by JA Huss
Because I’m ashamed of my body. I wish I looked different. I wish my breasts were smaller, and my hips narrower, and I hate my double chin and… yeah.
Fine.
I have self-esteem issues. I can admit that.
Moving on.
“So then… Eden… why did you start a video channel centered around your cupcakes?”
I don’t know. Because it seems like a really stupid, humiliating idea right about now.
And I have go in to work and face up to it. Andrew has probably already told Pierce and there’s gonna be another one of those screeching PA announcements about the whole thing, and I’m gonna be humiliated all over again.
Everyone I know at work is going to watch those videos and know it’s me.
And… Fuck it. Fine.
But if that’s gonna happen, I’m gonna go in there wearing something that is not a button-down shirt and drab skirt. “Because life goes on, Eden. This day will end and tomorrow will come, and I will have to find a way to survive.”
My walk to work is way too quick and a part of me wishes that I never moved to the TDH. That I still lived back in my dad’s house in the crappy part of Lakewood and I had to drive my old truck to work every day and get stuck in traffic like I used to. I wish I was still sixteen and my pink and white bedroom was age-appropriate instead of ridiculous. I wish I had never started this stupid Sexpert thing. I wish I had never met Andrew Hawthorne or even gone to work at Le Man in the first place.
But I did. I did all those things and now… now it’s time to face the consequences.
So I hold my chin up as I walk towards the TDH building and go inside to find a huge crowd of people all waiting to walk up the stairs to the second floor.
I stop and look around. “What the hell is going in here?”
“Oh, hey, Eden.” It’s Sylvia from the printer. “Pierce just made an announcement—“
“Attention! Attention!” Pierce’s voice booms from the ceiling. “All Le Man employees, please report to the auditorium on the second floor. There is a mandatory meeting. Your attendance is required.”
“Oh,” I say, deflating even more than I was before I came in here. “Well, that’s just great.”
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Sylvia asks.
“Yup.” I sigh. “And I guess I shouldn’t be late so I better get up there.”
She walks with me, chatting the whole time about some cheesecake at a new local bakery, oblivious that my demise is underway and I’m the star of the show this morning.
The second floor of the TDH building is convention space, I guess. There’s lots of conference rooms along the perimeter and then at the end is the giant auditorium where everyone from Le Man is waiting to file in for the big reveal.
“Eden! Eden! Over here!”
I look to see Myrtle waving her hands at me. “I’ll see you later, huh, Sylvia?”
“Sure, Eden,” she says, moving forward with the crowd.
I make my way over to Myrtle, who is smirking at me. “Well, don’t you look nice today?”
“Thanks,” I say.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh… nothing,” I say, sighing heavily.
“You look like you’re going on a job interview. You’re not quitting, are you?”
“Quitting?” I laugh. It’s a real laugh too. Because that’s not what’s happening today. “No. I’m not quitting.”
“Good,” Myrtle says, smiling at me. “Because you’re like my best friend here and I’d be super upset if you left. Come on, there’s a back way in. Pierce showed it to me earlier. He’s saving me a seat right up front. That man,” she titters.
Which makes me look at her funny, but I don’t have time to unpack that comment, because she leads me over to a door, and we slip inside the auditorium right up at the front, like she said.
Pierce is there. Up on stage already, standing in front of a microphone.
And so is Andrew.
He looks right at me, his eyes narrowing as I take my seat next to Myrtle, and I want to look away. I really do. I want to act brave, and stoic, and unaffected by what’s about to happen.
But I can’t. I don’t look away. I’m not brave, I’m scared. And I’m not stoic, I’m emotional. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes as reality sinks in.
He’s told Pierce and by the end of this meeting, everyone I know at Le Man will think differently of me.
Andrew looks away first. Pierce is looking over at me now. His eyes… his eyes… I look over at Myrtle, who has this weird smile on her face as she gazes up at Pierce.
What the hell?
Is she looking at him weird?
And… wait. Is he looking at her weird too?
