Read Online You're Not the One (9781101558959) by Alexandra Potter - Free Book Online Page B

she’s talking, something flickers deep inside, the part of me that used to believe it too, that used to think that Nate and I were meant to be together, that in this big, wide world I’d found my soul mate.
    â€œAccording to the laws of attraction, you attract what you think of the most. In which case, it’s just a matter of waiting for Harold to show up.”
    But you buried that part of yourself a long time ago, I tell myself firmly, pushing the thought out of my mind. Remember?
    â€œSo tell me,” I say, turning the conversation around. “If you’ve been spending all this time waiting for Harold, how long has it been for you?”
    Without missing a beat she rattles off, “Thirteen months, eighteen days, and”—she glances at her watch—“about ten hours. I tell you, Harold better hurry up and put in an appearance soon.”
    Rolling her eyes, she says to the sullen man who’s still waiting to take her order, “Actually, forget the chicken. I’ll have what she’s having.” And turning to me, she laughs throatily. “I’ve always wanted to say that in here.”

    Back at the gallery, I’m greeted by a pile of wooden crates and a carpet of curly white polystyrene balls that have escaped from their packaging and are spilling all over the floor. Standing knee deep in the middle is Magda, flapping her arms like a flightless bird. She twirls round when she hears me enter.
    â€œYou’re back!” she gasps excitedly. She’s panting slightly and her face is covered in a sheen of perspiration. Her golden beehive, however, remains pristine. “I have great news!”
    Anxiety stabs. Oh God, what now? I’ve only been gone half an hour.
    â€œYou do?” I brace myself for what’s about to follow, which, with Magda, could be anything.
    â€œWhile you were gone, something wonderful happened.”
    You took meatballs off the menu? Your son announced he’s gay? Daniel Craig has finally discovered I exist and rang to ask if he could take me out for dinner in a limo? And yes, he’ll wear those swimming trunks for me under his suit?
    OK, I admit, that’s a secret fantasy of mine.
    â€œA man came in and bought our entire Gustav collection.”
    I snap back to reality. “What? The entire collection?” OK, so it’s not Daniel Craig, but it’s a really big deal; the Gustav collection consists of several large works by a German artist whose paintings sell for thousands of dollars.
    â€œEverything!” Magda flings her arms wide. “It happened so fast. He walked in, looked around for a couple of minutes, and then boom!” Polystyrene balls fly into the air.
    â€œ Boom?”
    â€œHe said he wanted to buy it all. Just like that. He didn’t even ask the price.”
    â€œWow.” I try to imagine buying an entire collection of art without asking the price, but I can’t. In fact, I can’t imagine buying anything without first finding out what it costs. I even do a price check on shampoo before I put it in my basket.
    Then again, I’m not someone who buys art. I’m someone who’s forever up to her overdraft limit, late on her credit cards, and running out of money before the end of the month. I’ve tried to learn how to budget, but I’ve also tried to learn how to play the piano; I’m totally crap at both. I mean, what exactly is “balancing” a checkbook? And why would you want to?
    â€œGosh, that’s good news,” I say, feeling a beat of relief that we’ve finally sold something.
    â€œAnd he paid with his American Express Black,” says Magda with the sort of hushed awe you’d use if you spotted Beyoncé in your local Starbucks.
    â€œIs that good?” I ask innocently, perching on a stool and unwrapping my tuna melt.
    Magda looks aghast. “You are single and you don’t know these things?”
    â€œUm . . .