Call Me! Read Online Free PDF

I just made that all about me, didn’t I.”
     
    He smiled. “You’ve seen those vodka bottles with a giant orange inside?”
     
    “Yes! How do they do that?”
     
    “Not important. The point I’m making, the only way to get the orange out is to crush it, or break the bottle.”
     
    “So?”
     
    “Our relationship is like the orange in the vodka bottle.”
     
    I think about that. Then say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
     
    “I’m the bottle, and you’re the orange in my life. I’m here to protect you from the outside world, and you’re here to complete me. You could leave, but you’d be vulnerable, and I’d be empty inside. You could leave, but it would destroy what we have together.”
     
    “But what we have sucks !”
     
    “Not true. Only the lack of intimacy sucks. And the two days you spend away from me doing God knows what. Everything else adds up to a great marriage.”
     
    “But those are huge issues!”
     
    “Two issues, and yes, I agree they’re huge. But you’re worth it.”
     
    “You just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
     
    “And don’t want to.”
     
    “Why not?”
     
    “You’ve heard the expression apples and oranges? Compared to you, other women are apples.”
     
    “That’s ridiculous. You’re a hell of a catch. I could find you a dozen oranges in the space of a day.”
     
    “Perhaps you could,” he said. “But none like you.”
     
    “You need to replace me with a better orange, Ben.”
     
    “There are no better oranges, Dani.”
     

FRIDAY
    THE BAD NEWS is the air conditioning guy was two hours late showing up this morning. The good news is it took less than an hour to replace the filters and check everything out.
    It’s noon. I’m in Neiman’s.
     
    The jewelry department is…over there. But I’m here…in handbags. I try to make my legs move toward jewelry, where Sophie’s trendy-but-tasteful birthday bracelet is patiently waiting in a case for me to discover.
     
    But I’m not moving in that direction. I want to, but my legs are stuck in Gucci quicksand!
     
    My plan had been simple. I intended to enter the front door and walk purposefully, eyes forward, directly past beauty, fragrances, fashion accessories, shoes, and handbags. In jewelry, as opposed to fine jewelry, I’d locate Sophie’s bracelet in a non-lighted glass case.
     
    Things were going great until a leather-scented tractor beam pulled me off course. I don’t understand quantum physics, but I do know there’s something magic about the scent of hand-tooled leather, and the urgency that comes with certain knowledge a shipment of designer handbags has recently been placed on display.
     
    “No, Dani. No, Dani. No, Dani,” I say loudly enough that a nearby child darts behind her mother to keep a safe distance from the crazy lady. But in my head I’m saying, a good friend would do a quick walkthrough to let Sophie know what’s arrived . And a good friend would , because everything on these shelves is within Sophie’s budget. Mine is…well, my budget’s a zip code away.
     
    I get about three feet before my eyes begin tracking the movements of a Gucci handbag heading toward me, held for my viewing pleasure by a young, foreign salesperson with a sinful smile. I don’t see him smile, but he must be smiling because my eyes are transfixed on the bag like a kitten focuses on something new, small, and alive that’s entered its environment.
     
    The salesman is young, gay, and good. He knows what he’s doing. Like a hypnotist, he stops four feet away and gently sways the handbag from side to side. Then he twirls it so I can hone in on the distinctive emblem, the exterior cell phone pocket, the hand-stitching, the gleaming hardware. Instinctively, my hands reach out to the object of my desire.
     
    “Gimme,” I say.
     
    “Ah, you like?” he says.
     
    I nod my head. “Gimme.”
     
    “You feel compelled to touch it, yes?”
     
    “Like a teenage boy