Chapter Thirteen
Human sexuality is like a fish. It needs to be properly lubricated to survive.
Never, in all my frenzied watching of Love Shack, have I heard anyone utter the words “G-spot,” “anal penetration,” or “mutual masturbation.”
Dr. Dora Ogelstein has said all three in her first five minutes on set.
Lainey looks highly uncomfortable, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder as though she doesn’t trust that the Chateau Céline’s walls are soundproof, no matter how highly rated it is on . She waves her hand, signaling to cut the cameras, and pulls Dr. Dora off to the side of the suite.
Like Lainey, Dr. Dora is ambiguously aged. Her hair is a deep chestnut brown, but gray peeks out at the roots. Her eyes are lined, but her cheeks are rosy and smooth.
“I hope Lainey doesn’t tell her to tone it down,” Olie whispers. “This is the most fun I’ve had yet.”
I adjust my position on our red velvet two-seater couch. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling Dr. Dora can’t be tamed.”
Nina tugs on my hair from the couch behind us and giggles. “I’ve read all her books. Have you guys?”
I shake my head, but Olie nods. “Many times,” she says. “She singlehandedly reanimated my—”
Lainey snaps her newly lacquered fingers for attention, so I guess I’ll never know what Olie was going to say.
Roland is in his own plush armchair off to the side, his casual gray Henley totally at odds with the vintage glamor of the downtown LA hotel we’re filming in. I catch his eye, and he winks before focusing on Lainey.
“As you know,” Lainey says, “this is Dr. Dora Ogelstein. We’re so happy to have her here today for the first group date of week two.
We’ll get Rhett up here in a minute to give her an on-camera introduction, but I wanted to set up some ground rules.
Of course, you are encouraged to speak your minds today, but let’s try to keep it PG-13. ”
Dr. Dora laughs loudly under Lainey’s harsh side-eye, her curly brown bob bouncing like a million Slinkys.
“PG-13 plus a little,” Lainey says through gritted teeth. “We’re trying to shake things up this season, but this isn’t…” She coughs lightly, her pale face reddening. “This isn’t Pornhub.”
Next to me, Olie snorts loudly. Lainey glares at her. “Rhett,” she calls, snapping her fingers again.
With a near-silent whirr, the cameras click on as Rhett takes his place next to Dr. Dora. He shuffles to the duct tape X on the carpeted floor and glances at the cameras, at us, then puts on his best host smile.
I haven’t seen him yet today, since he’s been holed up in the other room of the posh hotel suite. If Roland looks too casual for the Chateau Céline, Rhett looks almost too formal. His black shirt is buttoned up to his throat, hair slicked back with not a single strand out of place.
“Dr. Dora Ogelstein probably needs no introduction to some of you,” Rhett says, smiling at Dr. Dora. “She is a New York Times bestselling author of three books and has appeared on a number of talk shows, including The View and Oprah.”
Behind me, Brooklyn sucks in a breath. “Holy shit. She knows Oprah?!”
“CUT!” Lainey marches forward to whisper in Rhett’s ear.
He scowls and looks pleadingly at her.
“You have to say it,” she snaps. “We’re going to have links and QR codes on the screen so people can buy the books. Roll again!”
“Come on, sugar,” Dr. Dora interrupts. “Live a little!”
Rhett stares from one woman to the other and stands up a little straighter.
“And while we’re at it,” Dr. Dora says, “Let’s just…” She reaches over and unbuttons the top of Rhett’s shirt. I almost burst out laughing at the horrified look on his face.
“Did we get that?” Lainey hisses. A PA grunts in confirmation, and Rhett clears his throat, taking a step away from Dr. Dora and off of his duct tape. It’s a mark of how desperate Lainey is to get the shot that she doesn’t shove him back into place.
“In case you aren’t yet a die-hard fan, Dr. Dora’s self-help books are called The Two-Thousand-Year Orgasm: A Practical Guide”—Rhett pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down—“Sex and Kids: How to Raise a Sex-Positive Child, and—” Rhett pauses again, as though he can’t bring himself to say the last title.
From his expression, you’d think he was trying to pass a kidney stone.
“This is a good one,” Olie mutters.
I have no idea what the third book is called, but Rhett’s pinched expression makes it hard not to laugh. What could possibly be worse than Sex and Kids?
He clears his throat. “Her most recent book,” he says, “an instant bestseller and the winner of last year’s coveted Eggplant Award for the best book about human sexuality, Fingering the Void.”
“Thank you, Mr. Auburn!” Dr. Dora exclaims. There isn’t a trace of embarrassment on her face.
