by Ava Moore
“Looking good, by the way,” she teases as I walk past the desk on my way to Jane’s office.
“I’m sorry. What?”
She winks at me, gets up from her desk and she escorts me to Jane’s office. Now I’m getting walked personally to Jane’s office? What the hell is going on? “I know that glow. We all know that glow.”
I haven’t changed my moisturizer nor am I sure if I have completely taken off my makeup from my date last night, but apparently, it is written all over my face. I always understood this phenomenon with my friends and ragged on them when they wore that I-just-got-fucked smile that was plastered all over their faces, but I don’t recognize it on myself. Maybe it is something you can’t see for yourself, but other people can. It only becomes more and more evident as I walk down the hall to Jane’s office that everyone knows as well. Other writers, columnists and featured writers who are in the office that morning all turn around in their leather office chairs to either smile, wink or yell something in approval at me.
“Way to go, Parker!”
“Looking good girl.”
“Talk about getting hands on experience.”
I feel like the big man on campus and like I had just scored with the hot chick, with all of my football bros congratulating me as I strolled into practice after the big frat party. It is a really weird feeling. I don’t like being the centre of attention, especially when I’m not trying to be.
I never thought I’d be happier to be in Jane’s office, but that statement all of a sudden became very veracious. As the receptionist closes the door behind her, it is just I and Beelzebub herself. Her back is turned to me and she is sitting in her oversized office chair, only feeding into my belief that she is in fact, Satan himself reincarnated into Jane Hobbs.
Unsure whether or not she knows I’m in the room, I step forward and my ballerina flat scratches along the marble floor. I can hear her two hands start clapping together, slowly and then picking up the pace. Jane is giving me the slow clap. What the hell? This means one of two things: either she is impressed or she is being sarcastic. I’ll choose option number one.
As she is clapping, she slowly starts turning around in her chair. I don’t know if she rehearsed this or just has practice with it, but I have to admit, it’s pretty bad ass. I just wish I were a spectator and not a part of the show. “I have to hand it to you, Miss Parker, you’ve impressed me and trust me, it takes a lot to impress me.”
I say nothing and I do nothing. All I can do is stand frozen at the foot of her office desk clutching my bag in my arms, protecting my chest incase she does send fiery balls of hell towards me. I know my fake Vuitton won’t offer me much of a protection shield, but it’s worth a shot.
“I don’t know how you did it or how you made him fall for it but I applaud you.”
“My apologies, but I don’t believe I understand, Ms. Hobbs?” Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.
She finishes her final spin and faces me head on, staring at me right in the eyes with that agonizing gawk from those emerald spheres from the abyss. She stands up, continuing her monotonous clapping. “You saw that Ashton Croft was the hottest up and comer out of Hollywood and you went in for the kill. I didn’t expect that from a… sex columnist but I was wrong. You know, Miss Parker, it’s not often that I’m wrong but when I am, I will be the first to admit it. You’ve got more to offer than The Trish Dish and I see that now. You’re an asset to this magazine.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hobbs, but I…”
“You’ll be moving into the featured writers office and you’ll be writing under a pseudonym. Leah has already prepared your desk for you. The new laptop is yours and we will talk later about your pay raise. No more working from home, Miss Parker. Welcome to the Star Struck family. I expect a full report on your little… rendezvous… later this afternoon.”
It is wrong. She is wrong. I didn’t do this for any other reason than a genuine interest in him. “Ms. Hobbs, I…”
“No later than 2:00 pm. The clock is ticking…” she points at her watch and then shoes me away with her hand. “Go on. That is all.”
I can’t explain myself nor will she even listen to me if I start on some pathetic speech about how they all got the wrong idea and how I hate the fact that this is happening to me. I can feel my stomach start churning and the saliva pooling in my mouth. I try to steady my breathing by taking in big, deep breaths through my mouth and exhaling out of my nose. I am stuck and I have no way out of it. All I can do is turn around and exit Jane’s office, where Leah, the receptionist, is there to greet me. “Right this way, Miss Parker.”
I unwillingly follow her as she leads me into my new office, which is a shared office with two other writers. My new desk is at the far corner of the room, right by the window, which might be the only salvation in this situation. “And you are right over here, Miss Parker. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Vodka would be lovely.” I am joking. Ish.
“I don’t think we are allowed to drink on the…”
“I’m kidding. I’ll be fine. Thank you,” I smile one hell of a superficial smile and send Leah out of my line of sight, but she isn’t even the worst of my problems. Drew and the other writer wheel on over towards my desk on their office chairs, smiling all the while. The sound of the metal on metal screeching caused by their un-lubricated wheel joints sends chills throughout my body and is enough to make my skin crawl.
“Hey Trish,” Drew greets me, trying to act like she’s my friend and getting all chummy with me. “Sounds like someone had an awesome time last night.”
Not going to work Drew. I don’t know why the lead fashion writer works in this section of the magazine offices, but I don’t feel like I have enough up on her on the hierarchy to start harassing her.
The other girl pipes in. “It must feel pretty nice to have a serious upgrade from sex columnist to lead gossip writer.”
“Lead?” No way.
