More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) by Ann Royal Nicholas Page B

speechy-lecturey sort of booking agency.”
    Maddie wrote that down.
    “Sounds vaguey,” said Jelicka giddily, clearly getting tipsy. “Sorry.”
    Madelyn threw her a look. “All options open. We’re brainstorming.”
    “It would be the kind of thing where I’d arrange for people—you know, actors, athletes, ex-presidents—to appear at events. I’d book them to talk at annual meetings on the lecture circuit—that kind of thing. Think TED, but smaller, and no YouTube,” I clarified.
    “Wouldn’t there be a lot of competition?” Lauren asked. “I just know that from researching for the Alzheimer’s benefit.”
    “I am SO looking forward to the benefit,” Jelicka said. “Will there be some eligible bachelors—?” She caught herself. “Er, excuse me—my mistake. We’ll table that for now.”
    Maddie rolled her eyes indulgently and turned back to me.
    “Yes,” I said, apropos the glutted field of booking speakers. “There will be competition. But think about how many speeches are given every day at corporate retreats, meetings, society luncheons, schools, old folks homes. I think there’s room for a new specialized agency.”
    “I like the idea,” said Jelicka. “These days, people can’t seem to get enough speeches. No matter what they’re about—saving the world, bug anatomy—doesn’t matter. I watched a TED Talk about procrastination. Boom, a million views! What do they call it? Oh yeah, viral . And guess what? There’s no cure.” Jelicka laughed, slapping the table. “Cheers!” Then she picked up her Orange Bomb and knocked it back.
    I glanced at Maddie, concerned if this was Jelicka’s first or second drink. She instantly got what I was thinking and leaned toward me. “I’m driving.”
    “Why are speeches so popular all of a sudden?” Lauren asked. “Every single day, somebody sends me a link to somebody yammering on about something. Do you think it’s because when other people are speaking, we don’t have to?”
    “That would never work for the Muffs,” Jelicka said. “We all want to talk—well, Sarah not so much.” Her words were beginning to sound garbled.
    “All right, we agree speeches are currency.” Maddie turned back to me. “But let’s get back to the task at hand. Any other ideas?”
    “I have a little money saved, so I thought maybe I’d do something totally different. Go back to school; study landscape architecture maybe, or cooking. Also, sort of related to all this—I signed up on NowLove.com . Maybe all my problems will be solved by meeting a rich guy.”
    “That doesn’t sound like you,” Maddie said, only half-joking. “You’d really take the coward’s way out? Where’s the challenge in that?”
    “The feminists would not be pleased,” echoed Jelicka.
    “I’m not a coward; I’m forty-two,” I said. “And I’m still a feminist. But I’m tired and no longer want or need the challenge. I’d like for things to be a little easier, and if I met a nice guy with money, it wouldn’t necessarily be bad, would it? I’m barely able to save any money, and if I lose my job, then what? Unemployment? I mean, I’m about ten paychecks away from becoming a bag lady like Jeannette Walls’s mother.”
    “That’s not going to happen,” Maddie said.
    “On NPR today,” I said, “they reported this study on Women, Money, and Power, and they said that half of American women over forty fear becoming bag ladies. Bag ladies —that’s the term they used. At least I’m not alone.”
    There was collective agreement amongst the three of us singletons and a look of—what was it, guilt?—on Lauren’s face.
    Despite wanting to make it on our own, have successful careers, build that nest egg, and be totally self-sufficient while at the same time finding worthy mates—at our age, the reality of just how hard that was to achieve had struck us all.
    At that moment, a strapping young actor type got a little too close to the table, bumping it and causing it