again. But I told him we should take things slow.”

  “Slower than moving across the country?”

  Dismissing my sarcasm, she said, “I figured it’d be best if I didn’t move in with him right away.”

  “Did he ask you to?”

  “Yeah. One of his first questions was if I planned on living with him. So I told him I thought that was moving too fast and I had a friend I could stay with for the time being.”

  I kept waiting for her to tell me who this friend was…

  Fifty years later, I’d still be waiting.

  “You’re going to live…here?” For the love of God, say no!

  “Only for the time being.”

  I needed a translator. I was afraid to find out what “the time being” meant in CeeCee’s world.

  “But don’t worry…it’ll be like you’re living by yourself. I’ll be busy with the salon and my beau, and you’ll be busy with work. We’ll be like sinking ships in the night.”

  “You mean, passing ships in the night?”

  “Huh?” She cocked her head.

  And I gave up. “Never mind. Yours makes more sense. Definitely sinking ships.”

  I told myself that “the time being” would be fun.

  As much fun as being strapped to the underbelly of a sinking ship.

  That night, we watched Titanic, and I actually found myself envious of the main guy. I’d voluntarily turn into a block of ice, too, and then happily plummet to the bottom of the ocean if given a choice.

  2

  Lexi

  “I found your next client.” Jasmine dropped herself into the chair across from my desk with a humph.

  “Your hair looks fantastic.” I was temporarily mesmerized by the change. “But what do you mean, you found my next client?” I drew my attention away from her newly auburn tresses to address her.

  “Isn’t it amazing? There’s a new colorist at Salon 817, and she’s wickedly talented. She even matched my eyebrows.” She leaned forward so I could get a closer look, but I was more interested in her proclamation.

  “Yeah, they’re great.” I dismissed her dye job and tried to redirect her, lasso her back in. My pulse increased with each minute I waited for her to expound on the “new client” part of her entrance. The arch of my brow indicated my agitation with her avoidance.

  “I gave her your number. Her name’s Candi. My guess is you’ll hear from her today.” When she flipped her hair over her shoulder, the light caught the streaks of perfectly placed caramel and rich-red undertones.

  “Jasmine,” I hissed through my teeth, not wanting to draw the attention of my cube mate. “You know I’m really particular about who I take on. Why would you give out my number to some rank stranger?”

  “It’s not like Dr. Fellatio is a secret, Alex. All of greater Atlanta is aware of the good doctor’s reputation. The only secret is how to get on her calendar. Stop worrying so much. No one’s going to find out how you moonlight.” Her blasé attitude would have had me in a verbal uproar if we were in different company. As it stood, any further mention of my second job could be heard by any number of people within spitting distance of my not-so-semi-private desk.

  “Shh. Someone might hear you.”

  She waved me off and tossed her freshly colored locks over her shoulder again. If I weren’t so irritated, I’d admire the myriad of hues streaking her long hair, but at this point, she was just being obnoxious about showing them off. I got it—her hair looked great…moving on.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. “No one here cares what either of us does, much less what we talk about. Anyway, so I met her the last time I went in for a cut. She moved here with her boyfriend…or for her boyfriend from somewhere out west.” She waved her hand, dismissing the detail. “I don’t know. Not the point. Jose left—which is another story in itself—but no one bothered to call me to let me know the salon had booked me with Candi until I got there—”

  “Could you get to the point here? I have a ton of step-and-fetch-it work to do for the team that isn’t getting done while you occupy my time.”

  “Relax, Alexia, I’m getting there. As you know, color is a process.” The use of my full name only served to further ruffle my feathers, but I ignored it—along with the continued tossing of her hair—hoping she’d answer me.

  “Yes, one you take half a day off to have done. Got it.”

  “So, I spent the morning lamenting the fact that Jose no longer works there while getting to know his replacement.”

  “Jasmine, you have about two-point-five seconds to tell me why you’re passing out my card.”

  “Fine. She moved here and ever since…well, her love life has been on the downward slope.”

  “As in it’s not any good?”

  “As in it’s non-existent, where I got the impression she’d prefer it be rather prolific.”

  “I’m not sure how you managed to learn this about a woman you just met.”

  “Alex, I spent four hours with the girl. I can tell you her zodiac sign and social security number at this point if that would make you feel better. Give me five minutes, and I’ll check her credit.”

  “Hardly—”

  “Are you going to let me tell you this or keep interrupting?”

  My forehead hit my folded arms on top of my desk in exasperation. “Go on…”

  “Thank you.” Her voice pepped up with her tiny victory. “So, she told me all about this guy and their life—well, sex life anyway. And she’s a prime candidate for your services. When I mentioned what you do, her eyes went wide with excitement, and I swear she bounced on her toes.”

  “Why, Jasmine?” My gaze met hers as I sat back in my chair. Pounding my skull on the desk wasn’t getting me anywhere. Maybe quiet resignation or plotting my best friend’s
demise would.

  “Because clearly, neither of us are blazing any trails toward gaining a spot on an ad team here, which means you’re still making the same paltry sum I do. Both of us know that means we’re barely over the poverty line. And this girl needs help and has the money to pay your exorbitant fees.”

  “They get their money’s worth.” It wasn’t an opinion. At this point, my reputation stood for itself. Women paid me thousands to school them in the art of pleasuring their partners. They also paid for anonymity—mine and theirs.

  “Agreed, which is why I told Candi about Dr. Fellatio. If anyone can help her salvage her sex life, it would be you.”

  “What exactly did you tell her?”

  “That women from seven states seek your expertise, and you’ve never had a single complaint. I also told her your business grew based on word of mouth—no pun intended. Meaning you had nothing but satisfied customers. Very satisfied customers.” She added in that last part with a lazy smile and even lazier eye. If that was what she looked like after an orgasm…well, that thought didn’t need to be finished. Moving on.

  “I have no idea how you manage to work these types of things into a discussion with your hairdresser—”

  “Stylist.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Done is done. She doesn’t know my connection to you or where you work. Hell, she doesn’t even know your name, Alex. So just say thank you, and talk to the girl when she calls.”

  Easy for Jasmine to say; she wasn’t the one providing ethically questionable services in the Bible Belt. She also didn’t risk losing the job she’d been at for five years. It didn’t matter that we’d both been misled or that we were after the same coveted spot every college graduate with a marketing degree on the East Coast wanted. The fact was, we both took jobs at Miriam Pratt as junior account representatives when we got our degrees. And we were both still in the same position—although serving different ad teams—hoping to land a promotion and a job that paid a wage we could live on. Regardless of the fact that we were glorified gophers, being employed at what is now Seneca Marketing held clout—even if it held no dollar signs.