A Santangelo Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

Carolyn) knew had a major zipper problem.
    My breakup was a different story. Josh, a successful sports doctor, left me . He complained that I put work first and that he’d had it with always coming second.
    On reflection I have to admit that he was right, or maybe I simply didn’t love him enough.
    Josh and I were together three years, so the breakup came as kind of a jolt, but I’m not heartbroken. I do miss our Sundays devouring the newspapers in our sweats, taking long, vigorous hikes up Malibu Canyon, watching Entourage and Dexter on TV, and gorging on my favorite Chinese food straight from the cartons.
    I do not miss the sex; it wasn’t that great to begin with. Like most relationships, ours started off with incredibly raunchy and hot sex, but after six months it had become kind of boring and comfortable.
    Where did all the passion go? Hey, I’m no expert, but I did experience a couple of sizzling affairs in college—one with a married professor and one with a major jock. Both times the sex was mind-blowing, so I certainly know the difference. Although sleeping with a married man on the side is not for me. Too many lies and complications.
    Sometimes I think our dog, Amy Winehouse, misses Josh more than I do. We came across Amy, a mixed breed, wandering lost and filthy on Venice Beach, so we took her home and named her after my favorite singer because of her throaty growl that emulated Amy’s low-down, sexy voice.
    When Josh left I inherited Amy. “No visitation rights,” I informed him coldly. Although what I really wanted to say was, Piss off, asshole, you’re dumping me.
    Josh gave me attitude about the dog—but, hey, if he wanted out, that’s exactly what he’d get. Out. Gone. History. I don’t believe in dragging things out. When something’s over, it’s best to make a clean break.
    This time my mom was not happy. She was fond of Josh, as was the rest of my family, especially my three older brothers.
    Too bad. Josh was likable as a friend, but he certainly wasn’t the man I planned on spending the rest of my life with.
    And who might that man be? Truth is I haven’t found him yet, and the prospects in L.A. are hardly promising. The only men I meet are clients, and they’re usually married or gay. Then there’s the slick lawyers who drive gleaming Porsches or the latest Mercedes, and favor twenty-year-old nubile blond models or actresses with all the attributes.
    Not that I’m a dud looks-wise. If I didn’t live in L.A., I guess I’d be considered extremely attractive. I have long chestnut brown hair with natural golden highlights, wide hazel eyes, I’m five feet seven, and I take a size eight dress (large by Beverly Hills standards, small for the rest of the country!).
    Okay, so I’m no Pamela Anderson, and believe me, I have no desire to be. Fake anything grosses me out—lips, breasts, cheekbones, and chins. Ugh! What are these women thinking ?!
    The truth is that if Josh hadn’t broken up with me, I would have eventually dumped him, because comfortable is great for a while, but passion is definitely lurking out there somewhere, and I do intend to find it. That’s when I have time, ’cause as I might have mentioned before, I’m a dedicated workaholic.
    This all happened three months ago, and word is that Josh has hooked up with a new girlfriend, some blond anorexic stylist to the stars that he picked up in a club.
    Hmm…talk about not waiting around. Anyway, good luck to him. I couldn’t care less.
    I myself am a little more discerning. Right now I’m not interested in anything permanent. I’ve decided that I should have some fun while I’m waiting for Mister Right to put in an appearance.
    “You’re late,” my boss scolded, greeting me at the door to the Maestro mansion.
    My boss, Felix Saunders—or Mr. Shark Teeth, as he has become known around the office since he had his teeth recrowned and they shine like a row of dazzling white beacons—is ready for action. He is an