THAT MAN 7 Read online

  “Golden International.”

  Both Chaz and Jeffrey furrowed their brows with a who-the-fuck-is-that expression.

  “They make Dermadoo.”

  “Dermadoo!!!????” they shrieked ensemble. “No. Freaking. Way.”

  Their reaction shocked me, and my brows shot up. “You’re familiar with that product?”

  “A little dab will do ya,” they singsonged.

  “You use it on your faces?” Both Chaz and his fiancé had flawless, youthful skin, which made them look very boyish despite being in their late twenties.

  “We use it everywhere,” replied Jeffrey with a wink.

  “Huh?” Was I missing something?

  Chaz held up a hushing finger to his lips. “Shhh! It’s the biggest secret in the gay community! ‘A little dab will do ya’ . . . a guy can get the biggest, longest lasting, best erection ever!”

  Jeffrey chirped in. “With just a little dab, you can go for hours! That’s why it’s always sold out and hard to find. The gay community buys it up like it’s bitcoins! It’s even secretly traded on some L.G.B.T.Q. sites. Some will pay hundreds for a small tube.”

  “Holy moly!” My eyes were wide with shock. I wondered if Ari knew about this added benefit and wasn’t telling Blake and me about it. And I wondered what kind of erotic effects it had on women as I reached into my backpack, grabbed a handful of samples, and set them down on the table.

  “Here you go. Some freebies.” Chaz and Jeffrey made a beeline for them as if a bird might swoop down and snatch them.

  “Bitchin’!”

  “Just holding a tube in my hand makes me so horny.”

  “Me too, honey!”

  “You should have Blakey try some.”

  Trust me, Blake didn’t need any help in the erection department. He was humongous . . . could get it up with just a breath . . . and he could sustain his arousal for hours, giving us multiple orgasms of epic proportions. With aftershocks that could last for days. We fucked like bunnies so he said.

  How could anything in the world make Blake a better lover than he already was? Wetness pooled between my thighs and hot tingles shot to my core as I pondered the question and squirmed in my seat.

  The check came, and Chaz, despite my hefty expense account, insisted on taking care of it.

  “Remember, Jenny-Poo, a little dab will do ya.”

  Blake and I had a case of Dermadoo.

  I was going to do more than explore its effects on my complexion.

  Maybe I could fit in a little tryst in Blake’s office after lunch.

  Chapter 3

  Blake

  The three of us ordered club sandwiches, sides of fries, and Cokes. We ate heartily and talked guy shit. A mixture of sports, politics, and Wall Street gossip. Despite myself, I liked Ari Golden. Super smart and mega rich, he was also philanthropic. He had started a charity called Meds Without Borders, which provided much needed antibiotics and other pharmaceuticals to impoverished third world nations. He’d spent considerable time in Africa and was considering fostering a young Zimbabwe boy whose mother had lost her life to Ebola. He was extremely proud of his charitable work, and I made a mental note to make a sizeable contribution to his foundation. When coffee and dessert came, the conversation become more personal and turned to kids. Ari and Jaime instantly pulled out their cell phones and showed me pics of their beautiful children. Jaime with his now two-year-old twins, Payton and Paulette, and Ari with his seven-year-old son Ben and six-month-old daughter Rosie. Before having met Jen, I’d never entertained the idea of having kids. Now a pang of envy shot through me.

  “So, what about you, Blake?” asked Ari, putting his phone away. “Are you and Jennifer thinking about starting a family?”

  “Yeah, it’s in the works.” I took a long sip of my coffee, not wanting to get into the details of the challenges we faced. With my tiger unable to carry a child, we were looking for a surrogate. It wasn’t easy.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice sung in my ears, cutting short my mental ramblings.

  “Blakela!”

  I looked up. Sprightly coming my way was my grandma. She was dressed in a powder blue jogging outfit and athletic shoes that she probably bought at Marshall’s and wearing oversized rhinestone-studded sunglasses that she probably found on Overstock. Being a big star hadn’t changed her one bit.

  I stood up and she hugged me. Then, she focused on my guests.

  “Jaimela, how are the kindela?”

