Breakfast in Stilettos by Liz Kingswood Read Free Book Online Page A

smiling at Eve kept surfacing in my mind. I wondered whether she had suspected the serpent when it offered up the apple all those eons ago.
    Maybe she had felt a little antsy, too.
     
     

 
     
Chapter 9: Sex Shrink
     
    Dr. Steiner’s office was located on Capitol Hill. Like Rome, Seattle had been built on the seven hills. Of that group of seven, Capitol Hill was the only one that managed to garner the nickname “The Hill” without the added descriptor; just as Mount Rainier, which dominated the southern skyline, got the generic moniker of “The Mountain,” and the ever popular Pike Place Market above the waterfront was called just “The Market.” If you could triangulate “The Mountain,” “The Hill” and “The Market,” you were in beautiful downtown Seattle.
    “The Hill,” which rose directly east of downtown, was home to a crazy mix of multi-millionaires, single gays (the older ones moved to the islands), and students. Old stately mansions were in abundance, and Dr. Steiner’s office was located in one that had been converted to offices for alternative medicine types—chiropractors, acupuncturists, naturopaths, and, apparently, sex therapists.
    I squeezed the Jeep into a small Doris Day parking spot right out front. The house was a three-story manor that had an air of refurbished elegance about it. Nothing even vaguely sleazy or sordid. A massive wall of rhododendrons surrounded the perfectly buzz-cut lawn. I could imagine, come spring, the place blossoming with brilliant color.
    I grabbed my notes, feeling a twinge of disappointment that my worst fears hadn’t been realized. I had expected something different, something tawdry.
    The rain was pelting down, hard as BB’s, so I dashed across the lawn and up the set of curved stone steps to seek shelter on the porch. Several small brass plaques were mounted next to a line of doorbells, one for each occupant. I pressed the one for Dr. Steiner and, within a few heartbeats, heard a young man’s voice ask my name and ring me in. Only as I swung the door open did I notice the small camera mounted overhead. I smiled brightly, trying to wipe any trace of sexual deviance off my face.
    Once inside, small signs pointed to the various offices. Dr. Steiner was up the grand marble stairway to the left. The door into her rooms was open and I could see a young man at the reception desk. He gestured with an air of eternal patience, and I wondered what drug he was on.
    “Please close the door behind you.” He had a Hollywood smile, short blond hair, big brown eyes and a thick British accent. Everything in his dress and mannerism said “gay” in that Queer Eye way so often confused with Euro-trash. Or so said all my gay friends. I decided to reserve judgment.
    “Dr. Steiner will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.” He turned back to his computer monitor.
    No one else was in the library-ish waiting room. The room seemed too large for a waiting room and I couldn’t help wondering if maybe the doctor held intimate cocktail parties here. A giant mahogany armoire at the far end of the room looked like it would hold a nice array of alcoholic beverages and elegant crystal goblets. Perhaps her clients all met up here for a little pre-party flirting before heading out for an evening at a private sex club. Maybe she offered guided tours. I wondered, with an inner titter, if I could get an invitation.
    Two mission-style leather couches and several heavy oak chairs were set at angles around the room. Matching end tables piled with magazines further divided the seating arrangements. I walked from one table to another, looking for the latest copy of People . I couldn’t bring myself to actually subscribe to it, but I read it every chance I got—hair salons, doctors’ offices, friends’ bathrooms.
    Unfortunately People was nowhere to be found. The magazines were mostly scientific journals, seniors’ magazines and a few National Geographics thrown in for