Read Online Hex and the Single Girl by Valerie Frankel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Valerie Frankel
Ads: Link
pictures?”
“Like isn’t the word,” said Emma enthusiastically.
The client nodded. “Hit him three times tonight, at the very least.” Emma gave her the thumbs up, but Daphne was already gone, dashing down the narrow hallway to the main room.
Victor, meanwhile, had found a seat at the front area’s bamboo bar. He ordered two mai-tais and asked the bartender
—of Asian descent and American demeanor—what the Japanese characters on the wall meant.
He said, “It’s an ancient Japanese proverb.”
“ Japanese proverb?” asked Victor.
“You think the Chinese are the only Asian people with proverbs?”
Victor, who was half-Italian, half-Polish and sensitive to ethnic stereotyping, said, “No! I’m sure the Japanese are pithy as hell.”
Emma asked, “So what does the writing mean?”
The bartender cleared his throat. “It reads, ’A wise man drinks quickly, quietly, and leaves a big tip.’”
Emma laughed and the bartender smiled at her, his almond skin stretched over gracefully rounded cheekbones. He was a doll. Cute, funny, employed. Three qualities she could go for. Emma fluttered her lashes at him. The bartender looked spooked and walked to the other end of the bar.
Victor said, “I guess he’s not into facial hair.”
Touching her cheeks, Emma remembered: She was a guy. “I forgot!” she said. “Maybe I should’ve used the sock, just for the bulging reminder.”
Emma and Victor quickly and quietly drank, left a big tip (as instructed), and headed for the main room. Pushing open the screen door, Victor and Emma were engulfed by the smell of sandalwood and jasmine. For her sharp nasal
receptors, it was a bit much.
“One lap, then we lock on target Dearborn,” suggested Emma.
Victor nodded and they were off, squeezing their way through the crowd of beautiful people, young, gloriously dressed, laughing, drinking, having a swell time. Emma wondered how long it’d been since she went to a party. Years, probably. She avoided large gatherings. Too much noise. Too many places to look, things to smell. Her senses would become overwhelmed and she’d feel trapped. She usually lasted about half an hour. Then she’d run home for the sensory static of her white sanctuary.
Tonight, though, she felt somewhat calm, thanks to her costume. It served as a protective shield, like an invisibility cloak. Men simply overlooked her (she was only 5’5”), and women would either appraise her in two brutal
nanoseconds or overlook her completely to check out dashing Victor at her side.
Emma said, “Women are looking at you, Vic.”
“What did you think of that girl out front?” he asked. “The one with the guest list?”
“Cute. For a clipboard Nazi.”
Toward the far end of the room, the crowd loosened. Through the slit of space, Emma saw a naked woman, flat on her back, on a table.
Victor spotted her too. He said, “This is the best party ever.”
The nude woman—mixed Asian, jet-black hair cascading over the edge of the table—lay prone on a lavishly
garnished table. Clusters of sushi were artfully arranged on top of her, dotting the length of her arms, legs, torso, piled on her breast and pudendum. Globs of wasabi and pickled pink ginger connected the sushi dots.
“Quite a spread,” said Victor, grinning.
The human platter looked right at him, which was disconcerting to say the least. “Before you make a stupid crack about where to find the spicy tuna, you should know that I can kill with a single chop stick.”
He stepped backward, away from the table, a bit shaken. “I was going to ask for the spicy tuna,” he said to Emma.
“Victor Armour? Is that you?” A tall, bony blond with pink frosted lipstick and glued-on eyelashes rushed at him, grabbing Vic by the lapels. Emma only glimpsed her face before she leaned in to kiss him.
Victor seemed puzzled. And then recognition kicked in. “Marcie?” he asked. “Wow! I hardly recognized you. Hey, Emma—I mean, Emeril —this
“Like isn’t the word,” said Emma enthusiastically.
The client nodded. “Hit him three times tonight, at the very least.” Emma gave her the thumbs up, but Daphne was already gone, dashing down the narrow hallway to the main room.
Victor, meanwhile, had found a seat at the front area’s bamboo bar. He ordered two mai-tais and asked the bartender
—of Asian descent and American demeanor—what the Japanese characters on the wall meant.
He said, “It’s an ancient Japanese proverb.”
“ Japanese proverb?” asked Victor.
“You think the Chinese are the only Asian people with proverbs?”
Victor, who was half-Italian, half-Polish and sensitive to ethnic stereotyping, said, “No! I’m sure the Japanese are pithy as hell.”
Emma asked, “So what does the writing mean?”
The bartender cleared his throat. “It reads, ’A wise man drinks quickly, quietly, and leaves a big tip.’”
Emma laughed and the bartender smiled at her, his almond skin stretched over gracefully rounded cheekbones. He was a doll. Cute, funny, employed. Three qualities she could go for. Emma fluttered her lashes at him. The bartender looked spooked and walked to the other end of the bar.
Victor said, “I guess he’s not into facial hair.”
Touching her cheeks, Emma remembered: She was a guy. “I forgot!” she said. “Maybe I should’ve used the sock, just for the bulging reminder.”
Emma and Victor quickly and quietly drank, left a big tip (as instructed), and headed for the main room. Pushing open the screen door, Victor and Emma were engulfed by the smell of sandalwood and jasmine. For her sharp nasal
receptors, it was a bit much.
“One lap, then we lock on target Dearborn,” suggested Emma.
Victor nodded and they were off, squeezing their way through the crowd of beautiful people, young, gloriously dressed, laughing, drinking, having a swell time. Emma wondered how long it’d been since she went to a party. Years, probably. She avoided large gatherings. Too much noise. Too many places to look, things to smell. Her senses would become overwhelmed and she’d feel trapped. She usually lasted about half an hour. Then she’d run home for the sensory static of her white sanctuary.
Tonight, though, she felt somewhat calm, thanks to her costume. It served as a protective shield, like an invisibility cloak. Men simply overlooked her (she was only 5’5”), and women would either appraise her in two brutal
nanoseconds or overlook her completely to check out dashing Victor at her side.
Emma said, “Women are looking at you, Vic.”
“What did you think of that girl out front?” he asked. “The one with the guest list?”
“Cute. For a clipboard Nazi.”
Toward the far end of the room, the crowd loosened. Through the slit of space, Emma saw a naked woman, flat on her back, on a table.
Victor spotted her too. He said, “This is the best party ever.”
The nude woman—mixed Asian, jet-black hair cascading over the edge of the table—lay prone on a lavishly
garnished table. Clusters of sushi were artfully arranged on top of her, dotting the length of her arms, legs, torso, piled on her breast and pudendum. Globs of wasabi and pickled pink ginger connected the sushi dots.
“Quite a spread,” said Victor, grinning.
The human platter looked right at him, which was disconcerting to say the least. “Before you make a stupid crack about where to find the spicy tuna, you should know that I can kill with a single chop stick.”
He stepped backward, away from the table, a bit shaken. “I was going to ask for the spicy tuna,” he said to Emma.
“Victor Armour? Is that you?” A tall, bony blond with pink frosted lipstick and glued-on eyelashes rushed at him, grabbing Vic by the lapels. Emma only glimpsed her face before she leaned in to kiss him.
Victor seemed puzzled. And then recognition kicked in. “Marcie?” he asked. “Wow! I hardly recognized you. Hey, Emma—I mean, Emeril —this
Similar Books