She pushes her round wire-framed glasses higher on her nose and smiles.
“What a gracious introduction. Well, ladies, we’re going to have some fun today.
” She rubs her hands together and wiggles her thickly penciled eyebrows.
“It’s my understanding that you’re all pretty head over heels for this guy, right? ”
Dr. Dora steps over to Roland and perches on the arm of his chair, the cameras following her progress. Olie catcalls, but it takes the rest of us a second to register that she’s asked a question.
“Today,” Dr. Dora continues, “we’re going to be testing your sexual compatibility with Roland. Now Roland, how important is physical connection to you?”
Roland blinks at her—or rather, he blinks at her boobs, which are at his eye level given their positions. Slowly, his gaze travels up her tight cardigan and he smiles at her face.
“Pretty important,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Of course, the most important part of a relationship for me is connecting emotionally. But physical intimacy is important as well and can lead to a deeper emotional connection.”
I struggle not to roll my eyes at this perfectly balanced, definitely scripted response.
Roland has been holed up in the mansion for a week, surrounded by women throwing themselves at him.
There’s no way he’s not bonkers horny. His face falls when Dr. Dora passes around our first exercise—a paper quiz.
He was probably expecting something a bit kinkier.
But judging by the grin on Dr. Dora’s face, we won’t have to wait long.
I glance at the clipboard in my lap.
1. What is your favorite sexual position?
2. Have you ever had sex with more than one person at the same time?
3. How many times do you engage in self-pleasure per week?
That’s just the first three. The quiz is five pages long. I flip to the last question.
45. How big do you think Roland’s penis is?
“What the—” I breathe. How is this supposed to test physical compatibility? I glance up at Lainey and Dr. Dora whispering together in the corner. Maybe the whole point of this is to drive us into hysterics with lust for Roland.
“I think I have a bit of an advantage with the last question,” Roland says, laughing.
Addison, on the couch beside Nina, cranes her neck, staring eagle-eyed at Roland’s crotch.
“Hey, no cheating!” Olie snaps, holding her clipboard in front of Addison’s face.
Addison jerks back, rubbing her nose. “Ow! Jeez, watch it!”
“Five more minutes!” Dr. Dora calls.
I haven’t even filled out the first question. Panicking, I scribble “Missionary,” and move on to question two.
“Do you think this means, like, having a threesome?” I whisper to Olie. “Or having an open relationship?”
She shrugs, already at the bottom of the first sheet of paper. I peek at her answer for question two. “Yes.”
I suppose it doesn’t make a difference for me either, so I write “No,” then prudently skip question three. Answering honestly isn’t the problem. The problem is answering in a way that will make me seem desirable but not slutty, modest but not prudish. In short: wife material.
Olie cackles, looking at my clipboard. “Missionary,” she snickers.
My cheeks burn but I recover quickly, shrugging and flashing her a grin as I glance at Rhett, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. I hope he didn’t hear Olie.
A lock of hair falls over his forehead as his eyes darken. It’s all there, all still right there in the back of my mind. His fingers tracing a slow jazz rhythm over my legs, hips, neck. His weight stretching over me like a blanket.
My cheeks heat and I swallow the memory. It’s infuriating how he can get a rise out of me without even trying, especially since I know he doesn’t want me here.
“Okay, time’s up!” Dr. Dora says. I startle, blinking away from Rhett. “Hand in your papers!”
Dr. Dora marches up in front of us, holds up the quizzes, and then dramatically tears them in half. She walks over to a trash can and dumps them in.
“Sexual compatibility isn’t about what’s up here,” she says, tapping her head. “It’s about what’s down here.” She reaches down and starts unbuttoning her khakis, then stops and laughs. “Just kidding. But seriously. It’s about what your body is feeling. Everybody up!”
I’m not the only one gaping at her as we shuffle to our feet.
“Damn,” Roland says, half laughing. “I was really looking forward to hearing some of the girls’ answers.”
“Well, perhaps you’ll get a chance to ask them yourself later on,” Dr. Dora says.
“I’m sure these fine women would share just about anything with you.
” She winks and arranges the ten of us plus Roland in a circle, then drums her finger on her chin.
“Let’s get one more for an even number. Mr. Auburn, why don’t you join us? ”
All eyes turn to Rhett, skulking in the corner of the room.
“No thanks,” he says, but Norbert shoves him forward and he stumbles into the circle between me and Nina.
“I’m sure you all feel it,” Dr. Dora says seriously. “The sexual energy in the room is palpable. Even I can feel it.”
“I bet she can always feel it,” Olie mutters.