Page 21 of The Frog Prince
Olivia’s been studying me. “You’re not over your ex, are you?”
Over him? Or over the pain? I realize that the two are tangled up together now in my mind. “Legally he’s still my husband.”
“I thought you filed.”
“I did. It’ll be final by Christmas.”
Olivia blows on her chai, expression thoughtful. “Tonight’s your first date?”
Somehow I’d forgotten all about Tom Lehman and the fact that we were supposed to be getting together for drinks. “Yes, unfortunately.”
“It’s good you’re going out. This is how you meet people.”
I’m not in a good mood. “Even people you don’t like?”
Olivia’s eyes crease. I must amuse her, but I’m not sure why. “How do you know you won’t like him? You haven’t even gone out yet. There could be chemistry.”
“If I was drunk.”
“So drink.” She’s trying not to laugh.
And I’m trying not to be insulted. “You’re kidding.”
“You’ve got to be practical.” Her slim shoulders twist, her silk eggplant sweater playing up her complexion, and she crosses her leg, showing off one knee-high black boot with a stiletto heel. “He has money—”
“I don’t care about money.”
“Connections.”
“So what?”
“Could get you into places where it’s good to be seen.”
That’s another problem. I don’twantto be seen. I need to lose weight. My hair hasn’t been highlighted in ages. I hate men. I don’t really like me. This adds up to social disaster.
“So what are you going to wear?” Olivia persists, taking a sip from her tea.
“Clothes.”
“Just not too many, I hope.”
“He’s a dweeb, Olivia.”
“Which means he probably has a big dick.”
“Disgusting.”
She laughs, puts down her tea, and leans across her desk. “You likelittledick?”
Of course, she can joke about little dicks and big dicks. Her boyfriend is the starting center fielder for the Los Angeles Dodgers and just signed a new contract for what seems like a hundred million dollars. You can have the littlest dick in the world if you make a hundred million dollars.
I stand as gracefully as I can. “Tom Lehman’s dick isn’t getting anywhere near me.”
Olivia laughs again and reaches for the phone. “Maybe an O is just what you need.”
I give her a dirty look and exit from her office. I’m serious. Tom Lehman’s dick isn’t ever leaving his pants.
Returning to my desk, I bury myself in work. Unlike most days, today I don’t want time to pass quickly. I pray for interruptions, a heavy workload, annoying problems. Let there be a reason I have to cancel tonight’s date: let a meteor fall from the sky; let the San Andreas Fault shift again; let Tom Lehman eat something fishy and foul at Fisherman’s Wharf at lunch and end up with a bad bout of food poisoning…