Andrew leans in to whisper something to Pierce and Pierce takes his attention to the microphone in front of him. He nods to someone off stage and then taps it, making the room boom with loud thuds.
“Looks like we’re ready,” he says.
And does he sound… sad?
Jesus. I sigh. I didn’t care what Pierce was feeling before now, but seeing him so affected by what’s happening… I feel so guilty. For all of it.
“I’m very sad to bring you all here this morning. But…” He looks at Myrtle and me again. “But we have a traitor in our midst. A traitor of the highest order. Because she took advantage of my trust.”
There’s an audible gasp from my co-workers.
“Yes, this is about the Sexpert. This is about one of my employees—someone I counted on to help me run this business efficiently—taking advantage of private information and using it for her own benefit.”
I slink down in my chair. That’s not how it happened. That’s just not how it happened.
“I made a generous offer with the hope that this whole mess could be avoided. But she refused to come forward. So yes, Le Manians, I suppose we could just... let it go. Or perhaps she could be sent an injunction or there’s some other legal recourse. But honestly, I’m beyond all that. This is no longer about who did what to whom in a legal sense. This is about loyalty. This is about trust. This is about Le Man. The envelope, please.”
Pierce holds out his hand and Andrew, rolling his eyes, hands Pierce a pink envelope, which Pierce opens with a loud rip.
He takes out a black card, stares poignantly right at me, and says, “And the Sexpert is… Myrtle Rothschild.”
“What?” I say. And so does Myrtle. But I say it with surprise and she says it with laughter.
“Oh, that is too much,” she cackles. “Me?” She looks up at Pierce, her hand over her heart. “I’m flattered, but—”
“Security!” Pierce bellows with a wave of his hand. “Escort Ms. Rothschild from the building!”
Myrtle stands up now, because two gigantic goons in black suits are coming toward her like she’s about to be whisked away to some top-secret Le Man rendition protocol. Even with all the other ways Pierce can be insane, this is in. Sane.
“Pierce!” Myrtle yells over the commotion that has erupted. Everyone is on their feet, talking loudly, as the goons grab her by the arms and start dragging her away. “Pierce!” she yells again. “You cannot be serious! I’m not the Sexpert!”
I look at Andrew. He looks at me and shrugs. And even though I can’t hear him, I read his lips loud and clear.
He mouths, “Ball’s in your court, cupcake.”
“Wait!” I yell. But no one is listening to me. “Wait!” I try again, louder. “It’s not her!”
Still, no one is listening. Everyone is talking too loud and now Myrtle is being dragged up the center aisle, resisting like a sacrificial virgin about to be thrown into a volcano.
And then Myrtle’s last words echo in my head. “You’re like my best friend here and I’d be super upset if you left.”
I panic. And run up the stairs that lead to the stage. But I’m blocked by a security guard who spreads his arms out wide, dodging left when I dodge right, then right when I dodge left, because he
thinks I’m about to assassinate Pierce.
But I’m an athlete. Was. Once. And I know how to body-check a goon. So I rush forward right at him, and his eyes go wide like he’s not sure what to do with an insane blonde woman in a professional suit, and I check him with the full weight of my cupcakes behind me. He goes reeling off to the side long enough for me to dash behind the podium and yell into the microphone, “Stop!”
And you’d think it would take more than one “Stop!” to quiet this room down so I could… you know, gather my thoughts and figure out what the hell I’m doing.
But it doesn’t.
Because that’s how my day is going.
“Stop,” I say again, only much softer now because the room has gone quiet. Myrtle and the goons have gone still up at the top of the aisle. Pierce is off to my right, in mid-escape. And Andrew… Andrew is staring at me with a very smug look on his face.
Fucker.
“Eden?” asks Pierce. Then he looks at Andrew and mumbles, “It is Eden, right?”
“Yes, it’s fucking Eden,” I say, annoyed. “Eden Presley. And Myrtle is not the Sexpert,” I say now. Loudly. Calmly. Confidently. “I am.”
