Sex on Tuesdays Read Online Free PDF

you’re not going to answer that question, at least tell me, where’s Simon?”
    Jerry Cook, the sports editor, glanced up from his copy. “Simon’s not in yet, Dani.” He squirmed in his chair and sent me an apologetic grin. “Have you read your column in this morning’s paper yet?”
    â€œNo. Should I have? Did I miss a blaring typo? Did those idiots in the front office spell my name wrong again?”
    Before answering, Jerry flicked a furtive glance over his shoulder. “Um…there are two cops in the chief’s office, Dani.” Fascinated, I watched his prominent Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Also, the boss wants to see you as soon as you get in. And if I were you, I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”
    â€œDanielle! My office! Now!”
    I flinched as the voice of doom roared from the top office. The office with the sign, Editor in Chief emblazoned in six-inch gold letters across the half-glass door. The office where Joe, my cantankerous brother-in-law, ruled with a fist of iron.
    â€œOkay, okay. Don’t blow a gasket, I’m coming,” I mumbled scooping my bag under my arm and scurrying in the direction of his office. What was up his nose? And why were two policemen camped in his office? Even if Joe had heard about my blind date with Jack Rivers—so what? It was none of his business. And anyway, Simon smashed the camera phone so there’d be no tacky photo of me sucking the guy’s digits in Gape for Joe to get all uptight and snarky about.
    The moment I pushed open the chief’s door, I knew this was far more serious than me being lured on a blind date with a scummy opposition newspaper. Joe looked ready to self-combust. Shaking, his face the color of a ripe plum, he clutched a copy of today’s Tribute in one closed fist, waving it at me as I hurried into the room. Any minute I expected him to grab at his chest and drop to the floor in the throes of a heart attack. To add to this perplexing scene, beside his desk, their faces blank masks, stood two men dressed in badly fitting suits, both exuding plain-clothes policeman vibes.
    â€œDani, what’s the meaning of this?” snarled Joe, throwing a copy of the Tribute onto his desk. The paper was open at “Sex on Tuesdays.” Confused, I picked it up, noticing a thick red ring drawn around the last item in my column for the day.
    Dear Dani,
    My wife, who recently went through a difficult menopause, can’t seem to focus during sex. Unless the radio is on a talk-back show in the background, she even refuses to let me kiss her. I feel as though she’s just going through the motions. What should I do?
    Distinctly Frustrated
    Okay, I remembered that letter and if I say so myself, I did a good job with the answer too. My eyes flicked further down the page.
    Dear Distinctly Frustrated,
    Why don’t you shove something red hot down the bitch’s throat?
    Dani
    What?
    My head reeling in disbelief, I blinked and scanned the words again. They weren’t mine. That hadn’t been my answer to DF ’s letter. Okay, I admit, if DF shoved his red hot weanie down his wife’s throat it would certainly get a reaction, but when I first took over this column I resolved never to write anything remotely crude. And this was beyond crude.
    I glanced at Joe and then at the two plainclothes detectives. One detective lounged against the desk while the other held up the office wall. Although relaxed, they both had that predator look about them, of wolves waiting for the last death throes of a dying animal.
    â€œI didn’t write that!” I bleated, my suddenly constricted throat making it difficult to get the denial out. “Joe?” I protested, turning to my brother-in-law. “You know I’d never write anything detrimental to the paper. Can’t you see? Someone’s tampered with my column.”
    â€œSo you claim you didn’t