Jule Mcbride - Bedspell

“It’s this upcoming weekend,” said Diane. “So, we’d better firm up our plans.”

“I’ll rent a car,” said C.C., who was the only one of the four women who enjoyed driving.

“Get a convertible,” said Signe. “It should still be warm enough.”

“Indian summer’s going to hold through the weekend,” offered Mara. “It said so on the news.”

“We’ll all chip in for the car,” continued Diane.

Signe nodded. “What should we bring?”

“Aspirin,” C.C. quipped. “It’s rumored that the New Jersey wiccans serve a herbal root beverage that kicks butt.”

Diane scoffed. “Forget aspirin. I’ll bring Bloody Mary mix.”

“And forget your bathing suit, Sig,” said Mara. “If it’s warm, everybody’s skinny-dipping in the lake.”

C.C., who hated nature almost as much as Signe, arched an eyebrow. “Lake?” she groused. “What lake?”

“The cabins are on a lake,” explained Mara.

Crinkling their noses, C.C. and Signe exchanged glances. Signe said, “That means insect repellent. I think I’ve got some left over from the last time we were dragged into the wilderness.”

“Good. Oh!” C.C. added. “Don’t forget to bring something belonging to the man you’re casting a spell on. On Saturday night, the wiccans place a boiling cauldron in the center of their magic circle—”

“And we’re all supposed to throw in an object while we read a spell that we’ve written ourselves,” said Mara.

“You mean, to make a man fall for you?” asked Signe, thinking of Gorgeous.

C.C., who wasn’t the committal type said, “Or have sex.”

At that precise moment, Signe’s eyes landed on Gorgeous Garrity, who was standing on the other side of the room, and she sucked in a breath. Since leaving Wall Street to take over his father’s position, running Garrity Enterprises, a conglomerate that owned businesses around the world, Gorgeous had been on the cover of New York magazine, New York Business World and People. He’d also taken a liking to Signe.

“Speak of the devil,” said Mara.

“He’s eyeing the bar,” observed C.C., her voice hitching. “He’s about to come over here, so we’ll make ourselves scarce.”

Signe glanced downward at her gold blouse and silk pantaloons, then ran a hand nervously over the shoulder-length black wig that framed her heart-shaped face, hoping Gorgeous would like the Cleopatra costume. Just contemplating a conversation with him made the pulse in her throat tick wildly, and the thought of sleeping with him…

She sighed. “He’s so rich.”

“Try not to think about it,” coached C.C. “Just think of him as an average American male.”

But Gorgeous Garrity didn’t have an average bone in his body. Each bone, in fact, was long and tailored, just like the sport jackets he wore when he visited the Met during his lunch hour.

“He’s definitely heading this way, as soon as the woman in the milkmaid outfit lets go of him….” Diane murmured.

Signe’s voice hitched. “Only because he wants a drink.”

“Au contraire!” scoffed C.C. “As busy as he is with Garrity Enterprises, he doesn’t have to come to the museum every day to get a cup of coffee at noon. He does it to flirt with you, Sig.”

Signe’s thoughts exactly. “He told me to call him George.”

All three women said, “George?”

“That’s his name.”

C.C.’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

“Nobody does. Everybody’s called him Gorgeous for years.”

“Well, he’s definitely that,” said Mara. “Here he comes!”

“I don’t want to read too much into this,” Signe said nervously. She was only a waitress in the museum’s café. It wasn’t exactly an esteem-building job, either. She tried not to compare herself to her girlfriends, but over the past year, she’d watched each of them achieve career ambitions. Diane had opened Wacky Weekends, C.C. had begun taking on her own accountancy clients and Mara had become a Realtor.

But Signe wasn’t giving up hope. In college, she’d studied art and library science. While working for the New York public library, she’d kept applying for jobs at the Met with no luck, so she was trying this new tactic. She’d do anything she could to meet the curators and get them to consider her for one of the coveted jobs in the archives department.

She loved everything about this museum. Its dark, gloomy corridors, marble staircases and smell of oil paint all made her heart sing. Just breathing the air inside the cavernous rooms quickened her blood almost as much as Gorgeous Garrity. Spending the past six months slugging coffee and helping at these private parties had finally paid off, too.

Tonight, her boss, Edmond Styles, had told her that one of the archives assistants was quitting. Come Monday morning, when the woman’s two-week notice was official, Signe would be offered the job of her dreams. She was so excited. Edmond knew everything about art, and was reputed to have connections with the Garritys, through the museum, since they frequently donated artwork.

Signe took another deep breath. It would be so wonderful if something—even just one sizzling night of sex—would happen with Gorgeous….

It was a fantasy, of course. Just a dream, but who knew? She could feel her own star peaking, bright on the horizon. Sighing with satisfaction, she drifted her gaze over the pagan statues the computer mogul had borrowed for tonight’s bash. Most had come from private collectors around the city, and all were displayed on lit pedestals. Yes, she’d done a great job, if she had to say so herself. Tonight, presumably anticipating her promotion, Edmond had entrusted her with the responsibility of logging the borrowed artworks into the archives department, arranging them on the pedestals and even flipping the alarm switch that protected the pieces from theft. From start to finish, this display was her baby.

“Those statues are something to behold,” commented Diane, catching her gaze.

“Well hung,” added Mara dryly.

Signe grinned. Most of the figurines were fertility gods with noticeably disproportionate male hardware.

Diane pointed, laughing. “I think I dated him once.”

“You wish,” joked Mara.

C.C’s voice sharpened. “Here comes Mister Wonderful!”

Signe braced herself. “He’s so…out of my league.” While her parents were professionals in Minneapolis—her father was a lawyer, her mother a history teacher—their lives were modest compared to Gorgeous’s jet-setting lifestyle.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Mara. “You’ve got that Winona Ryder thing going for you.”

“True.” Everybody thought she looked exactly like the movie actress. “But that might not be a plus. “She was arrested for shoplifting, remember?” Signe said nervously.

“That was years ago,” Diane assured.

Signe barely heard. Her knees weakened as Gorgeous came nearer. He was definitely…well, gorgeous, dressed as a seventeenth-century courtier. A richly embroidered purple cape swirled over a white doublet with a standing ruffled collar. A sword was strapped to his narrow hips, and it thrust from beneath the cape, its sheathed length brushing tight breeches. Signe’s eyes riveted to the pants fly, which was tightly laced over a bulge that the man was hardly bothering to hide.

All three women blew out a shaky breath in unison.

C.C. softly whispered, “You go, girl.”

Realizing that every muscle in her body had tightened, Signe forced herself to inhale as she lifted her gaze, taking in the rakish white-blond wig that hung to his powerful shoulders. He was wearing a conical velvet hat in lush purple.

“Well, we’re off, Sig,” whispered C.C.

“Don’t forget to get something from him,” coached Mara. “His pen. Or a lighter.”