The Sexpert

by JA Huss

  She gasps.

  Yup. Probably not the right response. But for like two seconds, it makes me happy.

  “Is that what you think? That your childish ideas about sex and dessert are what will save this magazine? And”—she huffs out a laugh—“I suppose you think you’re the clever, scrappy everygirl who will have all the answers and get some big promotion at the end of your delusional fantasy?”

  Oh, yeah. We’re on. Big-league bitch fest coming in three, two, one…

  “Attention! Attention!”

  “What the hell?” Gretchen says.

  We both look up at the ceiling where Pierce’s voice is blaring though a speaker.

  “Attention, please!” he says again. This time there’s a whine of feedback and everyone collectively groans and holds their ears. “Please give me your full attention!”

  I look at Gretchen, trying to decide if our ‘meeting’ is over and I should go back to my desk, or stay here and listen to the announcement.

  “We’re not done yet,” she snaps.

  “Fine.” I nod and turn my head away as Pierce begins to speak.

  “I have an announcement to make. As you all know, our top priority right now is finding that harlot who stole the Le Man Sexpert idea. And we’ve made significant progress. We have that little cupcake in our sights and we’re about to go in for the kill because she is one of us!”

  Oh, shit. Does he know? I look around nervously. I can see almost everyone through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Gretchen’s office. But no one is looking for me, so I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath.

  “Was that too much?” Pierce asks someone.

  “Just… just keep going.”

  Wait, was that Andrew? Is he up in Pierce’s office right now?

  “But in the spirit of benevolence,” Pierce bellows in a deep voice that might actually be an imitation of a—king?—“we are going to give her one. More. Chance. To come clean. Sexpert, we know you’re here. So listen carefully, shortcake. One chance. Come up to my office right now and out yourself, or we will be forced to—what?” There’s mumbled whispering. Like Andrew is giving him pointers. “Oh, right, right, right. Got it. We’re here to make an offer, Sexpert. A very generous one. You see… I respect what you’ve done.” His tone turns a lot more conciliatory. “Because… because it was genius. We think you are the perfect partner for Le Man magazine and we want to make you our next superstar!”

  “Since when do we have superstars?” Gretchen asks.

  I’m thinking the same thing, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t need any extra attention right now.

  “So… Sexpert. What do you think? Can we work together? Come see me. Quickly. Because this offer expires at the end of the day and after that we’ll be forced to take more deliberate measures.” There’s more screeching feedback and then we hear Pierce say, “That went well, right?” before the speakers go dead.

  Everyone’s chattering and laughing out in the cubicles, looking around, trying to figure out who the Sexpert is.

  I turn back to Gretchen, very much wanting to get back to business, so I push my glasses up my nose and say, “OK, so where were we?”

  But Gretchen is lost in thought. “Who do you think it is?” she asks.

  “Umm… Myrtle?”

  Shit! Why the fuck did I just say that?

  “Myrtle!” Gretchen practically guffaws. “No way. If she were a Sexpert she’d compare everything to pain and death, not cupcakes and frosting.”

  I do not move. Because Gretchen suddenly gets an idea. And it’s about me. I can see that little lightbulb going off over her head.

  But then she shakes it off and says, “Go back to work.”

  “Cool,” I say. “Good talk.”

  “And Eden,” she snaps.

  “Yes?”

  “Do. Not. Disobey me. Again.”

  “No problem,” I say, closing her door on my way out with the hope she will just stay in there and never come out.

  I go back to my desk and do simple mindless things like disobey Gretchen’s last direct order. I find new scrumptious graphics to send up to the bloggers. And come up with new titles. But I’m just on autopilot. Because all I can think about is that offer.

  Maybe I should do it? Maybe I should just go up there and tell him it’s me?

  I mean… he said superstar, right? He’d give me a promotion. He’d get me out from under Gretchen’s thumb.

  But what about Zoey? We’re on the verge of some real financial independence and she’d never want to stick Stevie in daycare to join the rat race again.

