Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  “It should have.” She crossed her legs and set her hands on my desk. “So you’re writing erotica. Tell me about that.”

  I told her it was a one-time thing, really. My publisher had been sold, and I was still under contract. “I have to come up with something quickly, but I’m not sure how it works.”

  Mindy thinned her lips. “When two people really love each other, sometimes they want to express that love physically—”

  “You know what I mean. I have to read a few of these books and try to figure out how to write one.”

  “My class is coming back from art in five minutes. Can we grab a drink later?”

  “Sure. Want to come over to my place?”

  “Great. I’ll bring the beer.” She scooted off the desk and patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t let Brunhilda see that book. Or Señor Caliente. Or anyone, really.”

  I smoothed my twinset, which was bunching up around my grandma skirt. “Señor Caliente and I are officially fighting. He gave my niece and nephew penis lollipops.”

  Mindy paused at the door, frowning. She was quiet for a few long moments. “Lettie, there’s so much I want to ask you right now. Can we table this discussion for later?”

  “Of course.”

  She nodded solemnly, waved her fingers at me, and walked out. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes. Might as well use the bathroom.

  I WAS ORGANIZING my classroom after school ended when my cell phone chirped. It was Faye. “Hey. How are you?”

  “Hey, Lettie. Good, good. Listen, I have a question for you.” Faye doesn’t believe in small talk.

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s sort of weird, but I um.” She sighed and lowered her voice. “I found this thing in Blaise’s room. It’s a lollipop. He says it’s a snake but it looks . . . R-rated.”

  My spine stiffened, but I continued to shuffle papers around and told myself to sound natural. “Really? Huh.” So Eric gave Blaise an extra candy? Why was the universe conspiring against me?

  “You didn’t happen to give that to him, did you? I know that sounds awful and I can’t believe I’m even asking, it’s just that Portia said it was from a man, and when I asked her what man, she said it was one of your friends.”

  Looked like someone had to teach Portia about tattling. Snitches get stitches, Portia. “Well, she’s at that special age where she can lie with impunity. Remember, she told me her vagina talks to her.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But in all seriousness, I didn’t give anyone a lollipop. I mean, where do you even get those things? I wouldn’t know.” I forced a light chuckle. “Someone at summer camp probably had a birthday party.”

  “And brought in erotic lollipops?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said, ‘And brought in erotic—’ ”

  “The reception’s no good here. I’ll have to call you back.”

  I disconnected the call, set the cell to silent mode, and pushed it aside. With any luck, Faye would drop it and I’d never have to address the matter again.

  I organized my lessons for the next day and packed my bags. I was slinging my tote over my shoulder when I heard someone clear his throat and say, “Hey. How was your first day?”

  It was Eric. He was wearing a well-tailored gray suit with a red tie, and I couldn’t have ignored him if I’d tried. Those green eyes, gah. But being the adult I was, I lifted my chin and attempted to show how little he affected me. “Couldn’t have been better. Yours?”

  He couldn’t get her out of his head, try as he might. There was something about her, an electricity that arced between them. But she was a stubborn one, feisty and passionate, and he could see by the proud lift of her chin that she was not about to forgive him for the lollipop incident. Could he ever convince her to give him a second chance? Maybe he’d extend an olive branch, offer her a coffee. And then, if she accepted, he’d tell her he was looking for investors in his erotic-cupcake venture.

  He glanced both ways down the hallway before stepping into the classroom. Between his curling brown hair and his glasses, he had a slightly boyish appearance. I looked away because it was impolite to stare, and he was my boss and all. Then I saw that he was carrying something. I recognized the white-and-pink cover immediately. “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “I bought your book over the weekend,” he said with a smile.

  It was a copy of Happy Birthday, Sweet Pea. I don’t know why this embarrassed me so much, but I flung my hands over my cheeks. “Eric. No. Why?”

