Page 14 of Prelude To You

“So let’s get back to your new beau.”

“Stop with that, seriously,” I said, and gulped down the rest of the cocktail. “All I want to do is stop thinking about him.”

“Wow, it’s really bothering you, I can see that. This fucking guy better hope I never meet him because I will knock him to the ground for hurting you.”

“Okay, easy now. He didn’t exactly hurt me.”

“He didn’t exactly unhurt you, either.”

“I don’t think unhurt is a word, Meg.”

“Whatever, Isabel. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

And suddenly I had to bite back tears, which wasn’t as successful as I’d hoped it would be. “It’s not about him at all,” I said. “This was just a really bad day that he managed to make better and then way worse.”

Meg leaned in and hugged me. “Oh sweet pea, don’t cry. Getting fired is part of life. And you know what, no man is worth any tears. Okay, maybe some are. A few. But not this one. He’s a scumbag. I promise I won’t mention him again.”

I wiped my tears and blew my nose in a crumpled tissue. “I told you it has nothing to do with him.”

Meg patted my arm sympathetically, but somehow I knew she wasn’t done and sure enough, she wasn’t. “I understand,” she added. “But he just added a pile of unwanted torment to your already awful day. I hope he rots in hell. So when you say kiss, was it full-on French, or a peck on the lips?”

My phone rang. It was Marguerite. I put it on speaker. “Hey Marguerite, I’m here with Meg.”

Marguerite gave a throaty laugh. “Hello, you sexy bitches.”

“Tell Isabel no man is worth crying over, please,” Meg said.

I muted the phone. “Could you not do this?” I pleaded. “I’m not getting into this with Marguerite.”

Meg nodded apologetically and whispered “I’m sorry” before I unmuted Marguerite, who’d already taken the bait. “Mon chéri, you’re not crying over that mean, fat bastard who hit on you and got you fired, are you?”

It was a convenient way out of having to explain anything more, and I took the opportunity. “Just a bit,” I said. “But I feel better now. Let’s move on.”

And then Marguerite had to make it worse somehow. “The only time you cry over a man is for lust or love. Never when he’s an ugly mean bastard, okay?Merde!”

Meg was trying not to laugh, and I just wanted to get off the subject. “Marguerite listen, it seems like I might be able to go work in the pizza joint for a while,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “So that solves the getting-a-job situation.”

“Chéri non!Forget that. I spoke to my friend whose boyfriend works at the fancy house and he said if you can read from a book, they’ll give you an interview.”

“Excuse me, read from a book?” I asked. “Get me in where?”

“You can read,oui?”

“Yes, I can read,” I said. “I just have no idea what you’re saying. Who am I supposed to read to?”

“As I understand it’s reading from books forvieil homme malade?”

This was getting more confusing by the second. “A sick old man?” I asked.

Marguerite was losing her patience. “Oui, okay!?”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, it sounds VERY fishy to me.”

“It pays one hundred and twenty dollars an hour, six days a week,” Marguerite added. “And that’s all the hours from nine to six, with many breaks and one hour for lunch.”

Meg was clapping her hands soundlessly, smiling from ear to ear before she yelled into the phone. “Isabel will take it! When does she start?”

I was very skeptical to say the least. “For that kind of money, they can probably get someone who actually reads to people for a living. Why me?”

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