How Hard Can It Be? Read Online Free Page B

dysfunction backfire?” Shoshanna was confused. Clearly she thought my story was a no-brainer career killer.
    Fine. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but to have it paraded around as the crowning jewel that could bring a career down in flames was humiliating. More so, because I knew it was true. And what was this backfire talk? I felt the heat crawl up my neck and I bit my bottom lip so I wouldn’t cry. It didn’t work.
    “Oh dear heavens,” Eyebrow-less Joanne, the purple grape, grabbed me in a bear hug and rocked me back and forth. “LeHump, you made her cry.” She held me in a vise-like grip and I was having a hard time breathing. These ladies were strong.
    “Oh fuck,” LeHump was distraught, “Rena, I’m so sorry. Were you serious about that story? I had no idea. I thought for sure you were making that pile of crap up as you went along.” LeHump started to cry. “I feel awful,” she sobbed.
    They all started to cry. The room was filled with snot-nosed, weeping seventy-year-olds . . . and it was my fault. The viper whore bitch from Hades had nothing on me. I brought an entire roomful of sweet women to tears and because of Joanne’s stranglehold, I couldn’t breathe well enough to tell them it was all right.
    “Can’t breathe,” I wheezed, trying to extricate myself from my comforter.
    “Jesus Christ on a cross,” Poppy Bush shrieked, “you’re killing her!”
    Joanne screamed, dropped me to the floor, and started to wail. Holy hell, this was worse than speed dating for Lutherans. I landed on all fours at her feet. I felt light-headed and had to remain in the doggie position for a few moments before the dizziness subsided.
    “It’s okay, guys.” I struggled to my feet. “It’s okay,” I repeated. “I did pull it out of my ass and I knew it sucked . . . it’s just hard to hear somebody else say it out loud.” I drew in a huge shaky breath and wondered if Joanne had crushed my lungs. I dropped into the chair that Evangeline had vacated minutes ago as all the ladies nodded in understanding.
    “I feel like a douche bag,” Shoshanna groaned, her shoulders slumped; she wiped her tears on the sleeve of her lavender fleece pullover.
    “You’re not a douche bag,” I said, the beginnings of a smile pulling at my lips.
    “I’m a total douche bag,” she muttered, running her hands through her hair and making it stand up on end. “A thoughtless stinky douche bag.”
    “I’d say you’re just a douche, not a douche bag.” I giggled at her description of herself and the scary hairdo.
    The rest of the girls began to smile and chuckle. Shoshanna grinned at me gratefully and took my hand. “I really am sorry. I have a malady called diarrhea of the mouth. I am insensitive and loud and . . . I’m sorry. It’s not that bad of an idea. With some work . . .”
    “Stop,” I laughed, smacking her little hand. “I’ll be more hurt and insulted if you lie to me. The idea sucks and if you guys want me to feed it to her, I will. God knows I could use the money, but how will we get away with this? She’s got to know the idea is awful.”
    “Are you kidding me?” Joanne couldn’t control her burst of laughter. “You think she has taste? She’s under the very mistaken assumption that her plastic surgeon is a genius!”
    “Joanne’s right,” Poppy Rose Vine laughed. Her voice was rich and warm, almost masculine. She was anything but, with her trim bod and pink feminine clothes. “She thinks she looks forty!”
    “She’s smokin’ crack,” I laughed. I twisted my hands and racked my brain, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember Poppy’s whole name. I don’t know why, perhaps it’s because it doesn’t fit her. “What’s your real name, Poppy?” I asked, wondering if it fit her any better. A blush covered her face, and I noticed she could use a really good lip wax. “Um . . . ,” she stammered, looking around for support. Had I gotten too personal? “I’ve changed it several