  I mull that over all morning and then someone yells, “Eden! Eden Presley?”

  I pop my head up to find a delivery woman standing near the reception door looking around like she’s lost. “That’s me!” I say. “Over here.”

  The woman smiles and weaves her way through cubicles, relieved to have found her target. “Delivery. Sign here.”

  “Oh,” I say, instantly happy. Because it’s a very glossy pink box with a black satin ribbon. “What’s this?” I ask as I sign her slip.

  “There’s a card.” And then she just stands there and smiles at me.

  “Right!” I say. “Tip. One second.” I fish through my purse, come up with five dollars I can’t really afford to give her, and hand it over.

  “Thanks so much, Eden. Enjoy your surprise!”

  I make one of those teeth-clenched grins and turn back to the pink box that is now atop my desk, then take the little card out of the little envelope and read it.

  Welcome home. This will look perfect in your new place.

  But there’s no name.

  “What is it?” Janet asks, popping her head over the partition wall.

  “I dunno,” I say, pulling on the slick satin ribbon. It comes loose like chocolate melting in your mouth. I lift the lid off, pull the layers of tissue paper apart, and… “Oh.”

  “Wow,” Janet says, blinking at my sculpture. “That’s… sexy.”

  “It really is,” I say, breathing those words out in a low whisper.

  It’s the sculpture from the gallery last week. The people entwined and most definitely having sex.

  “Who’s it from?” she asks.

  “Andrew,” I say dreamily. “Andrew Hawthorne. We’re dating.”

  “Wow,” she says again. “Score, Eden. He must really like you. Because my friend works at that gallery and I know how much the pieces start at.”

  “How much?” I ask. “No, don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.”

  And it really doesn’t. Because my world has been righted again. OK. Yeah. He was totally weird over the weekend. But this is Monday now. And he sent me a gift. He probably had some emergency and had to… I dunno, leave town or something. Or he was on a deadline. Something very important like that because he’s a very important guy.

  “Attention! Attention!”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Pierce is back.

  “The hours are ticking down, Sexpert. It’s lunch time, sweets. And your offer is going to expire in—what?” he says to someone. “I’m not being aggressive!” Andrew is up there still, giving him, what? Suggestions on how to handle this? Why is he up there and not down here asking if I like his gift? “You have five hours, Sexpert. After that, we’re calling in the lawyers.”

  The speakers go dead again and I just look at Janet.

  “He’s fucking lost his mind,” Janet says, bobbing back down into her chair and disappearing.

  “Right?” I try to laugh it off. But… lawyers. It scares the fuck out of me. Because Zoey and I are both broke. And we won’t have any money from this Sexpert stuff for months. How will we fight back if he sues us?

  We won’t be able to. We’ll just have to give in, I guess. Hand over our idea and let him have it. And I’ll probably get fired. No. I will definitely get fired. And that totally sucks. Because we didn’t steal anything. It’s just a weird misunderstanding. It’s not even anyone’s fault. Just… a we
ird misunderstanding.

  I grab my phone to call Zoey and tell her what’s going on, but it rings in my hand.

  And it’s Zoey. “Holy shit,” I say, answering. “I was just calling you.”

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my, God!”

  “What?”

  “We got a corporate sponsor!”

  “What?” But she’s talking so fast, I can’t even understand her. “Zoey, slow down. What’s going on?”

  “I got an email a couple hours ago from Pink Lady Media—“

  “Yeah?”

  “And they want us to work for them! This is huge, Eden! They said we could work from home, just keep doing what we’re doing and… and… they love us! We even get benefits!”

  “How’d they find us! Like… hello? We’re anonymous!”

  “Oh, it came into the Sexpert email. And I used a proxy to email them back. Then I went out and spent my diaper money on a burner phone so I could have a conference call with them. And oh, my God! We did it! Oh, shit! She’s calling me back on the other phone. Later.”

