You Sexy Thing!

Gracie hesitated then bit her bottom lip. Not because she didn’t want to talk to her mother. But because the view outside her window was absolutely breathtaking. Only in New York could you blink your eyes like Samantha on Bewitched and move from city chic to abundant nature so quickly. She sighed. “Yeah, put her on. I haven’t done my bad deed for the day yet. I figure making her late for lunch should do it.”

Consuela told her to hold the line.

Grace trailed a finger down the steamed inside of the taxi window. Once, when she’d been home for spring break in her second year of college, she’d had the temerity to ask her mother if she’d ever achieved an orgasm. Despite her ongoing attempts to shock both her parents to the point of sputtering, she’d asked the question out of curiosity. Her parents had never seemed to share a physical closeness. They spent more time apart than together. And when they were together, they seemed occupied talking about which party to attend and who they should be seen with. The only time Gracie saw her mother actually touch her father was when she was picking invisible lint off his jacket before they left for social events. Even then, she did it in such a way so that no more than her fingertips brushed the material. When Gracie’s course material had concentrated on sexual frigidity, it was only natural that Gracie thought of her mother. Only natural that Gracie would want to apply her recently acquired knowledge to everyday life.

Her mother’s answer to the orgasm question had been the only time Grace had been slapped.

“Good heavens, Consuela, can’t you even see to the simple task of asking who it is?” Gracie heard her mother’s voice come over the line, followed by, “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Gracie!” A fumbling of the phone. “Consuela, it’s Gracie.”

Gracie didn’t want to cause any more trouble for the good-humored housekeeper by pointing out to her mother that Consuela and she had already spoken, but it took mammoth effort.

“Hi, darling. What a surprise it is hearing from you. You’re never up this early.”

“I’m working, Mom. I’m on that promotional tour, remember? I did a radio interview this morning in New York.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I must have forgotten.”

Gracie tucked her chin into her chest and bit her lip. She wasn’t sure if her mother actually did forget half the details of her only child’s life, or whether she preferred to ignore them.

“So are you nervous? No, pretend I didn’t ask that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous. Besides, you have that radio show you do every week. Why would you be nervous?”

“Actually, Mom, this was a different format, so I was a bit nervous. It’s over though, so I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.” Gracie turned her head, watching as a young mother fastened the hood of a child’s raincoat. She smiled wistfully. Had her mother ever stood out in the middle of a downpour completely unprotected to make sure she had her coat fastened securely? Not that she could remember. Sounded like something she’d have the nanny or housekeeper see to.

She blindly reached again into her monster purse. Bypassing the bag of peanuts, she instead slid out a copy of her book. “Have you received the book yet?”

“The book…oh, right! I’m sure we have. In fact, I’m positive that we have. It must be around here somewhere. Why just this morning I’m sure I saw Consuela sneaking a peek between the covers.”

Ah, the self-protective reversion to “we” that her mother fell back on when she couldn’t quite face things on her own. Gracie wondered exactly who “we” encompassed. Her mother and her father? The entire household? Or the entire city of Baltimore? Gracie slowly ran her finger over the raised lettering, wondering at the hypersensitivity of her fingertip. “And you? Have you read it, Mom?”

A pause. Then a sigh. “No, dear, I’m afraid I haven’t. And I don’t think I will, either, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It isn’t all the same to me, Mom. I sent that copy especially for you. Not Dad. Not Consuela. It…” She sat up then straightened her skirt. An impossible task given its shortness. “It would mean a lot to me, Mom. I’d really like your input.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grace. What good would my input do now? You couldn’t possibly change anything.”

“I don’t want to change anything. I just want you to read it. Can you do that for me?” Grace leaned her forehead against the glass, then rolled the window down and took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. Finally she laughed, then said, “Never mind, Mom. I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“That’s my girl. I knew you’d come around if we talked about it, dear.”

But we haven’t talked about it. I’ve talked, you’ve stone-walled. Just another day in the life and times of Grace and Priscilla Mattias.

At any rate, she supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t gotten the usual “Grace, your biological clock’s ticking…there’s only a small number of suitable men out there and they’re all being snatched up by other women…are you ever going to settle down and give me grandkids” speech that punctuated most of her conversations with her mother.

