The Best Medicine

Chapter 18



“THIS IS A SEX TOY party? Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before we got here?”

Gabby, Hilary, and I stood in the fading sunlight on Delle’s bricked front porch between two enormous flowerpots full of red geraniums. As the last chime of the doorbell faded, my annoyance grew louder.

The wicked sisters had tricked me, telling me this was some kind of home merchandise party. I’d thought Delle was selling jewelry, or candles, or those ceramic baking stones that I had no idea how to use, but apparently I was in for something quite a bit spicier than spinach dip and aromatherapy.

Gabby’s bright smile was accented by bubblegum-pink lipstick. “I didn’t tell you, Dr. McFrigid, because if I had, you might not have come.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.”

I had no moral objection to sex toys. Whatever floats the boat. But I did have an objection to sharing my bedtime preferences with a group of women I hardly knew. Or worse yet, women I knew and had to work with. Any second now, my receptionist would fling open that door and display her bagful of conjugal goodies. This was going to be A . . . W . . . K . . . W . . . A . . . R . . . D. They already talked too much about my sex life. This would only make it worse.

On the bright side, at least I’d finally find out what a Vagazzler looked like.

Gabby tucked a strand of pink-and-blonde hair behind her triple-pierced ear. She was wearing cute jeans and a sparkly tank top. I should’ve known when I saw her outfit we weren’t going to spend the evening talking about pastry dough or how to accessorize with scarves.

Even Hilary was dressed racier than usual, in a silky red top and shorty-shorts. Damn her and her long legs. She took a hold of my shoulders and faced me. She jiggled my arms a little, but I was deliberately stiff.

“If anyone could use a few toys, Evie, it’s you. We need to loosen you up before you meet your sexy dermatologist next week. We need to bring out your wild, adventurous side.”

I bit back a smile.

These two had no idea my wild, adventurous side had been ridden like an electronic bull not ten hours earlier. Tyler didn’t leave my apartment until six o’clock that morning. We’d gotten almost no sleep, and Panzer had eaten two more pairs of my underwear. Every part of my body felt used up and spent in the best possible way, and I was thoroughly enjoying my postcoital hangover.

As if our night of sexual debauchery wasn’t decadent enough, Tyler had sent over the delivery boy from Jasper’s at lunchtime with a grilled onion cheeseburger. And french fries. Some men might have tried to woo me with flowers. He sent cholesterol-laden ground beef. It was heaven times ten. The taste of it had nearly sent me into another round of orgasms. Thank goodness the delivery kid had left before I ate it.

But they knew none of that, and I wasn’t ready to share.

“My adventurous side is primed and ready to go, Hilary. I don’t need battery-operated tools to charge it up.”

“Primed and ready, huh? Well, even so, a little revving of the engine never did a girl any harm.”

“Vroom, vroom,” Gabby said enthusiastically.

The door opened, and there was Delle. Her cheeks vasodilated to a bright cherry red, a garish contrast to her lavender-framed glasses.


“Oh, goodness! Dr. Rhoades! And Dr. Pullman. And Gabby. Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

She turned with a flourish and led us through the foyer, her floral-print blouse billowing as she went. The house smelled like sugar cookies. And lubricant.

“You know, if I get a toy, I won’t need a husband. I can just cuddle up with my inflatable boyfriend,” I whispered in Hilary’s ear as we walked into Delle’s paneled family room.

“Trust me. Even with a man, toys are essential,” she whispered back. “Steve couldn’t find a G-spot with a map and a compass.”

The place was decorated with old lace, an abundance of dried floral arrangements, and Precious Moments figurines. Not exactly sex toy party motif. Family photos abounded, covering every inch of wall and surface.

Wonderful. Just what I wanted. Five hundred more pairs of eyes to watch me shop for dildos.

“Just relax.” Gabby squeezed my wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

We stepped farther into the room, and I saw several familiar faces. I tugged on her sleeve.

“There’s hospital staff here. Don’t you think they’ll talk about seeing us here?”

She rolled her shoulders in a careless shrug. “So? It’s a bonding thing. Seeing you here will make them like you better.”

“People like me just fine now.”

“Sure they do. But sometimes you’re a little edgy. And not trendy edgy. Edgy like you need to get laid. Consider this a long-overdue intervention. So sit down, have a glass of wine, and look through this catalog.”

She pushed me into a folding chair and handed me a shiny red brochure with a virtually naked woman on the cover. I stared at it, noting the poorly done augmentation of the vixeny cover model. Her implants were too big, and too round to look natural. But then again, she was arched over a black leather sofa wearing a red thong, a white mask, and cowboy boots with spurs. That didn’t look very natural either.

Hilary and Gabby set their purses on the chairs on either side of me and turned away.