“Guess that’s what you get for sleeping with the biggest celebrity in North America. Must be pretty nice,” Drew barks at me through her teeth.
I don’t like this side of women and that’s why the only true friends I have, I hold very dear to my heart. I don’t play into these childish games that women play with each other; I’m not catty and I don’t exude this quality, so don’t play it with me. I shake my head and try to laugh off the situation. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
The two girls don’t buy into it. “Please. We can’t imagine you’d give up the opportunity to sleep with Ashton. Don’t bullshit us, Trish. We know everything.”
I’m tempted to shut them up and make them eat their words, but I know at the end of it all, if I really told them what happened, it would just end up making me look like the biggest loser and I already have the odds stacked up against me. “Just let me work, please.”
“Oh but of course, oh master. We wouldn’t want to disturb you and your process,” Drew snarls at me and the two of them wheel off, giggling all the while and whispering more hateful jeers in my direction.
I’m instantly reminded why I like working from home better and what I would give to have my column back. I wonder if I am still allowed to write for it. I’m so confused, but I just try to follow Jane’s order, at least for today. I open the computer on my desktop and it’s all set up for a writer under the name of, Devan Morris. What a cheesy name. Apparently, this is how I am going to be known from this day forward. I have no idea how to back out of this situation or what step to take next, so I figure, the best move for me is to just write this damn article and move on, but not before I take a break.
Who can I call? Who can I talk to? I sit in the bathroom stall, which thankfully, is only intended for one person to use at a time. I sit on the closed toilet seat and dial. Please pick up. Please pick up.
“Trish! Hey! Oh my god. Thank you for calling me back!”
“I don’t want to get into it Cris, okay. Just hear me out. I need to talk to someo
ne.” That’s right Cris, keep it together or I’m going to lose it.
“Of course, babe. That’s what I’m here for.”
I take a deep breath in and I don’t even know where to begin. I must have said that out loud without even thinking about because Cris chimes in on the other line, with her soothing and very comforting voice. “Just start from the beginning okay? Take a deep breath and let it out.”
“Okay, so the main bullet points of the presentation are that I went on a date with Ashton Croft and now all of a sudden, I’m a lead gossip writer at work. What do I do?”
Cris falls silent on the other line. I can’t blame her. I have no idea where I would begin if the situation were reversed. “Please Cris. I have no idea what to do. You’re the only one I can talk to about it.”
“Okay… well… I’m assuming Jane wants you to dish the gossip on what happens between you and Ashton and she’s using you for that info?”
I nod my head. This is a bad habit for being on the phone. “Um, yeah, I think that’s what’s going on.”
“I think you have to just go for it and do it. Just try to write about him in a positive light as often as you can. You don’t want to piss him off.”
“Of course not. I’m also writing under a fake name so that’ll help. I just have no idea how all of this is happening to me.”
“That’s good. That’s good,” she falls silent again. I’m waiting for it and sure enough, it comes. “How did you…”
I cut her off. “He left his number on the receipt the waitress gave to us so I snagged it and texted him.”
“Just like that?”
I nod again. Fuck sakes. “Just like that.” I can hear her giggling on the other line. “What are you laughing at?”
“You have such an insane life, Trish. I don’t know how you do it but damn, do you ever get it done. Nice work! He’s so gorgeous it’s insane – a little sleazy but still… my god. So, between friends, what happened? Did you sleep with him?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does not exactly mean?”
I take a deep breath. “Well, he fingered me and went down on me but we didn’t fuck.”
“Really?” Her response is not the one I am looking for but unfortunately, it’s the one I expected.
“What do you mean by really?”
I can hear Cris breathe on the other end so I know she’s still with me. “I guess the guy has a thing for fingering chicks.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course!”
I’m hesitant to tell her, but I feel like if I do, it will bring me some comfort in knowing that I got my world rocked on the first date and it makes me look better. “He didn’t actually finger that girl at Blush the other night. It was a PR stunt.”
“Are you serious? How do you know?”
“Well, I do talk to guys before I let them fuck me, surprisingly enough.” She laughs on the other end. I like hearing her laugh. It makes me feel like I am back to reality and it’s comforting “So, I don’t know what he was trying to accomplish with me but he just royally confused me.”
“Men are great at that, and they think we are the brain ninjas.”
“Preach, sister,” I find humor in the situation as well and let out a small laugh, followed by a deep exhale. “I was worried about telling you because of how you reacted to him the other night.”
“Well, I originally thought he was sexy, but then I was disgusted by his behavior. I just saw how nervous he made you and I couldn’t help myself but get protective.”
“Well, that’s why we call you the Mother Hen for a reason,” I joke, trying to get a rise out of her.
She reciprocates the laughter. “Just be careful. I know you and him have to talk about last night to figure it out and I know if things get serious between you two, you will have to come clean about working at Star Struck. I know I can’t hold your hand and help you through it all, but I will be here when you need me. I always will be.”
Cris is a gem and one I hold very dear to my heart. I can count on her for anything and absolutely everything. Then, I am reminded that I, more often than not, don’t return the favor, so while she is still on the other line, I have my chance. “So, while I have you on the line, how are you doing? How are things with Greg? The kids?”