  “Wow,” I say, breathing out. “Now what do I do?”

  “Hey, cupcake.”

  I look up and see Andrew staring down at me. “What was all that about?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY - ANDREW

  “What do you want?” She’s pretty cold. I can’t necessarily blame her. For being cold that is. I get it. I bailed on her and then disappeared for thirty-six hours. And she doesn’t know why.

  Although, I must say, I’m having less of an easy-breezy time getting OK with the fact that after repeated attempts to get her to just be honest with me, she made the choice to continue to lie. So, in that regard, her righteous indignation sits a little less well.

  I suppose I also made the choice to be lied to and go along for the ride, so there is an argument that I’m complicit in my own disappointment. But fuck it. I’m trying to get everyone out of this situation clean right now, so I’m gonna go ahead and cut myself some slack.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her, playing naïve.

  “You ghosted on me out the blue for no reason.”

  “Yeah? Was it more or less ghostly than the way you ghosted on me when you did?”

  “Don’t—That’s—You—”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. OK? I am. I had... I had an emergency and it couldn’t be helped and, honestly, it’s still kind of fucked up and I’m dealing with it. But you know what? You’re right. It was a bad move to just ditch out, and I’m sorry.” All of that is true.

  “Well,” she says, meekly, pushing at her glasses in the most Edenly way possible, “OK. But just... It made me... sad.”

  There’s the pout. That pout could cause a man to do things he wouldn’t normally do. Forget things he wouldn’t normally forget. And deny that the sky is blue, water is wet, and she’s the goddamn Sexpert.

  “Well, I am sorry. I did not want to make you sad.” I bend down and force her to look up at me. She catches my eye and she shrugs.

  “What are you doing on my floor?” she asks.

  “I was up with Pierce. You hear the announcement?” She nods. “I convinced him that being conciliatory is way better than being litigious.” She shrinks back in her chair.

  “I wondered if that was you.”

  “Whattayou mean?”

  “It sounded like somebody was coaching him on what to say. Figure you’re the only one he listens to, so...”

  She trails off. I see the sculpture on her desk.

  “Oh, good. It came.”

  “Oh,” she says, looking at it. “Yeah. Just now. Andrew, I don’t—”

  I put up my hand to stop her. “I want you to have it. It meant something to you. It touched you when you saw it. Well, now you can touch it.” She looks like she’s stuck in between smiling and crying. “Besides, you need an interior décor upgrade, and this feels like a good start. Enjoy.”

  She reaches out tentatively and touches the piece. Her fingers trace the lines of the bodies emerging from the granite.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I watch her for a second, then say, “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think anybody is going to come forward to Pierce?” She stops touching the piece and sinks back into her chair again. “To, y’know, claim a partnership deal with Le Man? I dunno, seems like a pretty sweet deal to me.” Your honor, leading the witness. Yeah, I know.

  “How...? How can he be so sure that it’s someone here? I mean seriously? Have you...?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Have you done your voice...thing?”

  “Well, no. If I had done that already then Pierce wouldn’t be making the offer. But even I have to admit that the evidence is starting to look pretty solid that whoever stole the idea stole it from within.”

  “What? Stole? What evidence? What are you talking about?”

  “Know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem.” God, this sucks. “What was that on the phone when I came up?”

  “What?”

  “The phone. You said, ‘Now what do I do?’ What do you do about what?”

  “About what?”

  “Yeah. About what?”

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “About what?”

  “That’s what I’m asking.”

  “What—?”

  “Yeah. Pop-Tart? I enjoy Abbott and Costello as much as the next guy, but I’m not sure our version of Who’s On First is that crisp.”

  She lets out a nervous laugh and says, “Oh, uh, it’s just...” She looks around like the answer is down the hall somewhere. “Uh, my boss. I’m just having a hard time with my boss.”

  “Gretchen?”

  She looks up at me. “Yeah...”

