It Should Happen To You. Kathleen O'Reilly

differentiation presentation for Dr. Heidelman. Her ticket to fame and fortune in the scientific community. Well, not really fortune, but definitely fame among the Astrophysical Journal set. And maybe even respect in the eyes of one Dr. Andrew Coleman, MD, the man otherwise known as Dad. If Dad ever heard about that tape, or anyone at Astrophysical Sciences Research Center for that matter, she’d be pretty much astrophysical toast.

      The day after the Bachelorette Party, John Monihan had approached her with vague references about their evening before. Apparently he was one of those video aficionados, just her luck. Now he had the tape of their night, and he wanted payback. Actually, he merely wanted more sex, which was very frustrating, because Mickey just didn’t remember it being that great.

      Beth pulled up a chair next to her. “You know, we can do stuff together, too. I mean, if you want to.”

      This time Mickey’s smile was legit. Beth, at her most earnest, couldn’t be denied. “Sure, Beth. Maybe we can go out after the reception.”

      “Brick’s for a beer?”

      Beer? Not in a million years. Still, there were always the uncharted waters of new territories, like, say, martinis. “Sure.”

      The music cranked up from the chapel, and the wedding planner rushed them out into the foyer. Mickey walked over to where Jessica was standing in front of the mirror, twisting around to see her back. When Jessica spied her, she gave Mickey one last hug.

      “Break a leg,” Mickey whispered.

      “You’ll be next,” was all Jessica had to say.

      Oh yeah, right. Slimeball antimatter was definitely prime husband material. Mickey held her tongue.

      The ceremony was beautiful, she had to say that. White lilies, classical music and barely controlled tears that hung stubbornly at the corners of her eyes. When Adam kissed Jessica, Mickey nearly lost it.

      Jessica smiled at her from under her veil, a tremulous smile completely ruined by the steely glint in her eyes that said, “You’re catching the bouquet.” That was Jessica. Always the woman in denial.

      The exit music started, true love conquering all, a journey to a new life, yada, yada, yada.

      Mickey sighed, grabbed the arm of the best man and followed the happy couple down the aisle and out the door. The best man smiled at her, a harmless, unpretentious smile, and Mickey just nodded curtly.

      He was one of the enemy. He was a man, and right now she had little patience for human beings with an extra appendage. She’d been shot down by those flyboys one too many times.

      “I bet you have a video camera,” she whispered under her breath, a reminder that harmless, unpretentious smiles could hide the nefarious heart of a debauchee.

      “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “It’s in the car. Should I bring it in?”

      Mickey didn’t answer, just gave him the patented Coleman growl, guaranteed to intimidate any man, woman or Department of Energy inspector. So was this a testosterone-laden man or merely an invertebrate munchkin? The age-old question reared its head.

      He shot her one frightened look and that was the end of the conversation.

      Mickey buffed her nails on the shoulder of the polished-silk dress. The man was nothing more than Milquetoast in a tux.

      WHILE CASSANDRA DECORATED the getaway car with all sorts of suggestions and advice for every newly wedded couple, Mickey supervised. Eventually the wedding party—sans bride and groom, who were probably off doing the rumpy-pumpy—had managed to completely eliminate any possibility of driver-side visibility.

      All in all, it was great bawdy fun.

      But all good things must come to an end. The reception was winding down, the sun was starting to set, and finally the happy couple appeared, a telltale flush in Jessica’s cheeks. Sex had definitely been involved. Jess threw the bouquet at Mickey, who dodged and bobbed. In accordance with Murphy’s laws on weddings and other damned affairs, the thing hit her smack on the chest.

      Using lightning-fast reflexes, which she’d never before possessed, she tossed it off to Beth.

      Eventually Jessica’s Porsche pulled away from the curb. Mickey waved goodbye, wiping away her tears before anyone noticed. Her best friend was married. So why couldn’t she be happier for her?

      It wasn’t as if she wished divorce or death on Adam; she just wished that things wouldn’t change. But already she’d noticed the little differences. Jessica tried hard, but she was becoming a clock-watcher when they went out. And worse, only once had she participated in Cassandra’s favorite sport, the ten-thousand meter, manly-man ogle. To top it off, she compared the subject in question to Adam—favoring Adam, of course.

      It was all depressing.

      In order to dispel some of her depression, and forget the whole tape-sex-blackmail-I-have-shot-my-career-to-hell debacle, she met up with Beth and Cassandra at Brick’s that evening.

      Saturday nights were always packed, full of males and females on the make. Mickey traded in breast cleavage and heels for her favorite blue jeans and Polymorph T-shirt. Much safer.

      Cassandra, spiffily attired in a fire-engine red sheath that revealed every single one of her Pilates-honed curves, shook her head. “Cinderella’s regressed back to rags.”

      “Yeah, fairy tale’s over. Reality bites.”

      Sometimes it was rough having an overabundance of brains and an underabundance of whatever it was that guys liked, she thought to herself. Everywhere she looked, the male eyes in the bar were glued to Cassandra’s parts.

      A short time later two men in suits came over and began chatting with Cassandra and Beth, and Mickey wondered cynically who wore a suit on Saturday. Beth eventually broke free of the lesser suit and joined Mickey in the girls-gone-solo club, ordering chips and salsa for them both.

      Beth fished in the basket for the biggest chip and wistfully studied it, shifting the golden triangle in the light. “It’s three points, but I’ve been starving myself all week. Tonight’s a celebration.”

      “Oh, boy,” replied Mickey glumly, punching her chip in the picante. “Why’d you leave the potential life mate?”

      “Too much cologne.”

      “Yeah, I hate that,” Mickey replied, a little bit of snide in her tone, which covered the fact that she was envious as hell. Beth had never achieved envy-worthy status before. Out of all of them, Cassandra had the hot luck with the guys. Jess had the great family that understood how families were supposed to be. And now, she had the great new husband. As for Beth, Mickey had never spent much time being jealous of Beth.

      Until now.

      She crunched the chip with more force than necessary, a strong bite of jalapeño making her eyes water. Spitefully she swallowed the demon vegetable whole.

      Mickey Coleman Cushing—jalapeño eater extraordinaire. Now there’s a talent.

      She sighed. Now, see, this was the main problem with having a large ego. The falls from grace were light-years to the ground.

      Covertly she studied Beth, who wasn’t as sexy as Cassandra, wasn’t as ambitious as Jessica, and wasn’t as smart as Mickey. Beth, who was completely happy with who she was.

      “How do you manage to be so content with who you are?” asked Mickey.

      Beth just grimaced. “I know you don’t think much of me…”

      There were times Mickey didn’t think much of anyone; that’s what made her world such a lonely place. “That’s not true,” she said automatically, then popped a chip into her mouth.

      “No, it’s okay. I know what you think and you’re wrong.”

      Mickey stopped and swallowed, now more than slightly curious. “What do I think?”

      “That