“I’m okay,” Cris begins. “Listen, the boss is walking around the office so I have to go. Keep me posted, okay? And just write the article. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. You’re a great writer. You can do this.”
I know Cris is hurting and I could sense it the other night with her comment about Greg. She is tough as nails and I admire that about her. I just worry she is going to get caught in the same pain I found myself in before with Dan and I don’t want that to happen to such a good person, especially with kids in the middle of it all. “Thanks babe and you can call me whenever you need too, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thanks,” the other line falls silent and as it does, a part of my heart breaks for her. I need to get out of my own world wind of a life and start to focus on the people that matter most and the ones who will be there for me during the thick of it all. I need to be a better friend.
I sit quietly to myself on the covered toilet seat. That phone call felt like it was my last attempt at trying to decipher what the fuck happened to me last night and what the hell I was going to do when it came to this article. I don’t know how to construct a juicy article based on Ashton Croft without hurting his feelings or reveal information about him that won’t get back to me. I am at a serious loss and the hours of the day are ticking away. If I don’t get this article done, then the hours of my life are ticking away as well and death by the hands of Jane is not how I want to expire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ms. Hobbs?” I tentatively tap on the glass doors to her office, half hoping she hears me but mostly hoping she doesn’t.
“Yes?” She looks up over her eyeglass frames and right into my soul. Interacting with Jane on a daily basis might be the most difficult part of my newfound promotion.
“I um… I have the article done.”
“Come in,” she signals for me to enter, granting me permission and then gestures for me to shut the door behind her. “You could just email it to me, you know? Or put it on the tablet next to your desk to bring it over? We do like to save the environment, don’t we Miss Parker?”
Her rhetorical questions are lethal. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll learn. I hope. Let’s see what you have.”
I’ve never been more nervous to hand over an article to Jane. Writing my sex columns was easy; I was writing about myself and always kept my sexual partners who were apart of the story, anonymous. Writing about someone else or my experience with someone else, when that person had so much on the line, is probably my most difficult task to date. My hands tremble uncontrollably as I hand her the papers. “Sit.” I listen and sit down in front of her desk, waiting, impatiently, for her response.
She scans the article at an impressive rate and hands it back to me. “I want it juicer, Miss Parker. You two did go on a date after all.”
“I understand that Ms. Hobbs, but I…”
“So you will include every detail of that date, thank you.”
“I just don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.”
She inhales with annoyance and takes off her frames, slamming them on her desk. “Did you fuck him? Yes or no.”
I shake my head no. I am not about to confess the details of my non-sex sex with Ashton Croft. I still don’t know what to make of it and I’m not about to give anyone, other than Cris, a definitive answer until I know the details, through and through.
“So what did you do then?”
I swallow hard before speaking and feel like my entire body is shaking. “We, we just went out for sushi and then his driver took me home. That was it.” I’m lying and I’m never really that good at lying, so I hope she can’t tell.
“I don’t get it. He finger fucks some girl under a table and then goes on a nice romantic date with you?”
“He didn’t fuck that girl...” Dammit Trish. Why can’t you keep your big fat mouth shut?
“I beg your pardon?”
Well, I can’t go back now. I have to spill the beans or I am sure Jane is going to throw a phone book at my face, interrogation style, until I speak. “It was a PR stunt. The girl was hired. They did it for his image. They didn’t actually fuck.”
All of a sudden, Jane’s lips curl upwards and her eyes lighten. I think she’s smiling but since her face has been injected with so much Botox, I can’t be too certain. “This is a goldmine. Hollywood’s latest bad boy is a total farce. You’re going to turn around and you are going to write this right now. Do you understand me?”
“But I…”
“Devan,” she begins, winking at me. “It’s time to get back to work.”
Writing under a pseudonym does offer me some protection and I am glad Jane is looking out for me in that respect but it is still Trish, at the heart of it, writing the article. It’s still me, who is constructing an article based on truth that he trusted in me and no one else. It still damages my soul to know this. “Yes Miss Hobbs,” I follow her order because the fear of doing her wrong manipulates me.
I grudgingly peel myself off of the uncomfortable modernized chair in Jane’s office and walk back to my desk, feeling completely and totally helpless. “Strike one, Parker?” Drew starts laughing at me. I ignore her and go back to my hellhole of a station, to type up another article that makes me feel sick to my stomach.
An hour later, it’s in Jane’s inbox and a half hour later, with a few editing changes, it’s published online. Two hours later, it’s on every Twitter account, Facebook page and everyone across North America knows that Ashton Croft is a fake, courtesy of Devan Morris, aka Tricia Parker, aka I’m dead.
During that time, Jane walks into the office I’m in and publically congratulates me in front of my mortal enemies, Drew and the other girl, well, my newfound mortal enemies. It does bring me some satisfaction, mainly because it will get them off of my back for a few days and shut them up, but nonetheless, I am stooping to a level that I don’t want to go to and it is killing me inside. “I can’t remember the last time we did a story and rose to the top like we did today. The power of news is incredible,” Jane says, leaning onto my desk and facing me.