“Where are you guys going?” I practically hissed the question.

They laughed out loud. Not with me. At me.

“I’m getting wine for me, and for you, a Valium,” Hilary answered.

“You’re hilarious.”

They walked toward the kitchen as I glanced around the room to see who I recognized. Susie from the emergency department waved at me. I waved back. She had on cute low-cut jeans and a hot-pink top. Her hair was loose and wavy. She looked ten years younger than she did at work.

I looked down at my own basic black capris and my light blue blouse. I was the only one here not wearing something cute and sassy. All my clothes were work clothes. But now that I was dating, I needed some new, more sultry outfits. And didn’t I deserve it? I worked hard. Of course, my sudden interest in fashion had nothing to do with Tyler, or any desire to look younger, hipper, sexier. I just hadn’t treated myself to a shopping spree in a long time, and I needed some new clothes. There was nothing more to it than that.

It had nothing to do with him . . .

Seriously. I was a terrible liar, even when I was the only one who could hear me.

Gabby came back and handed me a glass filled to the brim with a frothy, peach-colored drink.

“Try this. It’s good.”

I took a sip. She was right. It was fruity and delicious.

“What is it?” I asked, taking another big swallow.

She waited until I had a mouthful. “It’s a penis colada.”

I coughed and nearly spit it out through my nostrils. It burned. This was going to be a long, long night.

She sat down, and Hilary joined us, holding a glass of white wine.

“Anything interesting in the catalog?” she asked.

I hadn’t had the nerve to open it, but it was now or never.

Oh. I should have stuck with never.

I always felt obligated to purchase something at these home parties, but I wasn’t in the market for see-through baby-doll pajamas, furry handcuffs, or nipple ring charms. Hopefully I could find a nice body lotion or something. But no. There was nothing that was remotely nonsexual in this entire thirty-page brochure. Thumbing through it, I discovered instruments I had never even imagined. Things with prongs, whirligigs, spirals, spangles, ears, and tails. Things with batteries and chargers and assorted attachments. I elbowed Gabby and pointed at the pinkish monstrosity on page eleven.

“Is that what it looks like?” I whispered.

She leaned in close. “Do you think it looks like a giant, battery-operated, rubber tongue?”

“Yep.”

“Then yes, it is what you think it is.”

“Ladies, if I could have your attention for just a moment,” Delle said, mopping perspiration away from her forehead with a tissue. “Thank you all for coming. This is Scarlett, our pleasure guide for the evening.”

She put her fleshy arm around a thin but muscular woman dressed in a crimson bustier and pleather pants. I had to admit it. Scarlett did look kind of sexy, but those pants must be hotter than hell. And not hot in a sexy way, but hot in the my-legs-are-drenched-with-sweat kind of way.

“But before we get started,” Delle continued, “I think we should start our evening off on the right note by introducing ourselves by our stripper name.”

Everyone laughed except for me. “Our stripper name?”

“Yes.” Delle’s fleshy cheeks bounced as she nodded enthusiastically. “Take the name of your first pet and add it to the street you grew up on.”

Really?

See, this was the kind of stuff I missed out on by always studying or working. All this time I’d had a secret stripper name and hadn’t even known it.

We worked our way around the room, making introductions. Susie’s name was Mittens Hightower. The woman next to her was Gypsy Main, and so it went. Jinx Belmont. Rosie Leffingwell, Taffy Fulton. Gabby and Hilary became Roxie and Snowball Caravelle. And I was Panzer Mulberry.

“You had a dog named Panzer? That’s a cool name,” Gabby said, sucking up the last of her drink through a dainty straw.

I squirmed in my chair, not certain I wanted to delve into this. But the penis colada had loosened my tongue. My real tongue. Not the rubber one on page eleven.

“I have a dog named Panzer right now. I got him yesterday.”

Hilary turned in her chair. “You got a dog yesterday? Yet another secret? How the heck did I not know about this?”

“It was sort of spontaneous.” I wondered if my four-legged spontaneous decision was at my apartment right now trying to pry open my underwear drawer to find a snack.

Hilary’s eyes narrowed. She was winding up for an interrogation, but Scarlett interrupted.

“As Delle mentioned, my name is Scarlett, and I’m your guide to total sexual fulfillment, either with a partner, in a group, or through self-love. Now, is anyone here uncomfortable talking about masturbation?”

Oh, crap.

The night went downhill from there, although I will say Scarlett was well versed in anatomy. I learned more from her than I had in medical school. I also learned about pleasure enhancers such as the Pocket Rocket, the Venus Butterfly, the Happy Rabbit, and the infamous Vagazzler. It looked like something Panzer might want to play fetch with, but certainly not something I wanted anywhere near my tender bits. I’m all for innovation and variety, but any gizmo with ten speeds and five attachments seems risky.