“If it makes any difference, I’m glad your interview went well, Grace. And I’m happy that things are going the way…well, the way that you want them.”

What went unsaid was that “things” weren’t going the way her mother wanted them. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you saying that.” She leaned back into the seat and grabbed for her peanuts. Things were going just the way she wanted them. Her first book was taking off. She had her new bayside condo in Baltimore that was now being renovated. And she was enjoying every moment of making her own decisions without someone constantly breathing down her neck and asking her just what in the hell she thought she was doing.

She smiled to herself. Yes, she was very happy with her life, indeed. She popped a few peanuts into her mouth. “So tell me, Mom. Which problem do you hope to throw money at during lunch today?”

3

CHOPPED LIVER. That’s what he felt like after his bout with Dr. Gracie Mattias, pure and simple and bloody raw. Dylan cast a glance around the lobby. Tanja wasn’t even around for him to vent at. She’d abandoned him outside the radio station, claiming she had family in the area and had scheduled to meet a friend for lunch, did he mind? He’d wanted to tell her yes, he did mind, but hadn’t. He was afraid he’d sound too…demanding? Unbending? Whiny?

He cringed at the last description, realizing that’s exactly what he was doing. He was whining. Just like a five-year-old who had his bike stolen, training wheels and all.

It was ridiculous, really. Overall the interview had gone well. Toward the end he had even begun to enjoy himself, giving as good as he got when it came to trading digs with the sex doctor.

Jesus, had he really just thought of her as the sex doctor? If so, what did that make him? The anti-sex doctor?

He didn’t want to begin to analyze that bizarre train of thought.

Dylan poked at the elevator button again, somehow managing a half-assed smile in the general direction of a young couple who had just stepped in from the rain to stand next to him. Their cheerful, attentive-to-each-other disposition made his disposition even darker.

“This is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

Dylan grimaced, then nodded at the young woman to show he had heard.

“We just got married.” The man looped his arms around the woman and tugged her closer. “This is the first day of our honeymoon.”

“Congratulations.” Dylan forced a close-mouthed smile then turned back toward the elevator.

Kissing noises sounded beside him. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the stairs were, and whether he was up to climbing seventeen floors. “Uh,” he began, interrupting the couple from their amorous pursuits. “A word of warning. When the elevator stops, you may want to make sure it’s actually on the floor you want.”

The couple looked at him, then each other, sporting quizzical expressions he had been sorely tempted to bestow on a few of his more…interesting patients. Like the one who got into wearing women’s silk stockings under his Brooks Brothers business suits when he appeared in Superior Court.

He cleared his throat. “I found out the hard way that they don’t always do that. The elevators. You know, stop on the floor you want. Creates a bit of a…mess.” Although he really couldn’t call what had happened this morning a mess. An unfortunate mishap, maybe. A wild accident. But definitely not a mess. Not when a man got to take a peek at a woman of Gracie Mattias’s caliber.

“Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Finally, a ding. The elevator doors opened. Dylan stepped in and to the back, automatically making room for the couple. He reached around them and pushed the button for his floor.

“Hold that elevator!”

Dylan clenched his jaw and covertly reached around the couple to punch the close button. All he wanted was to get back to his room, shrug out of his damp clothes, then review his schedule for the next two weeks. Make a list of things to have Tanja see to. First and foremost, making sure that he knew exactly who he was going to be up against in coming interviews.

“Thanks.” A breathless someone stuck her hand between the closing doors, then slid in between them.

Dylan stood a little straighter, willing the doors to close before someone else could delay his ascension to his room and sweet peace.

“It’s you.”

Dylan jerked to stare at the late arrival. And nearly dropped to his knees. Which wouldn’t have been an inappropriate response given the woman he was staring at. He hadn’t noticed at the radio station, but Dr. Grace Mattias was tall. Nearly as tall as he was at six foot. A goddess. No, no, Galatea in the Pygmalion tale. Galatea, the statue Pygmalion had crafted of the perfect mate. Aphrodite had taken pity on the poor guy and brought the statue to life because of Pygmalion’s deep love for the inanimate object. That’s who Grace reminded him of. Even more with her damp hair curving against the skin of her cheeks and neck. Tiny droplets plopped against her soaked white tank, drawing his gaze to the hardened tips of her breasts.