  “They’re doing great, Grandma!” No one called my grandma by her first name, Muriel. She was Grandma to all, including her adoring fans.

  “Oy, such nachas! If only my Blakela would give me such joy!”

  I suppressed the stab of sadness I’d felt a few minutes ago by introducing Grandma to Ari. Perfect timing.

  “Grandma, I want you to meet—”

  “Vey iz mir! You’re the famous actor! I saw you in that superhero movie. Vhat vas it called? Aquaman?”

  Ari suppressed a laugh while I corrected Grandma. “Grandma, you’re thinking of Chris Hemsworth and he starred in Thor.”

  Grandma dismissively flicked her wrist. “Thor shmor! They’re all the same.”

  “Grandma, this is Ari Golden. He owns Golden International. His company manufactures pharmaceuticals.”

  “Drugs? Vhat kind? You make marivanah?”

  This time Ari couldn’t help but chuckle. Unpretentiously, he spewed the many over-the-counter and prescription-strength drugs his company made. “We also make Dermadoo,” he added.

  Grandma’s eyes lit up like Hanukkah candles. “A little dab will do ya!”

  “My agency created that tagline,” piped in Jaime with a shit-eating grin.

  “You’re familiar with that skin cream?” I asked my grandma, not privy to her personal hygiene and beauty rituals.

  “Bubula, vhy do you think I look so young? Not a day over thirty-nine!”

  This time Ari could not stifle a laugh. “You look amazing!”

  I had to agree. Grandma was close to eighty-five, but she looked a lot younger than her years. And she had the energy of a twenty-one-year old. In more ways than one.

  “So you use it on your face?” I asked.

  “No, on my Luigi.” Interrupting, I informed Ari that Luigi was Grandma’s husband. Actually her second one, but Grandma gave me no time to mention that. “It keeps him going for hours. Kenahora!”

  “What do you mean?” Curiosity also washed over Ari and Jaime. They were all ears.

  Grandma winked. “Just a little schnitzel on his shmekel is all he needs!”

  Was she saying that Dermadoo was some kind of aphrodisiac? A sexual enhancer? The next Viagra?

  My eyes swept to Ari. Like me, he was Jewish and I was certain he understood Grandma’s Yiddish. He blushed slightly.

  “I didn’t tell you, Blake, but we’ve been test marketing a new product very similar to Dermadoo as a libido booster. Our company has gotten many letters and emails from consumers informing us of this other ‘benefit.’” He put air quotes around his last word.

  “Bubula, you should call it Upadoo. Just ask my Luigi. And Oy! Vhat it can do for the kooshkas . . . if you know vhat I mean.”

  She gave Ari another wink. Feeling my cheeks heat, I switched the subject before Grandma got into her sexual exploits with Luigi. The two octogenarians were lock, cock, and rocking it.

  “Grandma, I have exciting news.”

  She dramatically slapped a hand to her heart. “I’m kvelling! You and Jennifer are going to make me a great savta?”

  “Not yet, Grandma.”

  Disappointment fell over her. She palmed her forehead as if she had an Excedrin headache. “I should only live to be a hundred. Vhat are you vaiting for?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I told her about the deal I’d made with Ari Golden. Dermadoo was going to sponsor her talk show—The Sexy Shmexy Book Club.

  Excitement replaced her disappointment. “So does that mean I vill get a free lifelong s
upply?”

  With as much money as my grandma had, she was as frugal as they came. She lived for bargains and freebies. One of her favorite pastimes was walking around Whole Foods at lunchtime so she could munch on free samples.

  “Count on it,” Ari replied with a wink.

  “Come, bubula, to the show. It’s taping in a half hour. Ve’re having Diana Gabaldon as our guest.”

  “The author of those Outlander books? Wow! My wife loves them. And the TV series too!”

  Mine did too. In fact, Jen was obsessed with them . . . and the handsome Scottish actor who played the lead.

  “Maybe I can get a signed copy for my wife,” Ari hinted.

  “Jen will be there. I’m sure she can arrange that,” I replied before Grandma excused herself to go off to hair and makeup, muttering, “Makeup shmakeup.”

