Dr. Fellatio

by Author Stella

  “All I can tell you is every account is tracked, every employee has a user ID for a reason, and yours is associated with each error. And every one of these emails is addressed to you.”

  “Can I see them?”

  Martin handed over what he believed to be evidence, but as I scanned through them, riffling through the pages, there wasn’t a single one I’d ever laid eyes on. And none of the responses were signed. There were strings of messages back and forth, but it could have been anyone on the team responding to them.

  “Have they checked which computer the emails came from?” Since they clearly hadn’t come from mine.

  “Why would they need to? Alex, you’re not listening. Your ID is the one that the system is flagging.”

  “Then there’s a problem with the system or the software—I don’t know which because I’m not a computer guru. I’ve never seen any of this, and I haven’t had anything to do with the projects listed.” I was resolute—I refused to take the fall for something I didn’t do.

  He finally took a seat, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was about to fire me or beat his forehead on the wooden top. Neither happened. Martin picked up the phone, never breaking eye contact with me, and pressed a button.

  “Hey, it’s Martin.”

  I couldn’t hear the words said on the other end of the line, but the voice was loud enough to decipher an angry man shouting in my boss’s ear.

  “No, sir. Have the—”

  Martin leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose while continuing to be chastised.

  “Alex has been a valuable asset to our team for five years.”

  Bearing witness to a phone call that could determine my future without hearing both sides or being able to participate in the discussion was frustrating, to say the least, but I bit my tongue and waited.

  “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  More harsh tones snuck through the receiver.

  He slammed the phone back on the set and glared at me. “You better damn well hope they can’t trace this back to you. I have a meeting with Patrick tomorrow at eight sharp. And let me just tell you, he’s less than happy.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but closed it again. I didn’t have a clue who Patrick was, but I could surmise he worked on the fifth floor. He could be any number of people employed by Seneca—they had an entire fleet of top-level management that moved between their offices—mostly directors. I couldn’t keep track of who was here this quarter versus last.

  “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Am I being suspended?” I wanted to add, “for something I didn’t do,” but I didn’t think I should press my luck.

  “No, Alex. You’re taking an afternoon off. I think it’s best for everyone involved if you’re unavailable until after my meeting.”

  “Okay.”

  I nodded once and turned to walk out the door. Tracy refused to make eye contact with me. I could only surmise she knew what I faced when I stepped into Martin’s office and was afraid I’d been terminated, so I passed her and went directly to my cube.

  “You look flushed. Was it good?” Carl’s jokes were ill-timed, which he figured out the moment my eyes started to tear. “Oh shit, what happened? Did you get fired?”

  “I’m being surprised with an afternoon off.”

  “You got suspended?” His mouth hung open waiting for my reply. “What the hell did you do, Croissant?”

  “I didn’t do anything. But Martin gets to visit the fifth-floor tomorrow morning bright and early.”

  “If you get canned, make sure you say goodbye.” He winked, trying to lighten my spirits, but it was no use.

  “Can you let Jasmine know I went home early? I’m going to get Uber to pick me up, so she’ll have the car.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I gathered my things and shut down my computer, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “Thanks, Carl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The day went from bad to worse. By the time I’d suffered through Atlanta traffic, paid sixty bucks to the Uber guy, and made it home, I’d spent the better part of an hour crying. I lay down, trying to get my headache to subside and fell asleep. Jasmine woke me up when she came barreling through the door, demanding to know why I hadn’t answered her texts and what happened at work. It was dusky outside, and I realized I was late meeting Candi for dinner.

  “Shit, shit, shit. I’ll have to fill you in when I get home. I was supposed to meet Candi twenty minutes ago.”

  “You can’t leave and not tell me what’s going on.”

  “Sorry, I need to call Candi, and I’ve got to change before I go.” I raced out of the living room, ignoring her. There’d be plenty of time when I got home tonight to delve into my potential unemployment.

  My cell phone was dead, so I plugged it in and grabbed a blouse, dark skinny jeans, and my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos from my closet. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and the sight of mascara smeared beneath my eyes made me look like a linebacker after a long game. I raced to the bathroom and did my best to fix my face. My hair was a lost cause, so I brushed it out, pulled it into a high ponytail, and wound a strand around it to hide the elastic. Thankfully, the new cut gave the style body and was quite flattering. After applying a coat of gloss, I blotted my lips with a pop and ran to my phone.

  I didn’t bother reading any of the missed texts or listening to voicemail. The forty-three emails would have to wait as well. Clicking Candi’s name in my contacts, I listened to it ring before she answered.

  “Hey, Alex. I was so worried about you. I’ve been sitting here at the bar talking to Nick. He’s the bartender. His mom wants him to find a more respectable job, but I told him to follow his dreams.”

  “I’m so sorry, Candi. Today has been crazy.”

  “Same here. I had a lady come in who wanted to look like a rainbow. I try to make sure the customers are always happy, but purple hair? I had to bleach it completely before I could add in the insane colors she asked for, and then before I even brushed it out, she yelled at me for ruining her hair. It wasn’t ruined, it was just ugly—that was her doing, not mine. When I finally got her calmed down, I made her look like Rainbow Brite, and she was thrilled. But gosh, I hope she doesn’t tell anyone who did her color. That is not the reputation I want.”