  “Yeah, she just popped into Pierce’s office as I was leaving.”

  “She did?”

  I nod. “Yep. Came in to say that she thinks she knows who it is.”

  “Knows who what is?”

  “The Sexpert.”

  “She did?” I’ve never seen Eden’s nostrils flare before. It’s cute. I like it.

  “Why?” I ask her. “What’s up?”

  “Did you hear her say who she thinks it is?”

  She opens a bottle of water on her desk and drinks down the whole thing in one gulp.

  “Good. It’s hot outside. Important to stay hydrated.”

  “Did she say who she thinks it is?”

  I nod slowly, my lips pursed. “She did.”

  She swallows. “Who?”

  “She said she thinks it’s Myrtle.”

  I swear to God her eyes go bigger than the frames of her glasses. “She what?”

  “She said that at first she couldn’t be sure, but then she started thinking about it, and that it has to be someone ... how did she say it? Oh. ‘Playing against type.’ And that that’s what led her to Myrtle. Because she said no one would think to suspect Myrtle since she’s all leather and chains and the Sexpert is all frosting and ... y’know ... cupcakes.”

  I let it hang in the air.

  Here’s the thing: It’s not even about Eden being the Sexpert anymore. Honestly, apart from the fact that it’s making Pierce an insane obsessive, I could give a shit. This is not my fight. Or at least it wasn’t. But now it’s about this girl that I really like—like, really, really like—lying to me. Repeatedly. To my face.

  And all I want—all I want—is for her to just cop to it and make it go away so that I can understand why she lied, hope to get over it, and keep on hanging out with her and putting my penis inside her. It’s that simple. That’s all I’m after.

  But trust, man. Fuckin’ trust. I need it.

  I’ve tee’d her up perfectly. If she’s been worried about the repercussions, I have taken that away. I’ve gotten Pierce to agree t
o not only not be a lunatic but to reward her. I mean, I did that partially because it’s the right thing to do, but mostly because it’ll actually help Eden. It’s a win/win. Or technically, a win/win/win. Because this way I don’t have to choose between lying to my best friend or torpedoing any chance I have with this girl who just... She’s moved into my heart, man. Like, real, real fast and real, real hard. And if she’s gonna be living there, I want her to let me help decorate the space.

  I watch her carefully. I can almost see the gears turning. Finally, after her brain has done a couple of full rotations, she looks at me apologetically and says...

  “Well... Pierce thought it was Myrtle anyway, huh?”

  Damn you, Eden.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “He did.”

  “So... maybe it is.”

  “Yeah. Yeah... Maybe.”

  She looks at me like there’s more I should be saying. There isn’t. But I go along anyway.

  “You think,” I say, “if it is her... That she’ll take Pierce up on his offer?”

  “I dunno. Do you think she should?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I very much think she should. I talked him into this fragile peace, but it won’t last. He already feels like he’s showing weakness by even making the offer. If she doesn’t take it and he feels like there’s egg on his face... Well, to quote from Iron Maiden’s Number of the Beast, ‘Woe to you, o earth and sea, for the devil sends the beast with wrath.’ That may actually be in the Bible, but I dunno. I’m no biblical scholar, but I do know that Pierce is likely to go biblical.”

  And, I mean, that’s it. I’ve done all I can do. It’s up to her now.

  “Yeah,” she says. She just repeats it half-a-dozen times. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah... Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” I echo, giving her a look.

  “Well,” she says. “Thank you again for the piece. I love it.”

  I sigh. Internally.

  “You’re welcome. And, look, again, I’m sorry for going MIA. I promise, there was a reason.”

  “I know.”

  No, she doesn’t. But she’s gonna find out.

  “Hey, do you want to come to my place later?” I ask.

  “Really?” she responds, hopefully.

  “Yeah. I’ve got one other thing for you.” I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to tip her off. Not here. Not at her job which she kind of doesn’t like in the first place. I don’t wanna do it here.