  Finishing our coffee, we headed out of the dining room. Jaime went back to his office while Ari and I strolled over to the studio where Grandma taped her show. I thought about the deal I’d just made with Ari Golden.

  And I thought about the case of Dermadoo sitting in my office.

  A little dab will do ya. My cock twitched. I was eager to find out.

  Chapter 4

  Blake

  It was a short walk to the studio where Grandma and her cronies taped The Sexy Shmexy Book Club. Ari and I were seated on high back canvas chairs, close to the director and one of the monitors. On the screen of the monitor, Grandma’s set looked small and intimate, but in actuality, the studio was quite big to accommodate the thirty-man crew and enormous amount of equipment it took to shoot an episode.

  The format of the show was simple. Grandma and her five opinionated cohorts sat around a table, heatedly discussing the book at hand, reading aloud favorite passages. Generally, these selections were either swoon-worthy sexy or heart-wrenching angsty. Then, usually, the author joined them and the conversation grew more titillating. And revealing.

  This taping was no different. With copies of the books in their hands, Grandma and her zealous group had been joined by Diana Gabaldon, the author of the bestselling Outlander series, which had been made into a mega successful television series on Starz. It had been quite a coup to book the author, but my tiger’s persistence and passion paid off. She was a huge fan of the book series and watched the hit show—which I wished was on our schedule—religiously. Outlander-obsessed. I could deal with that, but what really irked the shit out of me was that she, like millions of women, harbored a giant crush on the male lead, the Scottish actor, Sam Heughan, who played the love interest, Jamie Fraser.

  “How could you have a thing for a man in a kilt?” I constantly niggled. And a ginger no less!

  “He’s so sexy!” she’d reply. Obviously, women around the world shared this sentiment, but this didn’t stop my jealousy from creeping into every bone in my body whenever we watched the show together. Maybe it was time to establish some house rules. No Outlander Allowed!

  The round table conversation thus far had centered on how the author had come up with the idea for the first book. Interestingly, she had always felt that her destiny was to be a writer, but she had followed a different path, getting a PhD in ecology and becoming a university professor. Finally, at the age of thirty-six, married with three young kids, her calling beckoned and she started penning what would unknowingly become a critically acclaimed bestseller. Now, a very attractive woman in her sixties with numerous books in the series and more to come, she was a multi-millionaire.

  “Bubula, everybody vants to know,” Grandma continued, “how did you know Sam Heughan vas right for the part of Jamie Fraser?”

  At the mention of their names, I felt my skin bristle. My stomach crunch. Jealousy was a motherfucker.

  Dressed in a smart navy blue pantsuit and a colorful shawl, Diana smiled reflectively. “When I watched his audition tape, I knew it immediately. Within thirty-seconds. Without a doubt, he was Jamie!”

  “Could you picture him in a kiltela?” Grandma asked.

  “Your grandma’s a hoot,” Ari whispered with a low rumble of laughter.

  “Yeah. You have no idea.” I hadn’t told Ari that Grandma had a big hand in getting Jen and me together, boasting to her about how big my schlong was at our first Shabbat dinner together at my parents’ house.

  “She surely could,” came another voice from off stage before Diana could reply.

  My eyes widened. Jogging onto the set, clad in a full kilt ensemble, was none other than Sam Hueghan. Jamie Fucking Fraser. My muscles clenched as Grandma and her book club members screamed with excitement, grabbing their handheld fans and fluttering them madly. Meant for heated moments, the fans, with their hot book cover models, were coveted by viewers. It was Jennifer’s idea to monetize them, and now Conquest Broadcasting was netting a small fortune from selling the fans online as well as other show-related merchandise like mugs, T-shirts, and signed books.

  “Oy veh!” shrieked Grandma. “Vhat a surprise!”

  Christ. This was a surprise! How come Jen didn’t tell me he was showing up? And talking about showing up, where was my wife? She never missed a taping of the show. Worry flooded me as the tall, buff actor jogged up to Diana and kissed her on the cheek, and then went around the table hugging all the book club participants, ending with Grandma. They were all still shrieking and fanning themselves, several taking chugs of their bottled water like they were putting out fires. Discreetly, a stagehand brought out a chair so that Sam could join them around the table. For a second, I thought my grandma would offer him her chair and then sit on his lap. The uninhibited eighty-something-year-old was not beyond any outrageous antic.

