Free Husband Rehab by Curtis Hox Page A

thing. We once had a young man who was gifted, so gifted, and we trained him to be a good-and-proper witch, but he strayed, as most men do. We put down his warlock ways and made him pliable. But he turned to copulation. Yes, he did. He was such a charmer and worked his way into a number of respectable ladies’ beds. We found a witch who cast a spell so that anytime he cheated—and this young man was, indeed, a philanderer—that his clothes would, poof , disappear sometime afterward. I saw it once. He was standing in this very drawing room. One minute fully clothed. The next … well, he was holding a mint julep when he realized he was naked. He had the poise to exit the room without spilling it.”
    Lady Birchall chuckles to herself.
    “That’ll do fine,” Christine says. “Can you work something similar?”
    “Sounds perfect,” Josie says. She sees Stella descending the grand staircase, heels clickety-clacking. “I’ve got work to do.”
    * * *
    Josie corners Boris Reiner in the salon. The house keeper must have just opened the room. She’s yanked the covers from the furniture and pulled back the tall blinds. The room’s a nod to a much less pretentious sensibility. The beaux arts insistence on extreme ornamentation has been replaced with dark woods and paneling, almost as if a Victorian designer was given free reign.  
    The wide oil paintings of Lord and Lady Birchall dominate the far wall, near a fireplace. This room was once used regularly, she remembers, although it has been left behind. She feels saddened by the dust and the muted sense of lost time. The world moves on its course, while places like Birchall Mansion fall into ruin. Modernity’s a mean bitch . She chides herself for being so crude and wonders if she should have stayed in school. If she is anything it’s analytical. She can find the details in things and pull them to the surface, often to a fault.
    School?   Maybe, but not now, she tells herself. Right now I have Boris Reiner to sort out. Boris and his little problem …
    She finds Mr. Reiner sitting on a sofa, reading a magazine. He has kicked his feet up on a settee and appears to be enjoying himself. He’s even whistling.
    Boris, as he likes to be called, is wearing tennis shorts and a smart Lacoste shirt. He probably heard the courts were open.  
    “Mr. Reiner,” Josie says. She walks into his line of sight. He sets his magazine down. He’s wearing reading glasses, which age him by a decade. Still, she sees what must be considered charming for some women. That, and the fact, he’s loaded, and connected. “Can we chat?”
    “Ah, here it is,” he says, smiling graciously. “My wife said I have no choice. It’s either come here and listen, or I’ll be hearing from a divorce attorney. She threatens me with that at least once a year. This time, she’s really got me by the …” Another grin. “Well, you know what I mean.”
    Josie has changed out of her tight jeans and tee. After preparing her last spell, she put on some baggy shorts that hang past her knee, and a ratty, abused, long-sleeved Miami Dolphins sweat shirt. It’s something she found in her drawer upstairs. She wants him to be focused on the matter at hand, instead of her shapely figure. The brewing of this potion required a delicate touch, and she doesn’t want to mess up.
    “What I know is that your wife caught you with another woman—”
    “I had no idea she’d be home.”
    “You brought a mistress to your house?”
    “It’s not like that.” He sat up and looks over his nose at her. Is he indignant, she wonders, about getting caught porking another woman? Or just annoyed he has to explain himself. “I care about Julia. She’s … someone I can relate to.”
    “Listen, Mr. Reiner, I’m not here to make you feel bad about it. You’re married, and your wife doesn’t seem to like your cheating. I guess that means it’s a problem, right?”
    “It is.”
    “Here’s the solution.”
    She opens her