  I didn’t have a clue how to respond to any of that. Here I was worried she’d be upset I hadn’t shown up, but it didn’t seem to faze her. It appeared she’d made friends with the guy serving alcohol and had her own personal cartoon wandering around the city.

  “Do you think it would be rude for me to refer her to another salon? One that specializes in tie-dye? I couldn’t believe Salon 817 even had the product in stock. Seriously, purple, pink, blue, and green. And she used to be such a pretty girl, too.”

  I let out a sigh. “If it’s not something you want to do in the future, I think it would be fine to send her somewhere else.”

  “You’re so professional. If you say it’s okay, then I’ll trust you,” said the girl I was thirty minutes late meeting.

  “It’s going to be at least thirty minutes before I can get there. Do you still want me to come, or do you want me to meet you at your house?”

  “You should definitely come here. I can introduce you to Nick. He’s really laid-back and very easy on the eyes. I bet his mom would be thrilled with his job if he brought a girl like you home, and he could help your stress level. A good romp in the hay unwinds me after a long day.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m surprised at you.” Her sweet voice was so animated, it was hard to be irritated by her mindless banter. “But you probably have a whole slew of boys you can call, don’t you? Gah, I can be so ditzy sometimes. I mean look at what you do for a living. It’s not like Dr. Fellatio can’t get a date.”

  “Umm, Candi—”

  “Just let me pay my check. I told Nick all about you, but I’m sure h
e’ll understand.”

  “Thanks. Apologize for me. Tell him maybe another night.” I didn’t want to burst her bubble, she was so sincere. “Text me your address, and I’ll let you know how long it will take me to get there. Again, I’m really sorry about missing dinner.”

  “It’s okay. I had four peanut butter M&M’s, seven grapes, and two saltines today. I feel like a total heifer. Dinner would have just made it worse after my apple martini. So really, you did me and my figure a favor.”

  I prayed she was kidding, but something told me she wasn’t. There wasn’t a bit of fat on the girl, and based on that comment, I hoped that wasn’t what she did to stay so thin. “Glad I could help.” I laughed and told her goodbye.

  Her text came through, and thirty minutes later, I pulled in behind a yellow VW Bug in her driveway. The license plate read “ClrGrl.” I couldn’t help but grin and shake my head.

  There was nothing about Candi that wasn’t peppy, from the way she talked, to her eyes that always appeared wide, to her cute little car. It wouldn’t have surprised me to round the hood and find eyelashes on the headlights and a toy smile attached to the grill. Instead, she had plastic flowers in a vase on the dash.

  The driveway came to a stop at the side of the small, blue house where Candi swung the door open wide. “Hey! You found me.” Her boisterous voice rang through the darkness as I approached the porch instead of the front door.

  “This is such a cute house.” It was tiny but adorable and very much where I’d picture Candi living.

  As soon as I stepped into the light by the entrance, Candi’s hand flew to her chest. “Oh my God. Your JCs are fabulous. Is that a new line?”

  I didn’t know what “JCs” referred to, but I followed her line of sight to my feet to find her staring at my shoes.

  “I’ve never heard Jimmy Choos called that before. They just came out. I got them at Saks a few weeks ago.”

  “Are they purple? I have shoes for every occasion—color is my muse.”

  “Eggplant, I guess.” I didn’t really want to bond over my footwear, but I appreciated that she noticed them. For what I paid for the stilettos, everyone in the greater metro Atlanta area should make comments.

  “Very cute. Come in.” She waved me inside and stepped back to close the door.

  The smell of vanilla nearly knocked me over when we entered what appeared to be the laundry room just off the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine Candi being a baker, but the house smelled like a pastry chef lived here.

  “Show me around.” I liked to see where a couple lived, not just to get a sense of who they were as a unit but to know what my client had to work with regarding space, ambiance, and props. Asking them didn’t usually prove to be useful since they saw it daily and nothing sparked their creativity.

  As I stepped further into the space, a two-seater bistro table I adored caught my attention just before I realized there was nothing on it—no centerpiece, no placemats, nothing. The kitchen appeared to have been newly renovated, and money was spent modernizing cabinets and appliances, but again, the counters were bare, as was the front of the fridge.

  Candi must have caught me staring. “He’s a bit of a minimalist. He doesn’t like stuff lying around. Maybe he’s just a neat freak. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Well, we didn’t live together before.” She talked over her shoulder and opened the fridge. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. Thank you.” I turned in a circle while she pulled a glass out of the cabinet, and then I stopped when my gaze landed on the set of hooks behind the door and the jacket hanging there. A wave of nostalgia hit me and threatened to bring back the waterworks from this morning. In college, I had dated a guy I was head over heels for and had been since the day we’d met. Foolishly, I’d believed he was the one. My senior year, I’d splurged on a coat that looked just like the one hanging in Candi’s laundry room down to the red, square patch on the collar.