Gasps erupt and the whole room is commotion again.
“I’m the Sexpert, Pierce. Me. Not her. So let her go.”
“What? You!” Pierce bellows. And then he looks at Andrew. “You’re—you’re… cupcake girl?”
“Yes,” I say. Too loudly. Because the microphone screeches and people cover their ears. “Me. And my cupcakes. We’re the Sexpert. And I’d just like to go on record that…”
Shit. I have no speech to give. I don’t know what to say. But I have to say something because two hundred sets of eyeballs are now focused right on mine.
“I and my business partner, Zoey Cooper, absolutely did not steal your idea.”
And that’s when I notice the cameramen. Stalking up the middle aisle of the auditorium towards me, little blinking red lights letting me know that this is being recorded.
“You did!” Pierce yells. “That was my idea! I’d been percolating it for a year and then you came along—“
“I came along and made it up myself,” I say, sounding very lame. But I have no choice. I’ve started something here and now I have to finish it. “And my business partner and I had to do something to make ends meet, OK? Because… because my job is shit, and she’s a single mom who gets no child support, and I was tired of living at home and she needs a backyard. So yeah. We invented the Sexpert. And I put myself out there and made those videos. And for one year nothing happened. Nothing. All that work and no payout. And then one day we’re on the radio, and we go viral, and then you come out of nowhere, Pierce. You. Not me. I was already here. And you accuse us of stealing. Well, it’s not right! We did this on our own.”
I stop to catch my breath.
“We did it to survive. And…”
Everyone is quiet now. And I suddenly realize what I’ve just done.
“And I only have one more thing to say.” Everyone is looking and it’s dead quiet. “I quit.”
I take a deep breath. Hold my head up high. Straighten my professional jacket. Walk down the stairs silently chanting, Do not fall. Do not fall. Do not fall.
And I do not fall.
I walk out.
And as I’m making my way back to Sunset Towers, crying, I pull out my phone and call Zoey.
And I don’t care if I’m a hypocrite, because she picks up on the first ring and lets me cry all the way back to my apartment, saying nothing except, “It’s OK, Eden. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”
And that’s how you know you have a good friend.
Because they’re there for you.
Even when you weren’t there for them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - ANDREW
I thought I knew what I was feeling, but it turns out I don’t.
Last night it was anger. Just the thought of being lied to was enough to ignite a small fury inside me. That’s how I got through the reveal. That’s what kept me going even though her feelings were painted plainly on her face as I exposed her.
That little rage was enough fuel.
But then… after she walked out on me it kinda burned itself out. Or changed states or something. Like heat turning water into steam.
It became indignation. Maybe a little bit of self-righteousness.
After all, I wasn’t the one who lied.
“What the fuck?” Pierce says.
I look over at him. He’s stuck in some position that is half turning, half walking away, like a statue. But then he completes the turn and stands facing me.
“Yeah. What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, glancing back at the door through which Eden disappeared a few seconds ago.
Myrtle is shrugging off Pierce’s goons, trying to gather up her usual comportment of mystery. She shoots us a look. Or rather, she shoots Pierce a look. Daggers actually.
I glance at Pierce and see him automatically recoil. Like her gaze is a laser beam that burns. “How did we get this so wrong?” he asks.
“We?” I laugh. “We didn’t get anything wrong. I knew.”
“You knew? Since when?” Pierce says.
“Um… I mean… well, last night is when I found out for sure. But—“
“Last night?” Pierce says. “Last night? You knew it was Eden last night?”
The irony of him getting her name correct now isn’t lost on me. “Well, yeah, but—“
“And you let me embarrass Myrtle like that? Dude? Andrew, mon frère. My ami. You know I love you. Would do anything for you. But my God! Why the fuck would you let me do this, then?”
“Uh… well…” I sigh..
“You… You lied to me?”
“No,” I say, looking Pierce dead in the eye. “No. I was trying to make everyone happy. I was trying to get her to admit... I mean, I knew, but I kept quiet because…”
But then it kinda clicks into place.
