Continued from the previous post. Click here to read the first session with Bexx, a client annoyed by straight people who are confused that some lesbians fancy intimate toys…
Dr. Brian paused in mid-paragraph of the latest article he was perusing, something about curious dysfunctional behaviors among attendees at Nascar events, or some such, he really wasn’t sure yet, and turned his tired eyes to his office doorway to see who was bothering him now.
Lanae stood in said doorway, not so gracefully licking one of her fingers, her tongue presumably in pursuit of a bit of raspberry filling that had rudely escaped Lanae’s latest pastry treat. Goal achieved, she cleared her throat. “That woman is on the phone again.”
Dr. Brian sighed, removed his reading glasses, placed them in an area of the desk where they were least likely to be destroyed by one of Lanae’s random and spontaneous acts of clumsiness, and cleared his own throat. “Would you mind being more specific? Right now the potentiality pool contains half the population of the entire planet.”
Lanae briefly glanced over her shoulder, perhaps to make sure she wasn’t missing anything more interesting on that insipid soap opera of hers blaring at the front desk, or possibly listening for the pleading cries of yet another donut that desired consumption. (We may never know.) Then Lanae faced forward again. “The lesbian, the dildos, the airplane. That woman.”
Dr. Brian was amazed. “Are you referring to Bexx?”
“Yes, it’s Bexx!” squealed Lanae, suddenly showing far more enthusiasm than she ever bothered to muster, so we’ll have to assume a gas bubble was somehow responsible. “I knew it was a name that made me want to get out packing tape and shipping labels. Yes, Bexx is on line one.”
“We only have one line, Lanae. And why didn’t you just ask her name?”
“She didn’t give me time! Before I could say a word, she demanded to speak to you and then put me on hold. I must say, she’s not really my favorite person.”
“Very well, then, I’ll take the call.”
Lanae paused. “Should I go ahead and prepare you a nice remedial beverage? We’ve still got some of that Madonna merlot.”
Dr. Brian shook his head. “That really won’t be necessary. It’s just Bexx, what could she possibly say that…. Okay, go ahead, make one. And send people home if there’s still anyone out there. And then lock the front door.” He hit a button on his desk phone. “Bexx? How are you doing?”
“It’s about damn time!” came a very confident but slightly-disgruntled voice. “Not very fond of waiting.”
“Really?” asked Dr. Brian. “Interesting. Considering you were supposed to call me back from that airplane four months ago. I think my wee bit of tardiness pales considerably in comparison, yes?”
Bexx sighed. “Well, you have me there. But I am still on that plane, if that gets me any kind of bonus credit.”
“Surely you jest.”
“No, I’m not jesting, mainly because I don’t want to ever do anything that can be described with that word, I don’t care for the sound of it. Anyway, I was cleaning out my day-planner and realized that I never got an answer from you. It completely annoys me to have things still pending in my planner. I greatly enjoy checking that little box and-”
“Bexx, could we slow down just a bit? Why in the world have you been on that plane for four months? That just seems like something we should be talking about. Is it a hostage situation?”
Bexx paused briefly to, from the sounds of it, throw a cheese grater against a window. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I bought the plane. It’s mine now. I live on it.”
Dr. Brian did his own pausing, then: “Why did you buy the plane, Bexx? And why am I not aware of your apparently healthy financial resources? I’m offended and stimulated at the same time.
Bexx did something else that resulted in an odd, crashing noise before continuing. “Sorry about the racket. I can never find the damn corkscrew when I need it. I swear there are little lesbian gnomes that run around this place and hide things two seconds before I need them. Hold on.” The phone was abruptly slammed down on a hard surface, followed by diminishing footsteps as Bexx marched away. Was there an issue in the cockpit?
Dr. Brian glanced up to see that Lanae was once again standing in his doorway. “She bought a plane?”
“Lanae, you know very well you shouldn’t be listening in. This is a confidential conversation, a sacred arrangement of trust between doctor and patient.”
Lanae snorted. “Oh, please. I sit right outside your door. I can’t help but hear everything. Well, okay, sometimes you talk really low and I have to pretend like I’m doing something at the filing cabinet by your door, but most of the time I’m innocent. So, spill.”
“Sorry about that. Still there?”
Lanae turned and fled, although not very far, and Dr. Brian returned his attention to the phone. “Yes, Bexx, I’m completely at the service of you and your apparently vast amount of discretionary funds.”
“Good. Sangria was having trouble getting the stairs to lower and she couldn’t get in.”
Dr. Brian only paused briefly, then “Do alcoholic beverages often have trouble gaining access to your plane? That seems like something you would take steps to ensure it never happened.”
“Sangria is my girlfriend,” clarified Bexx, apparently having found the corkscrew after all as a resounding pop echoed over the line. “We’ve been together four months now, and I couldn’t be happier. Well, I could, but that would require the incarceration of certain Republicans.” Sounds of clinking glassware as the now-liberated bottle of whatever had its contents redistributed. “Oh, and you’ve actually met her. Sort of.”
Really? “How so?”
“The last time we talked? She was the flight attendant that was getting on my nerves, all pissy just because I stole her beverage cart, then wanting me to identify my Martina Navratilova carry-on and I had to let you go. Really annoying. But it all turned out just fine in the end.” Sounds of Bexx and Sangria lip-smacking one another in a mini-celebration of the kismet event.
“I see,” said Dr. Brian. “So, tell me. What was the issue with your luggage? If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, that,” scoffed Bexx, breathing a little heavy and doing something to Sangria that resulted in both a low growl and a hand-slap. “One of the vibrators I had packed away got bored and thought it would be fun to turn itself on mid-flight. And some crazy-ass, uptight Holy Roller woman heard it buzzing over her head and started screaming about a bomb. You know how it goes.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Does this happen to you a lot?”
“Anyway,” continued Bexx, apparently distracted by Sangria’s fleshly counter maneuver, “we worked it out. I popped that bag open, whipped out Xena Baby, and shoved it right in Martha Washington’s face. Didn’t even turn it off. I thought Tammy Faye was gonna have a coronary, right there. It was a real hoot.”
Dr. Brian calmly gulped the rest of his wine.
The sound effects coming from the phone suddenly took a startling turn, with someone either having an orgasm or breaking a nail, followed by some clattering of equipment and a sudden echo on the line. “Still there?” queried an out-of-breath but possibly satiated voice.
“I’m afraid so. Am I intruding at this point? We can reschedule.”
“Not at all,” chirped Bexx. “I’ve been waiting four months and I’d really like to hear your answer. And so would Sangria.” (Sensual throaty laughter from one of them.) “I’ve got you on speaker now. So go. Tell us why you think lesbians use power tools even though they clearly don’t want a penis.”
Dr. Brian was distracted by movement at his door once again. Lanae was poking her head around the corner, her eyes wide enough to stop traffic, and a slight smile on her sugar-coated lips…
Click here to read the next entry in this series…
Previously published in “Idiot Fondue” and “The Sound and the Fury”. Some modifications made for this post. And yes, I realize that the foreplay is dragging out a bit with this series, but we’ll get there. Trust. Oh, and sorry about the delay between parts I and II. Our friends from England have been with us for the weekend again, heading home tomorrow, so we should return to regular programming shortly.
Story behind the photo: A selection of candies at one of the Saturday Markets in Cómpeta, Spain. The image doesn’t really have anything to do with the developments in this episode, but it does carry forward the confectionary flair of the previous photo, and I’m good with that.
Categories: Idiot Fondue