  It had taken every penny I had, but he loved the way that bomber jacket made him feel, and I loved the way it made him look. The soft, brown leather appeared worn and begged to be touched, but that would be creepy—and this visit wasn’t about me taking a stroll down memory lane…no matter how badly I wanted to put it on, sit on Candi’s couch, and think back to the Christmas I’d given it to the man I’d thought I would marry. They were no longer in style, but the one on the hook looked well loved.

  “Isn’t that thing gross?” She’d caught me reminiscing. “I’ve tried to get rid of it, but he’s far too frugal to let it go.” She rolled her eyes. That jacket was like a pair of holey boxers a man refused to abandon—she hated it.

  I couldn’t stop my laugh from escaping, knowing just where she was coming from. “Didn’t you say you were from out west? Why would he need a leather jacket?”

  “Why would he need one in Atlanta, Georgia? Your guess is as good as mine. But I pick my battles, and that’s not one I care to fight.” She smiled and looked lovingly at the coat. Her adoration was for the man, not the garment, and it made me happy to see a woman so in love. Candi might not have been the most intelligent creature I’d ever come across, even so, she was genuine and sweet.

  She set the glass she’d been drinking from in the sink and motioned for me to follow her. We traipsed through the narrow kitchen and turned to continue down the hall. The only other door was on the right, and I assumed it was their bedroom. As soon as I entered, the space screamed Candi. It was colorful and the only one that had been decorated. The walls were a cheery, pale yellow and the drapes and comforter matched. She had throw pillows galore covering the bed and lamps on both nightstands. Still, there was nothing in the room that spoke of the two of them as a couple, and certainly, nothing masculine that dotted the space. And other than looking like Laura Ashley threw up in here, there was no trace of Candi as an individual, either.

  I strolled through the room, trailing my fingers along the dresser, sitting on the mattress with a little bounce, and then standing before I peeked my head into the bathroom to see there was only a shower—no tub—still, it was something I could work with.

  Nothing sparked any inspiration. It was as if Candi lived here alone. There wasn’t a single picture in the bedroom or on the walls, no artwork, no knickknacks of any kind. It appeared more like a staged apartment than a home two people shared. And I wondered if their new arrangement had anything to do with the lack of action between them.

  She shuffled me out of their room, back down the hall, and past the kitchen to what I assumed would be the living room, where I found the source of the sweet fragrance. It was small and quaint but rather nondescript aside from the cluster of candles lit on the coffee table.

  “We haven’t done much to decorate. It’s kind of tight with all our stuff, but it’s cozy.”

  The living room took up the entire front of the house. The place was tidy, even if it felt more like a hotel suite than a home. The minimalistic theme continued throughout with one exception. The only picture I’d come across in the entire place sat on the mantel above a fireplace I wouldn’t deem safe to use.

  “He’s not much of a picture taker, but that’s one of my favorites.” Candi pointed to the frame I stared at, inviting me closer to inspect what she was talking about.

  She didn’t miss the gasp that escaped my mouth or the way my fingers pressed to my lips.

  “Isn’t the view beautiful? A group of us went to San Francisco, and another tourist took the photo.”

  There, in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, stood Candi with several people I didn’t recognize, and one I did. Chris stood with his arm wrapped loosely around her waist, and she was laughing with one of the other girls in the group while he stared at the camera with a smirk. And while the view was awe-inspiring, it was the grin that made my heart skip a beat. I’d kissed those lips more times than I could count—I’d held his hand. That arm had been around my waist.

  Candi’s Christopher was my Chr
is.

  I couldn’t believe what I saw. There was no way fate had brought him back to me through another woman. It was a cruel joke destiny tried to play. Nothing about this made sense. Chris was in California—or he was supposed to be. He would never have dated anyone like Candi—she wasn’t his type. I was his type. I refused to even allow myself to think about why she’d hired me. Chris was the reason I was able to teach women how to please men. He’d been the one to teach me how guys liked things with finite precision—it was an art I’d learned from the master himself.

  My chest heaved, and I knew I was on the verge of an anxiety attack. I couldn’t do this. I had to get out of here. Yet I refused to set the photograph down and leave. He was the same boy from my youth, just more mature. His shoulders were a tad broader, and he’d gained weight—although it appeared to be muscle mass…and God, that beard. Chris didn’t have facial hair when we were together, but it suited him. I got lost in his hazel eyes as though he were standing in front of me and not an image frozen in time behind a piece of glass.

  Candi held out her hand, and I reluctantly returned my past. Her present.

  “So where do we go from here?” she asked, oblivious to my freak-out.

  I made an effort to take things in, turning in a circle, but my mind had shut down. It took forced concentration to keep a smile on my face and the sadness from my voice. “I’ll go home and iron out a plan. Then I’ll get back in touch with you to set up your first session.”

  “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” After she scampered out of the room, I took one last look at Chris and followed her.

  She veered off to the kitchen toward her purse, which hung on a hook next to the bomber jacket, and I refused to let myself look in that direction. I couldn’t imagine why he’d kept it, much less still wore it, but the lump in my throat got hard to swallow past.