Shop and Let Die Read Online Free PDF

plates and handed them to him. “Will
you be able to take care of the kids in the summer, or will we need
a babysitter?”
    Seth took the plates, but
stood holding them. Vacation time is a sore point with us. He,
ostensibly, has the summer “off”, though he usually dives into his
research at that point. Sometimes paid, sometimes not. He moved
slowly toward the table. “There are academic year jobs at the
university. Then you’d have the summers off. Or we could get a
babysitter.”
    He put the last plate
down. “Maybe you should go back to grad school and get your
Master’s. They pay grad students, and you still get the summer
off.”
    I handed him the napkins
and put out the forks and knives. “Don’t you always say they pay
them peanuts to work long hours teaching intro courses full of
students who haven’t quite gotten used to deadlines and the
intricacies of reading syllabi.”
    He folded a napkin
carefully and centered a fork on it. “Molly, there’s a chance I
might be considered for the associate dean position.”
    Suddenly dinner with the
dean took on a whole new meaning. Definitely a dress-up affair. My
stomach did a flip. “Do you want it?” I watched him carefully,
knowing the true answer would be in what he did, not what he
said.
    “ It could be interesting,”
he said, pulling an invisible piece of lint off the dark green
napkin. “If they thought I’d be right for the job. And there’d be
more money in my paycheck.”
    Oh yes, he wanted that
job. He wanted it so much that he didn’t dare look at me in case
I’d see just how much he wanted it. And then the lightbulb went
off. At the university, all the administrators had wives with real
jobs. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, accountants. Not one mystery
shopper in the bunch.
    Without acknowledging that
I had seen the naked ambition he was trying to hide, I said, “Who
knows? Maybe the perfect job will be waiting for me at the job
fair.”
    “ I know it will.” Seth
looked so happy I didn’t burst his bubble by telling him the job
fair visit would involve a shop. What he didn’t know couldn’t give
him a reason to lecture me one more time about how little mystery
shopping paid. Or make him worry that my weird little domestic
spying job would cost him a coveted chance to be associate
dean.
     
    I
didn’t get back to my reports until the kids were in bed and the
dishwasher was running. Seth peeked into my office and asked, “How
much longer will you be?”
    “ I won’t be
long.”
    “ No?” He sounded doubtful,
rightfully so.
    There was no way that I
could complete three job reports in less than an hour, and it would
probably take more like two. But I repeated, “Just brush your teeth
and turn on the TV, I’ll be there in no time.”
    This was what I call a
placatory lie. I had to tell them judiciously, however, because
Seth obviously pays attention. He also falls asleep easily and
sleeps like the dead, so if I came to bed in ten minutes, or two
hours, he wouldn’t notice.
    Predictably, he turned
away with a parting grump, “Don’t start reading your email or
you’ll be up all night. No one at the job fair will want to hire an
exhausted woman with bags under her eyes.”
    “ Just my reports.” Another
placatory lie. You’d think I emailed Latin hotties named Enrique
and Javier the way he resented me having a vigorous email life. The
man is more jealous of my computer than any self-respecting man
should be. Good thing I am socially inept and am missing any and
all flirting genes.
    I do have whatever the
Chatty Cathy doll came equipped with, however, once I’m online. I
pulled up my first report screen, at the same time I logged into my
email and started zapping junk mail until I’d cleared out all the
offers for larger breasts and longer penises (equal opportunity
spam I guess).
    I typed in my report and
then, while waiting for the screen to accept my answers and roll to
the next, I logged into the Secret Shopper Sisterhood