Slightly Settled Read Online Free PDF Page B

unfiled fingertips. But I can think of better ways to spend the weekly fifteen bucks my friends dole out in nail salons.
    Then again, glossy scarlet nails would be dazzling with my red trollop dress.
    Mental Note: See if manicurist has available slot after lip-wax appointment at salon tomorrow.
    “So what other Don’ts are there?” Brenda wants to know.
    “Let’s see…I told you about the ‘Don’t dress provocatively’ one, right? Then there was ‘Don’t drink too much.’ You’re supposed to nurse white-wine spritzers and alternate them with plain seltzer throughout the evening.”
    “Oh, Madonna, ” Brenda says with a Carmella Soprano eye-roll and my grandmother’s old-country accent.
    The Jersey Italian in Brenda’s blood always comes out when she’s peeved. One minute, she’s a lady, the next, she’s flipping someone off with an Ah, fongool.
    “Spritzers? That’s bullshit, Tracey. We should do shots. It’s girls’ night out. What else did the article say?”
    “Don’t smoke. Don’t gossip. Don’t flirt. Don’t dance. Don’t—”
    “Geez, who the hell wrote this article? The president of Bob Jones University?”
    I shrug, peering into the copy machine to make sure all the paper has been removed. “Okay, all clear. Press Start.”
    She does.
    The machine whirs.
    Lights flash.
    Nothing.
    We lean over to look at the little screen on top.
    Paper Jam.
    “Forget it,” Brenda says, picking up the stack of originals from the tray. “I’m going down to seven to make my copies. And Tracey, forget about that stupid article. Let’s just go have a great time.”
    I head back to my cubicle, still thinking about the article. It’s easy for someone like Brenda to blow off the advice. She’s content to stay a secretary, and, anyway, she plans to quit to stay home when she has a baby—which is planned for next year. So for her, this isn’t a career; it’s a job.
    But if I’m going to work my way into a copywriting position, I’ll have to watch my step. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of me at this party. I don’t want them to lump me together with the other secretaries.
    Okay, I know that sounds snobby. And it’s not that I don’t adore my friends. But sometimes, it kind of bothers me that I’m—I don’t know…one of them.
    Back when I had Will—and supposedly a future with him, even if it was all in my deluded head—it didn’t seem to matter as much.
    Now that I’m on my own, I can’t help feeling that I’d feel much better about myself if I had a “real” career.
    Yeah, and you’d probably feel much better about yourself if you hadn’t had that one-night stand with a full-grown Star Wars fanatic, too.
    Let’s face it: I might be skinny, and I might be bringing in a regular paycheck with benefits…but things could definitely be better. Much better.
    I find Mike leaning over my chair to check out the proposal I’m typing for him on the computer screen.
    He’s a smallish, wiry guy, and I don’t like to stand next to him because he’s a few inches shorter than I am and we probably weigh about the same. I’m not secure enough, despite the weight loss, to feel comfortable around guys who make me feel large and gawky even now.
    “How’s it coming, Chief?” he asks cheerfully. Mike has this cute thing where he calls everyone “Chief.”
    “Pretty good. I caught a couple of typos for you.”
    “Thanks. You’re the best.”
    I smile. They weren’t typos, really. He’s a crummy speller, but I never want to embarrass him. He’s such a sweetie.
    “Hey, I like your tie,” I tell him. For somebody who seems clueless about some things—like getting his hair cut when it needs it—he’s got great taste in ties.
    “Thanks. You want some caramel popcorn? I just got a huge barrel of it from some magazine,” he says. “It’s in my office.”
    At this time of year, the agency people get loads of corporate Christmas gifts from magazines and television