LITMIR.BIZ

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depressing as hell to read about all of the ways you can make it better. What good is reading an article about foods that might increase my libido or tips for having mind-blowing orgasms when I have no special someone? And, unlike Victoria whose best friend is her pink vibrator, I’m not into using sex toys to get me off. I want the real thing. But the real thing has to be quality. Unlike Victoria who’ll screw anything that has a dick, I want a guy who has a good head – on his shoulders!

      I’m seriously considering checking out the online dating scene. Maybe Frankie was right when she compared “shopping” for a guy to shopping for an appliance. If I had an apartment with washer and dryer hook-ups and I had the money to buy a washer and dryer I’d scour the internet to find the best make and model and price. I’d want the best my money could buy. So why not apply that same logic to finding a guy? I want a particular make and model, so if I go to an online “store” and stipulate what I want I might just find what I’m looking for. I’ll have to give this online dating gig some serious thought.

      By the time I got home from doing laundry, I was starving. I thought about going through the drive-thru on the way home, but decided I’d better stick to my budget. My choice was eating oatmeal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I chose the oatmeal. When you’re still paying your student loan along with car payments and rent, some nights are cheap nights.

      I was just about to slip into the bath tub when Victoria called.

      “Do you think I’m a slut?” she blurted.

      “Where’d that come from?”

      “Because I slept with White-Button-Down-Shirt.”

      “No, I don’t think you’re a slut. Yes, I do think you give it up a little too easily.”

      “So that means I’m a slut.”

      “I didn’t say that. Look. You’re not a slut. A little on the loose side maybe. You like sex. Like a lot. I just think you need to be careful who you’re having it with. White-Button-Down seemed fine.”

      “He called.”

      “That’s a plus. There might be potential there.”

      “Yeah. I’m not sure I like that his ass is so flat, though.”

      “Victoria! You’re impossible. I have to go. My bath water’s getting cold.”

      I hung up the phone and slipped into the water.

Chapter Five

      Monday, July 18

       Your day will be challenging but it’s nothing you can’t handle. Much of your success is due to your hard work and perseverance. Embrace something new. Tonight: Take a walk.

      I should have known work was going to stink when I read my horoscope. I hate Mondays to begin with and then to start it with having to cover a house fire totally sucked. By the time I arrived on the scene, the fire had become an inferno. Flames licked the pale sky as the wooden structure became a blackened mound of charred rubble. At least the family of four was safe.

      I reported from the scene most of the morning and by the time I returned to the office, I smelled like burnt wood and felt just as brittle. I was whipped. I know Horoscope said to take a walk, but there was no way I was walking after work. My feet hurt from standing all day. Once my butt hit the couch, it wasn’t moving.

      The fire reminded me of one of my worst nightmares. It happened the night I watched a TV documentary about a 1944 circus fire that killed lots of people. The circus tent, which had been waterproofed with paraffin, caught fire. It was a terrible tragedy. That night, I dreamt I went to the circus and while watching the tigers perform the tent burst into flames. Paraffin dripped from the tent onto my skin, severely burning me. It took my mom hours to get me to sleep. To this day, I’m afraid to go to a circus and I think the worst way to die would be in a fire.

      Frankie returned to the office at the same time I did. She’d been covering something at city hall.

      “Are you up for trying that Zumba class tonight?” she asked.

      “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me. I’m too tired.”

      “But your horoscope said you should embrace something new.”

      “How do you know what my horoscope says?”

      Frankie pulled out the lollipop she was sucking. “I read it.”

      “You read my horoscope?”

      “It’s not like I’m spying on you. I read it when I read mine.”

      “But you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes.”

      “I don’t, but I still read it.”

      “Can you stop sucking on that lollipop like it’s a part of the male anatomy? It’s obscene.”

      Frankie rolled her eyes. “You need a good lay.”

      I clenched my teeth and Frankie bolted.

      I finished my story and checked in with Oyster Breath, who has this annoying habit of humming. He’s not a bad hummer (is that even a word?) but he hums tunes from the cavemen era. Stuff you hear while on hold for a gazillion hours waiting for the next available representative. Music my grandmother grew up with. Anyway, he looked out over the rim of his wire glasses and said, “Good job, Davies. You might make it in this business yet.”

      I swallowed the basketball I hadn’t realized was wedged in my throat and returned to my cubicle to wait for him to finish editing my story. I knew when he was finished it’d be riddled with red notes. I used to think my high school English teacher had a love affair with Red Pen, but Oyster Breath beat Mrs. Beshore by a mile.

      I made the mistake of looking at Matt when I sat down. He stuffed a brownie into his mouth and chewed while he talked. “How was the fire?”

      He was using small talk to make up for his loud-mouth episode the other day. Matt is just one of those people who irritate me. I think it’s because he reminds me of this bully in elementary school. Teddy was my nemesis. I think he made fun of people so he wouldn’t be made fun of. Sort of like beating someone to the punch. He was as skinny as a stick and had a cowlick that couldn’t be tamed. In other words, there was a lot of material to work with if someone wanted to make fun of him. Thing was, he never gave them a chance. Until one day I put him in his place when I overheard him making fun of Laura, who was a mouse of a girl.

      I decided to be nice to Matt and not my usual curt self. I realized lately how much working in a newsroom has changed me and I’m not sure I like who I’ve become. I’m much more dismissive and abrupt. Maybe it’s a hazard of the job and the deadlines, because a lot of journalists I know are like this. I’m tough because I have to be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or I’m not dying inside. “The home went up fast,” I told Matt. “I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

      It didn’t take Oyster Breath long to edit my story. I was right about the red notes. There were lots of them, but I appreciated being challenged. To be honest, I’d learned a lot from Oyster Breath over the past year. The guy was an editing guru and I loved that he challenged me and never settled for mediocre work. I knew I was a better journalist today than I was when I came here, and that meant the world to me.

      After addressing his notes in my story, I took the long way to the women’s bathroom, hoping to see Hottie Advertising Guy. I cut through the advertising department, scanning the area as I went. Hottie wasn’t around. He spends most of his time out of the office so catching him is about as likely as Oyster Breath discovering mints.

      I checked the clock. I’d almost forgotten about my doctor appointment. While showering that morning, I’d felt a lump in my armpit. I called Dr. Lerman’s office on the way to work and pleaded with the receptionist to fit me in.

      “Please, please, please,” I said. When I gave her my name, she

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