Hex and the Single Girl by Valerie Frankel Read Free Book Online Page B

Cannery happened to walk out of the bank, catching her green handed.
    The banker tisked. “Is this a wise expenditure, Ms. Hutch?”
    “Jesus loves you!” said the religious nut, trying to hand Mr. Cannery a pamphlet. The banker blanched and dashed uptown. “And you,” the nut said, turning to Emma. “You must learn patience. You’ll have to wait for a shirt. Come back in a few days.”
    Emma and Susan went across Sixth Avenue. Susan asked, “Thinking of converting?”
    Emma said, “It’s for a disguise. I’ll need a Jewfro wig.”
    “If you went to Times Square, you could score a ’Muslims for Moses’ shirt, too.”
    “And a ’One Life to Live’ Hare Krishna toga,” said Emma.
    They were in better spirits when they reached Emma’s apartment. With that in mind, the Good Witch said, “Let’s have a drink.”
    “It’s three o’clock,” protested Susan.
    “On a Friday,” said Emma.
    “I told my assistant I’d be back by four.” Susan worked at the Verity Foundation, a not-for-profit watchdog group that organized litigants for class action lawsuits, among other do-good work.
    “You can’t take an afternoon off?” asked Emma. “You’re a VP.”
    “I’m a VP because I don’t take afternoons off,” she said. “But I suppose once in four years is allowed.”
    Emma went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of Bailey’s (she’d only dented it last night). She returned to the living room with the bottle and two juice glasses. She poured. They drank.
    After licking the edge of the glass, Susan said, “I want to hire you again.”
    Emma said, “That’s against policy. Besides, I’m working on a big case exclusively for the next two weeks.”
    “I need you, Emma.”
    Music to her highly sensitive ears. “You know I love to help. But I just can’t do it. I guarantee the first date only. After that, it’s all up to you. It’s in the contract.”
    Susan sipped her beverage. “God, that’s good.”
    “And only a thousand calories per thimbleful,” said Emma.
    “I got the first date on my own,” said Susan. “You insisted on returning my initial payment and that invalidated the contract.” Susan was a lawyer. She should know.
    “Implanting your image won’t work on him now,” said Emma. “He’s already seen you—in the flesh, not just
    pictures.”
    “If you put me in his head, he’ll think he misses me. He’ll want me back.”
    “It’s been only one day. Why don’t you wait a week? See if he misses you on his own.”
    Susan said, “I can’t wait a week.” She seemed serious.
    Emma squirmed uncomfortably on the couch. She wanted to make her friend happy. But, she said, “If it were any other man, I’d consider it. But not Jeff Bragg. I never told you that I saw him frottage a teenage girl on the bus.”
    “He cheesed her?” asked Susan.
    “Not fromage, ” corrected Emma. “Frottage. He stood behind the girl on a packed uptown bus and subtlety humped her whenever the bus lurched.” Emma sipped her drink.
    “It was by accident,” said Susan. “A crowded bus, midtown traffic. That’s a lot of lurching.”
    “And humping.”
    “You can’t prove he was humping her,” said Susan.
    Emma demurred. “No, but the girl had a terrified look on her face, and she bulldozed her way off the bus at her stop.”
    “As disgusted as I am by that story,” said Susan, “the idea of Jeff rubbing himself against a rusty storm drain turns me on. I want to be that rusty storm drain. Or that fromaged teen.”
    “Frottaged,” reminded Emma.
    “Haven’t you ever been madly in love?” Susan asked, exasperated by Emma’s refusal. “My skin comes alive when we touch, as if it’s a separate, independent entity and not connected to my brain or soul.”
    Emma had not been madly in love, and Susan damn well knew it. “Sex isn’t everything,” she said.
    “That’s one way of seeing things. Sex isn’t everything. But, without it, you’ve got