“Here. Try this.” Gabby handed me another drink. This one was just as frothy as the first, but dark pink.


I accepted it with caution. “What is it?”

She grinned. “A strawberry dickery. So drink it and tell me about this new dog of yours. Where’d you get him?”

Careful, Evie. Careful what you say here.

“He was from the animal shelter, and if no one adopted him, he was going to be put to sleep. He had such a sweet face, I just couldn’t let him down.”

Of course, when I said sweet face, I wasn’t only thinking of the dog.

Susie came over and sat beside us. I hadn’t worked with her since the day we’d watched Tyler being carted away in handcuffs. Regular handcuffs. Not the furry kind like on page nineteen.

“Did I hear you say you just got a dog? What kind?”

I was about to be squeezed in a vise of questioning.

“Um, I’m not sure. He’s big, and furry, very sweet. But he likes to eat underwear.”

“Oh,” Delle exclaimed, stepping over to us. “There’s edible underwear on page seventeen. Cherry, blueberry, peach, and green apple. I don’t recommend the green apple, though. That’s not a flattering color on anyone.”

“Well, I’m glad you got a dog,” Gabby said, ignoring Delle. “It’s a good first step toward committing to a relationship.”

“First step?” Susie asked.

I felt the veins in my head start to pulse. I didn’t need all the nurses in the emergency department knowing I was on the prowl for a husband. And I was more than afraid this conversation would somehow come around to Tyler. I tried to use pure energy to will Gabby to keep her mouth shut, but she’d had about nine strawberry dickeries. If the alcohol didn’t set her off, the sugar certainly would.

“Evie has finally dived into the dating pool and decided she wants to get married. I’ve found her the perfect man,” Hilary said, leaning forward into the group.

“The Perfect Man is on page twelve,” Delle said, waving around the catalog. “He’s a bestseller, but don’t forget he needs D-cell batteries.”

We all stopped and stared at her. Unfazed, she shook the catalog again. “D-cell batteries. Six of them. He’s a high-voltage toy.”

After a pause, I turned back to Susie. “I’m just making more of an effort to be social,” I said as if this was not a big deal. Because it wasn’t. Women went on dates and found husbands all the time. I was nothing special.

“Good for you,” Susie said. “For what it’s worth, Dr. Hoover from the emergency department thinks you’re hot. He’d go out with you in a heartbeat.”

“Dr. Hoover?”

Susie nodded and took a long, noisy drink from her straw, draining the glass. Geez, these women could certainly put away the dickeries.

“Frank Hoover. Tall guy, receding hairline. Not bad-looking, but he’s kind of full of himself. Plus his wife left him financially broke. And emotionally broken. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn’t go out with him.”

Broke and broken? That did not sound appealing.

What did sound appealing right about now was a big dose of Tyler. It was impossible not to think of him while talking about men. And while looking at all this carnal merchandise. My libido had lain dormant for too long. Now that Tyler had tapped me, he’d tapped it. The seal was broken, and all I wanted to do was climb back into bed with my twenty-seven-year-old lover, pull the covers over our heads, and—what was it Scarlett the pleasure guide had said?—give in to our basest nature? Yes. That’s what I wanted to do.

“By the way,” Delle interjected again, “these furry handcuffs are actually quite comfortable. See?” She clicked one onto Gabby’s wrist. “Ronald got quite a blister when we tried real handcuffs. These are much better.”

Gabby stroked the fur. “Mike would love these. And they are quite soft. E muito sexy. That’s Portuguese for very sexy.”

Susie poked me with her elbow. “Hey, speaking of very sexy and handcuffs, what do you suppose ever happened with that Jet Ski guy? Do you think he was able to charm his way out of going to jail?”

I stared down into my drink but felt telltale heat in my cheeks.

“That was Tyler Connelly,” Gabby said. “I went to high school with him.”

“Was that the adorável young man who came into the office to have his stitches removed?” Delle asked. “He was quite insistent about seeing Dr. Rhoades instead of one of the nurses.”

Shit.

“So you’ve seen him again?” Susie asked.

“Yes, she has,” Hilary said, her voice a little slurry. “But I’ve warned her off him. He may be cute as hell, but he and his family are all about one foot from jail time. Lucky for them my husband is such a good lawyer.”

Hilary was drunk. I could hear it in the pace and curl of her words. If I was going to tell any of them about Tyler, now was not the time. I needed to change the subject, and fast. I set down my drink and picked up the catalog.

“Well, that’s enough about that. The real question is, are we going to sit here chatting all night, or are we going to buy some sex toys?”