  He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and gave me a lopsided grin. “Because I finished War and Peace? Here, I was hoping you’d sign it for me.”

  I set my tote on the floor as he pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. He held out the book and pen to me, and I accepted them numbly. “What should I write?”

  “Aren’t you the expert?”

  “Not really. No one asks me for my autograph.”

  “All right, then I’ll dictate.” He cleared his throat and waited for me to crack the spine of the book and open it to the title page. “To Mr. Eric Clayman.” He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  I grinned and wrote the words, then said, “To Mr. Eric Clayman. Go on.”

  A look of mock concentration came onto his handsome face as he composed my message for me. “You are a man of many talents, and you play the violin like a virtuoso.”

  I looked up at him through my lashes. “I didn’t know you play violin.”

  “You asked me what you should write, so I’m telling you.” He struck one foot onto a tiny chair and leaned, looking a bit like George Washington crossing the Delaware. “You play the violin like a virtuoso. Your rendition of ‘Con Te Partiro’ at the faculty Halloween party moved me deeply and inspired a tragic novel of love and loss that is too painful to be shared in my lifetime but will be published fifteen years after my death.” He paused. “Are you getting all of this?”

  I was standing in place, the pen hovering over the page, trying hard not to giggle like a little girl. “Every word.”

  “Excellent. Please promise me that you will never lose your love of organic chemistry or conspiracy theories, and remember that should you ever win a Nobel Prize, you promised me the medal. With deepest affection, Aletta.”

  When I was finished, I handed him the book. He immediately peeked inside. “ ‘To Mr. Eric Clayman: Thanks for reading. Best wishes, Aletta.’ ” He grinned. “Well, close enough.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. So much for fighting. “You’re welcome.”

  “Look, in all seriousness.” He tucked the book under his arm and came closer. “I wanted to explain what happened last week. See, when I was a kid, my sister had to see this psychologist. Just once or twice. It was no big deal, but she was a kid. She was scared.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “She told me he had clay for her to play with. She’d sit there and be calm, and just roll up the clay while they talked, and then it wasn’t as bad. I don’t know why I thought of that when I saw your nephew. He looked scared, I guess. Those lollipops were from a bachelorette party, and I didn’t realize it. I should have looked. It was inappropriate and not what I intended. I’m sorry.” He looked at me pointedly. “Matilda.”

  It was my cue to apologize, as well. I hitched my tote higher on my shoulder, feeling scandalous as the copy of Lord Sterling’s Secret pressed against my hip. “To be fair, it didn’t seem wise to give you my real name. For all I knew, you were a creep.”

  “I have no clue where you’d get that idea.” But he smiled when he said it, looking all hot again. “But all right. I’m sorry if I seemed creepy.”

  My insides pooled. That smile. I bit my lower lip. “So you tend bar?”

  “I fill in every now and then. I don’t tell too many people about it—”

  “Your secret’s
safe with me.” I paused. “Maybe I was a little hard on you. About the lollipops.” I had erotica in my bag. Who was I to judge?

  “You were protecting your niece and nephew. I would’ve felt the same way.”

  “But still. I’m sorry, too. And I’m sorry for giving you a fake name. Apologies all around. Can we agree to start over?”

  “Sure. I like new beginnings.”

  I avoided his gaze. The room was cool but I was sweltering, and my heart was pounding, and an image of Eric as Lord Sterling flashed across my brain and made me see the book in a whole new light. Yes, with that rakish smile Eric could be the man with the magical cock, thrusting away at the girl making the ham sandwich.

  It was really hot in here.

  I tugged at my sweater. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. I have a friend coming over.”

  He stepped aside. “Didn’t mean to keep you. Have a good night, Lettie. Thanks again for the autograph.”

  My name had never sounded so nice.

  ERIC’S HEAD was light as he left Lettie’s classroom, thinking about her laugh. What was it about making a pretty girl smile? The feeling should be bottled and sold.

