Page 57 of The Holiday Fakers
“Sure is.” She gives me a nod and a firm handshake, which is oddly reassuring. Lola Monroe may look like a cross between amermaid and a ’50s sex siren, but she’s also a professional with a business to run.
She then extends her hand to Piper. “I’m Lola. Nice to meet you. I know your mom, of course. And Harper. She’s told me all about you.”
“She has?”
“Yes. I’ve been helping her look for a space for her perfume store, and she showed me your art. You’re incredibly talented.” She smiles at me. “You must be very proud.”
I glance at Piper. Her cheeks are bright red. I don’t have the first clue about her art. But I want to know everything. I want to know if she’s still drawing dragons and elves, and the cartoon-style doodles she used to make in the margins of her math homework when she got bored.
She doesn’t have math homework anymore, idiot.
Lola is staring at me, expecting an answer.
“She’s way more talented than I am, always has been,” I reply quickly.
“I’m sure your talents extend beyond the screen,” Lola says, giving Piper a wink.
It may be only twenty degrees out here, but Piper’s cheeks could heat the whole block right now.
“Let’s go in,” Lola says to us, then addresses the surrounding crowds. “Ladies, give us five minutes for me to show Brody around, then I’ll bring everyone in for hot glögg, the grand reveal of today’s date, and the raffle drawing, where one of you will win a gift bag guaranteed to jingle your bells.”
The crowd oohs and giggles, and someone calls out, “Just stick a bow on Brody and I’ll take him home now!”
I’ve never been inside an “adult shop” before, but as the door closes behind us, I take in the space and my shoulders relax slightly.
If I don’t look too closely at the items on sale, it could pass for a high-end boutique, where customers are made to feel at ease before handing over their cash. Plush velvet sofas and chairs are dotted around between glass cabinets. There’s soft lighting, a wall of gold-framed pictures of women, and phrases painted in calligraphy around the other walls, reading: “Consent Is Sexy,” “Pleasure Is Your Birthright,” and “Own Your Yes.”
There’s even a Christmas tree.
I move closer, fingering the oddly shaped ornaments. They’re identical in shape but cast in resin, and in all different colors and sparkles. They look a bit like wishbones, but I have no clue what they’re actually meant to represent.
“They’re anatomical models of the clitoris,” Lola says, then laughs as my hand drops away.
In the background, Marv’s having a coughing fit, and Erica’s slapping his back. I know Piper’s beside me, but I can’t look at her right now.
Lola takes one from the tree and points out the different parts, like I’m in science class.
“The first full anatomical map of the clitoris was only published in 2005,” she says. “By Professor Helen O’Connell, an Australian urologist. Her picture is on our wall of icons over there. She literally changed the way science understands female anatomy. Did you know the clitoris has approximately eight thousand nerve endings?”
I shake my head.
“More than any other part of the human body,” Lola continues. “And its only purpose is for pleasure. See this bit? It’s the glans, where most of the nerve endings are. It’s the area you’re probably familiar with?”
Yes, I know where that bit is.My face is prickling with sweat, and I tug my scarf off, then nod at her questioning gaze.
She gives Piper a quick glance and smiles, seemingly reassured that I know how to make her come.
Even though I’m in public, with my soon-to-be-ex agent and Piper’s mom watching our every move, my mind suddenly gives me an image of my head between Piper’s thighs, my?—
Shut up! What the hell is wrong with you?
I tug my coat open, uncomfortably hot. I need to roll around in the snow right now. That, or jump in the frigid sea.
“This bit is the body, or shaft,” Lola continues, “and it extends inward beneath the skin. The legs, known as crura, are about three and a half to five inches long and anchor the clitoris to the pelvic bone, transmitting sensations of vibration.”
For fuck’s sake, stop talking about a clitoris!
“These parts are the vestibular bulbs, which engorge when you’re turned on and hug the vaginal opening. I cast them as keychains.”