  The commotion died down and my mind went back to my tiger. Her best friend Libby called her Calamity Jen for a reason. She was accident-prone. Anything could have happened to her. Maybe she got into a car accident! Or a brick fell on her head! Or she fell into a sewer! The possibilities were endless. Unable to focus on the show, I glanced down at my Rolex. It was a quarter to three. The show would be wrapping in fifteen minutes. Where was Jen? My nerves buzzed, dread pulsing in the pit of my stomach. I tried to calm myself, a little unconvincing voice inside my head telling me that if something had happened to her I would have known by now. A text. A phone call. Something. I forced my attention back to the set. Maybe it was better Jen wasn’t here so I didn’t have to see her drooling over Heughan the Gingerman.

  “So, Samela, vhat do you vear under your kiltela?” asked Grandma, drawing my attention back to the set.

  A sheepish grin spread across the actor’s handsome, clean-shaven face. Along with a pinkish flush.

  Grandma threw up her veiny hands. “Vell?”

  “I go commando,” the actor said at last in his too charming for words Scottish accent.

  “Vhat!? You mean you have nothing on underneath?”

  “Aye, that’s what I mean.”

  “Doesn’t the vool scratch your shmekel?”

  Sam’s brows lifted. “My shmekel?”

  “You know, bubula. Your shlongela.”

  The big star still looked perplexed. With a wry smile, Diana passed him a note. He read it and embarrassment washed over him before he chuckled.

  “Oh . . . that! Actually, wearing a kilt is very liberating. And comfortable.”

  All the women shrieked again, this time in disbelief and demanding proof. I honestly thought they would attack him and yank off his pleated skirt.

  Teasingly, the Scottish stud stood up, curled his fingers around the flap of his kilt, toying with the woolen fabric as if he was going to open it . . . and then sat back down. Thank fucking God he didn’t flash his dick! The women moaned with disappointment before Grandma calmed them down.

  “Sorry bubulas, time’s up for today!” As the closing credits music began to play, she thanked Diana and Sam for appearing on The Sexy Shmexy Book Club and handed them token parting gifts—the show’s signature fans plus each a dildo dressed up as a highland warrior. As Diana and Sam broke into
laughter, another familiar laugh echoed in my ears. I turned my head.

  Jennifer!

  She ran up to me and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, baby!”

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked, trying to mask my anger in front of Ari.

  “I’m sorry. I got caught up in terrible traffic. There was construction everywhere and then there was an accident.”

  “Why didn’t you text or call me?”

  “I couldn’t. I left my phone at the restaurant.”

  Both of us had a bad habit of constantly losing, forgetting, or misplacing our iPhones.

  “I’m having a messenger pick it up and bring it to my office,” she continued, her gaze moving to the set where Grandma and her gang were casually mingling with Diana and Sam. “How did the taping go?”

  “It was awesome,” interjected Ari before I could respond. “I’m thrilled Dermadoo is going to be a sponsor.”

  Between my worry and jealousy, I’d totally forgotten about the Dermadoo that was sitting in my office, waiting to be tested. I suddenly had the burning urge to drag my wife caveman-style by her ponytail to my office and fuck her over my desk. My cock jumped as my tiger’s eyes bounced back to us.

  “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to Diana and Sam. I can’t wait to meet them!”

  Him, you mean. Inwardly, I growled as Ari passed on the opportunity. He had a plane to catch. We hastily shook hands, with me informing him that our business affairs people would be in touch with his within the next twenty-four hours.

  With Ari racing out of the studio, my tiger took my hand and led us up to the set.

  Grandma spotted us instantly. “Bubulas! Have you met Diana and Samela?” She wasted no time introducing us. I shook Diana’s hand while from the corner of my eye, I spied goddamn Sam (Geez! That’s poetic!), giving a kiss to my wife. Jealousy shot through my system like a bolt of lightning, making my blood sizzle.

  I quickly intercepted it. “My wife enjoys your show,” I said icily, my voice as cold as my blood was hot.

  “No, I love it!” countered my wife. “And I love you!”