That whole puzzle-solving thing I like to do.
“She was lying,” I say. Because I’m reaching. “She was keeping a secret, man. And you know.”
Suddenly I remember that we are standing in front of a room of mumbling, confused people. Myrtle has been hauled off somewhere. And I am starting to get the sneaking suspicion that this whole circumstance may constitute an overreaction on my part.
Pierce remembers as well because he turns to the Le Maniacs and says, “OK! Back to work!” It’s a thing he does. If you pretend something didn’t happen, maybe it didn’t. As everyone is filing out, more confused and mumbly than before, he looks back at me, smiles, huffs out a laugh, and says, “Did she owe you her secret, man?”
“What do you mean? Why’s it feel like I’m suddenly in the hot seat?”
“Did she. Owe you. Her secret?”
I think about that for a beat. “Owe.” Did she owe me? Then I decide, “Yes!”
“How long have you known this chick?”
“I dunno. Two weeks. Why?
“Two weeks?”
“Almost three.”
“And when did you start suspecting her?”
“I dunno? Like day two.”
“Day...?” He sighs. “So you thought… you really thought she owed you her most private secret after two days?”
How is Pierce the rational one all of the sudden? “What are you asking me right now? What do you want?”
“I’m just trying to get my head around it. Because this whole morning is now a goddamn nightmare. I have camera crews here, for the love of fuck.”
I look at the camera guys filming people walking out, presumably trying to get footage they can piece into something. “Yes, I see that. What the hell is that?”
“PR, my friend. Don’t change the subject.”
“Change the...? Wha—? Who—? Wha—?” I’m getting, I dunno, ruffled now. Or something. I’m sort of waving my arms around more than usual. I don’t typically find myself in a state of flustration (is that a word?
I dunno. I’m ruffled), but here I am.
Pierce slaps me.
“What the fuck?” That’s me.
He grips my shoulders. “Look at me.” I do. “You like her. Yes?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Yes. I like her.”
“And you did this to her?”
“I didn’t… this isn’t even my fucking fight, OK?”
“No, it’s mine.” And then he sighs. “And I get what you were doing. But… what you did to her… dude.” He’s shaking his head at me.
“What?”
“Jesus, friend. C’mon. This wasn’t about helping me.” I open my mouth to protest, but he goes on. “Yes, obviously I asked you for help. Yes, obviously you commenced wanting to help me. But this, all this”—he gestures sort of generally to the air—“you were just testing her. I mean… in what world does a virtual stranger up and admit their deepest, darkest secret? Especially when the consequences of such a thing will result in her being sued, or fired, or both? Does that sound like a reasonable thing to do?”
My eyes go wide and my jaw goes slack. “You’re lecturing me about what is and what isn’t reasonable behavior? Fuck you, man! I can’t believe you’re taking her side! After she stole your idea!”
He sighs and lowers his head, as if somehow my craziness has sucked all his craziness right out of him. “Did she?” he asks.
“Don’t,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “Do not even go there. I’m the one who was the voice of reason in this whole debacle! I’m the one who said you were overreacting. I’m the one who said it was probably just a stupid coincidence!”
“Oui.” He sighs again. “You were. Listen, I’m fine with it. I mean, I suppose we have to hire another social media whatever-she-was, and I have to see where in the world I can find another executive assistant like Myrtle, probably. Spoiler: I can’t. But other than that, I’m cool with it. And I mean...” He bows his head a little. “Your loyalty is awe-inspiring. Completely fucked up, really messy, and kind of selfish, actually. But awe-inspiring.” And then he smiles, crosses the distance between us, and pulls me into a hug. “Sturdy and chaotic at the same time. Fuckin’ rock-climbing artist freak,” he says into my ear. Then he claps me on the back, pulls away, and says, “I gotta go find Myrtle. If she quits…” He shakes his head at me. “No. I can’t have her quitting.”