tantric orgies. Ohmm . . . my . . .” Her initial yoga-esque ohm dissolves into a pleasure-induced moan that she fakes exceedingly well.
I roll my eyes, knowing that she does nothing of the sort. “To the point, though, fire your trainer because of your weakness and tell him why. He’s a pro. He needs to know that his services were not the reason you’re leaving. Next, get a hobby that fulfills you beyond a man and talk to your husband.”
I click a button and a sound effect of a cheering audience plays through my headset. It goes on like this for a while, call after call, email after email of helping people.
Well, I hope I’m helping them. They seem to think I am, and I’m certainly giving it my best shot. In between, I mix in music and a hodgepodge of stuff that fits the daily themes. Tonight I’ve got some Taylor Swift, a little Carrie Underwood, some old-school TLC. I even, as a joke, worked in Bobby Brown at Susannah’s insistence.
Coming back from that last one, I see Susannah gesture from her mini-booth and give the airspace over to her, letting her introduce the next caller.
“Okay, Susannah’s giving me the big foam finger, so what’ve we got?”
“You wish I had a big finger for you,” Susannah teases like she always does on air—it’s part of our act. “The next caller would like to discuss some rather incriminating photos she’s come across. Apparently, Mr. Right was Mr. Everybody?”
I click the button, taking the call live on-air. “This is the ‘Love Whisperer’, who am I speaking with?”
The caller stutters, obviously nervous, and in my mind I know I have to treat this one gently. Some of the callers just want to laugh, maybe have their fifteen seconds of fame or get their pound of proverbial flesh by exposing their partner’s misdeeds. But there are also callers like this, who I suspect really needs help.
“This is Katrina . . . Kat.”
Whoa, a first name. And from the sound of it, a real one. She’s not making a thing up. I need to lighten the mood a little, or else she’s gonna clam up and freak out on me.
“Hello, Kitty Kat. What seems to be the problem today?”
I hear her sigh, and it touches me for some reason. “Well . . . I can’t believe I actually got through, first of all. I worked up the nerve to dial the numbers but didn’t expect an answer. I’m just . . . I don’t even know what I am. I’m just a little lost and in need of some advice, I guess.” She huffs out a humorless laugh.
I can hear the pain in her voice, mixed with nerves. “Advice? That I can do. That’s what I’m here for, in fact. What’s going on, Kat?”
“It’s my boyfriend, or my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, I guess. I found out today that he slept with someone else.” She sounds like she’s found a bit of steel as she speaks this time, and it makes her previous vulnerability all the more touching.
“Ouch,” I say, truly wincing at the fresh wound. A day of cheat call? I’m sure the advertisers are rubbing their hands in glee, but I’m feeling for this girl. “I’m so sorry. I know that hurts and it’s wrong no matter what. I heard something about compromising pics. Please tell me he didn’t send you pics of him screwing someone else?”
She laughs but it’s not in humor. “No, I guess that would’ve been worse, but he had sex with someone kind of Internet famous and she posted faceless pics of them together. But I recognized his . . . uhm . . . his . . .”
Let’s just get the schlong out in the open, why don’t we? “You recognized his penis? Is that the word you’re looking for?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Kat says, her voice cutting through the gap created by the phone line. “He has a mole, so I know it’s him.”
There’s something about her voice, all sweet and breathy that stirs me inside like I rarely have happen. It’s not just her tone, either. She’s in pain, but she’s mad as fuck too, and I want to help her, protect her. She seems innocent, and something deep inside me wants to make her a little bit dirty.
“Okay, first, repeat after me. Penis, dick, cock.” I wait, unsure if she’ll do it but holding my breath in the hopes that she will.