Page 10 of Make Me Laugh

“I need a fucking drink.”

I drag Frankie by the crook of her elbow into a dive bar a few blocks away from the comedy club.

She hasn’t shut up about how much fun she had and how it was so cool to experience the personal banter with West.

“Right, Jo?” she asks.

“What?” I snap back as we slide into stools at the bar top.

“Wasn’t the banter fun?”

Oh, that was a question.

“No, Frankie. I didn’t find it fun.” The bartender comes over after I answer her, and we order our drinks. A seltzer for Frankie and a tequila soda for me.

“You’re so uptight. When did you get unfun?” Frankie crosses her arms and pouts. She always makes up words, and I’ve stopped correcting her.

“I’m not uptight!” I say over the loud music.

My alter ego is a masked heroine with an affinity for dark magic and fulfilling your deepest desires known for her sex appeal and book recommendations that never miss.

That’s fun… And not uptight at all!

“Yes, you are.” Sometimes I think Frankie is the one with a connection to dark magic because she can read me and the thoughts inside my head better than anyone. “Why is it such a big deal that the hot comedian you’ll probably never see again was flirting with you?” The bartender takes Frankie’s card and starts a tab. She takes a sip of her drink, clearly waiting for me to say something.

“I—” I stop, grabbing my glass and squeezing the lime inside. “Because,” is what I settle on before taking two long gulps of my drink.

“You’re uptight and don’t know how to have fun anymore,” she states matter-of-factly. “Hex doesn’t count, and you know it.”

Frankie is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister. I moved in with her when my Grams passed the summer before our senior year, and we lived together until I moved in with Dylan during grad school—minus our freshman years where we were forced to live on our separate college campuses.

My mom left when I was nine, and I have no idea who my dad is… I don’t think my mom did either.

I’m used to her bluntness, and she’s used to my closed-off, slightly rude tendencies.

“Hex is the problem, Frankie, because now that hot comedian I’ll never see again knows who I am.” I enunciate the last four words with a bitter edge. I don’t even try not to sound upset. It’s hard not to worry about my identity being leaked when I’m about to be back on the market for a new job. “What if he says something? Or someone there knows me?”

What would happen if my next employer went looking and saw pictures of their candidate with her hands tied behind her back and a smutty stalker romance as the focal point?

Masked or not, my skin is covered with easily recognizable ink, and if someone were to say something… I shudder at the thought, taking another long sip of my cocktail, begging for the booze to kick in and numb my nerves.

Frankie looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “It was a show with like fifty people, max, and you can just tell him to keep his sexy little mouth shut. I bet he’d love that.” She brushes off my worries like I’m overreacting. “Plus, when was the last time you let a hot stranger give you an orgasm?”

Frankie doesn't care if people can hear her or how loud she’s being.

The two men beside us turn away when I shoot them a look I’m wishing was accompanied with some Hex-like magic. “West doesn’t give I-know-where-the-clit-is energy,” I say, not too sure I believe myself.

Frankie guffaws. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She continues to stare while I pull my phone out. “I bet he could find your clit and give you an orgasm or two.”

My phone was on Do Not Disturb for the show, and when I open my notifications, I have a missed text from Annie:

Annie Dorset

Hi, Jo! I emailed over the severance package from Kevin. If you can look at it this weekend and get it signed and returned to me by Monday morning, I’d appreciate it. Have a great weekend!

Fuck my life—they’re working swiftly to erase me from their list of problems.

Frankie continues to talk about how I need to get laid when the next notification from one of my socials catches my attention.