  His pulse was still jagged as he came to his office. The book had been a risk. He’d hoped she’d be flattered, but she might have seen him as desperate. And instead, she’d smiled. It was better than he could have expected. He was so pleased with himself that he didn’t hear the footsteps plodding into his office, and then Gretchen’s sharp voice said, “What are you so happy about?”

  Ah, of course. He should’ve known better than to show joy. Still, his smile was slow to fade. “Hello, Gretchen. Just a great first day, that’s all.”

  But she’d already lost interest. She folded her arms and stared down at the floor, obviously working through something in her mind. “Have you heard from Marlene? I sent her a care package and I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Sorry, haven’t heard from her.” Eric sat at his desk and logged on to his computer.

  “Hmm.” Her brows knit together. “I was hoping she would get in touch with you about your duties.”

  “Not yet. Maybe she needs some space. Isn’t she having a nervous breakdown?” Not that he was an expert, but he imagined it was the kind of thing a person needed space for.

  “You don’t understand the kind of relationship Marlene and I have,” Gretchen said flatly, and Eric thought, No, of course I wouldn’t understand that. “She would never not thank me.”

  He looked over his screen at her and took in her narrowed eyes and thinned lips. Was she concerned for her friend’s well-being? he wondered. Or pissed that she hadn’t shown enough gratitude? “Sorry. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He turned back to his screen.

  But Gretchen didn’t leave. She stood there for another few breaths. “You should try to contact Marlene. Maybe get some tips. When I talk about excellence—she is an excellent administrator.”

  Eric’s fingers froze above the keys, but when he looked up and was about to ask her what that was supposed to mean, Gretchen lifted her chin into the air, turned on her heel, and marched out of his doorway.

  AS FAR AS practicing gratitude goes, I pretty much live in my favorite house in the world, even if it is in Westborough. My great-grandfather built the Craftsman bungalow from a kit he ordered from Sears, and I’d spent the last two years restoring it. The porch is wide and dark brown, and the pillars attaching the porch to the second story are made of stone. The exterior is a light green, and the inside is bright and cheerful, thanks to the additional windows I installed in the back. The yard is small, but there is a fence so Odin can chase a ball around. This is my refuge.

  By the time I reached home, I had mostly collected myself. I changed and took Odin outside to play with his tennis ball. After a few throws, he began bouncing it on the ground himself and rolling after it. He could go on like that for ages, so I went back into the house and started assembling dinner. Mindy arrived just as I was putting the finishing touches on a sandwich platter: slices of smoked gouda, brioche, and roast turkey with aioli and cranberry spread.

  “Fancy.” She grinned. “And perfect. It’s hot out there.” She set a grocery bag on the countertop and some bottles clanged together.

  “Just turkey and cheese. I’m about to slice some tomatoes.”

  “I’ll get you a beer.”

  We ate dinner on the back patio under a yellow umbrella that blocked out the remains of the afternoon sun. As we ate, Mindy thumbed through my smut collection. “So no more Sweet Pea? It’s a pity. I was waiting for the pole-dancing story.”

  “See you at the crossroads, Sweet Pea.” I poured some of my beer onto the grass in homage to my beloved little character with the peapod body. “You were a good idea, though not as profitable as I’d hoped.”

  “On to bigger, harder, and longer things, right?” Mindy piled my erotica library on the table and pushed it aside. “I haven’t heard of any of these titles or authors. If you’re looking for recommendations, I have a few personal favorites.”

  “Sure, why not.” I took a bite of my sandwich, dropping a pickle on my plate. “Bondage seems popular these days. BSDM. I may write that.”

  Mindy chuckled. “BDSM. And yes, I have some of those. I do think it’s wonderful that you’re trying something like this, especially after everything that happened this summer.”

