Free Husband Rehab by Curtis Hox Page B

palm and blows into it. A tiny cloud of sparkling dust puffs into the air. The sunlight from the windows catches the micro particles, creating a resplendent display, as if a thousand tiny creatures are suddenly born all at once. The cloud expands to the point it dissipates. She sees a few specks land on Mr. Reiner.  
    “What is this … stuff?”
    “Here’s what happens now,” she says, wiping her hands as if she is a teacher and they’re covered with chalk dust. “You can think all the nasty thoughts you’d like, but if you so much as flirt with another woman or, worse, lift a finger, and I mean that pinky finger, and touch another woman … you’ll get a surprise. No flirting, no touching. Simple.”
    “Surprise ?”
    He stands, incensed, although he doesn’t act threatening. Mr. Boris Reiner obviously knows the history of Birchall and the coven associated with it. He obviously knows what’s happening here. He’s a man of means and connection. He understands when he’s in no position to negotiate.  
    “My wife has me, doesn’t she?”
    “She does.”
    He nods. “Is that it?”
    “Don’t you want to know what the surprise is?”
    He looks like a man who needs to swallow some foul medicine. “No.”
    Josie wants to tell him so that he doesn’t end up on TV or in front of a committee without his clothes. “Ever had a dream where you’re naked in a public place?” He nods. She smiles, lifts an eyebrow, and waits. She sees the recognition in his eyes. She adds: “Magic’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
    Mr. Boris Reiner hurries out of the salon, magazine rolled up into a baton as if he might take a swipe at someone. Josie’s relief at finishing the last of them doesn’t last long. It’s replaced by the annoying feeling she’s done something nasty to him. She can’t shake the feeling that this could all go wrong. No, she tells herself, it’s necessary—like working out or practicing an instrument. Sometimes you have to work a little to see results. And if these men want wives who care about them and tolerate them, this is the requirement. She’s just helping them see that.  
    * * *
    Lunch that day is served by dutiful Alice in the servants’ kitchen. All the men have paid for her to cook (a service Josie hopes will earn needed cash). They charge a premium, and Alice is happy to be cooking again for a group.  
    Most of the men chat away while eating. Only Mr. Creeley remains silent. Josie keeps her distance, but she listens down the hall to verify all is well.
    Lennox is the only one absent.
    Stella must have found him. The thought of the two of them, working out their problems gnaws at her. The men in the kitchen will be fine. She’s spoken to each one, provided them with their prescribed therapies. It’s up to them now, whether they can transform or not. Lennox, though, is still a mystery.  
    Josie grabs a clean glass and pours some sweet iced tea. She drops a lemon in it. This will be her excuse for visiting Lennox, if she’s caught. She tells herself he might like some tea, since he’s skipping lunch.
    She hurries up the grand stair to the second floor. She hears voices coming from Lennox’s room. Josie fears she might catch them making up, or worse, catch them really making up. The hope that he hates his wife encourages her reckless behavior. If he’s in there, she thinks, he’s telling Stella he has to stay. She’s probably angry. He’s going to be here an entire month, he’ll demand. That’s it Please let that be it!
    Josie creeps as close to the open door as she can.
    “I can’t concentrate,” she hears Lennox say. “My head is pounding.” Josie remembers the plan they came up with: his pretend therapy. He continues. “I need to lie down in peace. Give me some space. It’s my fault for being resistant, I know, and not doing what you say. It’s just … I don’t want to go back to acting. My agent’s a jerk.” She hears him groan. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I know you want