Just About Sex Read Free Page B

retirement. If they syndicated her column and her book took off, the sky was the limit.
    “I’ll be wanting that raise,” Freddie told her, grinning.
    Pat held up a warning hand. “Not so fast. I haven’t told you the not-so-good news.”
    Simone froze in midclap and dropped her hands. “What?”
    “They’re also looking at another columnist. You know that woman out in Minnesota? The granny-nurse woman? Her. They think she’s more reassuring and a little more scientific. I dunno. More credible, maybe. Who knows. Anyway, the point is, they haven’t decided. It’s between you and her.”
    Freddie made an outraged noise. “Well, that’s probably just a negotiating trick. You know—so they can get Simone for cheap if she thinks they might give the job to someone else. That’s all that is.” He smiled reassuringly at Simone. “Don’t you worry.”
    Pat pivoted on her hip to gape at Freddie. “What are you? A lawyer now? Did you go to law school since last week? Huh? You think I didn’t think of that? You think I didn’t do a little research?”
    “Heifer,” Freddie muttered.
    “Okay, people,” Simone said, shooting them both warning looks. Once they got started they could bicker like the Honeymooners. “Just give me the bottom line, Pat.”
    Pat drew herself up. “The bottom line is, you need to keep your nose to the grindstone and keep cranking out a great column. And keep up with all the little local interviews and radio shows and positive publicity. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “And didn’t you sign up to cochair the auction to benefit the West-End Clinic? Poor kids and all that? I want you right out front on that thing. Smiling, helping. Et cetera, et cetera. See if you can’t borrow a baby or something and get your picture taken kissing it.”
    “Oh, my goodness, I’m trapped here with Machiavelli,” came the running commentary from the sofa.
    Simone dropped her head and threw her hand over her mouth so Pat wouldn’t see her laugh, not that Pat paid attention to anything else while spouting advice.
    “I think they’ll realize they want a young, hip, sexy woman in their papers every day,” Pat said. “Not some shriveled old grandma. This gig is yours to lose, Simone. Got me?”
    “Oh, I got you.” Simone shoved all thoughts of Alex Greene and his nameless threats far away. She would not sit around waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was no other shoe. There couldn’t be.
     
    “Alex? Alex? What are you doing?”
    Startled, Alex looked up from the blue glow of his computer screen to see his older sister Laurel standing in his dark living room, staring at him as if his face had gone striped. Shaking her head and muttering, she put down her briefcase and moved around the room switching on lamps. Her long, flowery purple dress—how did she walk around like that without stepping on the end of it and falling on her face?—flapped behind her like a flag waving in the breeze. When she finished with the lights, she turned to the windows and closed the curtains.
    Alex massaged the back of his stiff neck, rubbed his tired eyes and stretched. It dawned on him that it was dark, inside and outside the house. What time was it? He checked his watch: eight-thirty. Eight-thirty? Already? He’d meant to order a pizza hours ago, but he’d forgotten all about that once he hit the Internet. And now Laurel.
    “Who let you in?”
    Leaning against the open French door between the living room and his office, she put her hands on her hips. “After I rang the doorbell ninety-seven times and you didn’t answer, I let myself in.”
    “Maybe it’s broken. I’ll check it.”
    “It’s not broken. I heard it. You were in one of your little zones again.”
    “Oh.” He watched warily as she planted herself on the sofa and adjusted the pillows behind her back. She wasn’t planning to stay, was she? Couldn’t she see he was busy?
    He turned back to the screen and scrolled down. “What are you doing