  “Everything that happened this summer” was code for the James Incident. I reached for my beer. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

  “Because erotica is about empowerment. Female sexuality. It’s about honesty and admitting that we feel the things we’re told nice girls shouldn’t feel.” Mindy paused to tug a few strands of hair from her lips. “I’m happy to see you getting back in touch with that side. I thought for sure you’d run away from sex altogether.”

  “Well. . . .” I paused, the glass halfway to my mouth. “To be clear, I’m only doing this for money. I’m like a literary prostitute. I’ve been collecting some choice words and phrases, and I’ll just plug them into a story.”

  Mindy blinked a few times and wrinkled her nose. “That’s not going to work. You can’t just throw two people on the page, add a silken pocket and some deep thrusting and call it erotica.”

  “I could sure try.” I took a big sip. The beer Mindy had brought was craft beer from a local brewery. It tasted faintly like mango. “This is really good.” I stifled a burp, and Odin pricked his ears.

  “Lettie.” Mindy pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned forward. “Here’s what I think needs to happen. And understand, this is only my opinion.”

  “Understood.” I lifted a red grape out of a bowl and popped it into my mouth.

  “To write erotica, you need to get in touch with your sexual side. It’s not only about the act itself. It’s about connection between two people, both physical and emotional. My favorite erotic stories end with the couple in love.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “Just that you should have your own erotic experience.”

  “Hmm.” I set down my glass and took a moment to delicately wipe the corners of my lips with my napkin. “Yes, well. That’s out of the question.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  Because my judgment in men was obviously bollocks. Because I had hundreds of dollars in therapy bills to suggest that I should be a whole person, gap-free, full of gratitude, but then . . . reality. “Because every time I think about sex, I think about lies.” My voice cracked with emotion. “I think about men who can’t be trusted, and hurt, and betrayal. That’s why.”

  Mindy exhaled slowly and whispered, “Wow.”

  “Yeah. It’s a little bit of a sore spot for me.” Odin sat up and nudged my hand with his nose. I scratched him behind the ears. “I can’t even read these stories and enjoy them. They seem so silly and artificial, all of this panting and purple prose
about the female orgasm. I’ve had orgasms before, all right? Real ones. And it doesn’t feel like being dipped into hell and then tossed into heaven. It feels like muscles spasming. In a good way,” I added. I didn’t want her to think my parts were broken. “And the talk about spilling seed. Yuck.” I pinched my mouth and shook my head.

  She grabbed her beer and sat back in her seat, bringing one leg to rest on the cushion while extending the other. For a long while we sat in silence, aside from the occasional car passing or the chirp of a bird. Mindy slowly raised her sunglasses and set them on top of her head, regarding me with her dark, wide-set eyes. “What you need is a love affair.”

  “No,” I snorted. “Unless by love affair, you mean lobotomy.”

  “I do not mean lobotomy. I mean what I said. You need someone to give it to you hard and fast and breathe a little life into your silken purse.”

  “Cheese and rice.” My face was all hot again, and I pulled my hair off my neck. “Odin’s virgin ears, Mindy.”

  “He can take it.” She leaned one elbow against the armrest. “Why not? Give me one good reason.”

  The excuses came rapid-fire. “I don’t want to make small talk. I don’t want to put myself on the market again. I don’t want to worry about whether he likes me, or whether I said the wrong thing to make him lose interest.” I sighed and eased my back against the chair. “I don’t want to worry about my cellulite, or my stretch marks, or whether I’ve plucked this one black hair that grows on my chin and is, like, five feet long. Do you want me to keep going, or do you have what you need?”

  Mindy arched an eyebrow. “Keep going.”

  “Please. We could be here all night.” I started counting off my reasons on my fingers. “I don’t want to stare at my cell phone, hoping it will ring. When I go out to dinner, I don’t want to choose an entrée with a thought to whether my date will think I’m a fat-ass. I want to order macaroni and cheese baked with bread crumbs and served in a small crock. I don’t want the salad with grilled chicken and olive oil and vinegar on the side. I fucking hate that. It’s not even food.”