by Max Monroe
Me: And yet no one had the balls to tell her she wasn’t invited?
Abby: I think we need to just stop answering her calls and texts. We gotta cut the cord. Release that poisonous viper from our veins.
Me: Ugh. That sounds really harsh.
Jen: And talking about her behind her back isn’t harsh?
Me: True. But, in our defense, she isn’t exactly nice. I mean, last time I talked to her, she told me she was really proud of me for having the strength to still go out in public with the “horrid” dark circles under my eyes. I WAS ON A DEADLINE.
Jen: God, she’s awful. Maybe one of us just needs to tell her. Like, hey, Simone, you’re our friend and all, but you’re just like too shitty of a person for us to continue to be friends with you.
Me: Not it!
Abby: Not it!
Jen: Real mature, bitches.
Me: Good luck, Jen. Tell me how it goes! Chat later! Love you!
Abby: Same! Love you guys! Byeeeeee!
Jen: I’M NOT DOING IT, ASSHOLES.
Jen: Hello?
Jen: Did you guys seriously just do that?
Jen: Ugh. Bitches.
Poor Jen.
But in my defense, I wasn’t very good at confrontation. I oftentimes did everything possible to avoid it.
When I was sixteen, I had attempted to tell a girl named Melissa what I really thought about her telling everyone at school I was easy. Which was preposterous, considering I had spent most of my teenage youth inside my parents’ basement watching Gilmore Girls and reading Jane Eyre.
But the “Lola is easy” rumor had ticked me off, and I had been ready to rumble…with words, of course. Teenage Lola Sexton wasn’t going to back down; she was convinced that day was going to be the day she stood her ground and confronted someone.
For lack of better words, it had been on like Donkey Kong.
If an awkward hello, a moment of panic, and handing Melissa a baggie full of fresh blueberry muffins made by my mother was considered “on like Donkey Kong,” then I had confronted that chick like a goddamn professional.
Yeah, confrontation. It wasn’t my thing.
Well, unless the person was Reed Luca. For some reason, he brought out a different side in me. His ability to twist my funny columns into ludicrous insinuations that I was brainwashing my readers lit a fire under my normally reserved ass, and I had no qualms about telling him how I felt.
Sure, most of it was through emails, but baby steps. At least I wasn’t sending him baked goods and flowers, right?
Confident that Jen was the best woman for the confrontation job, I tossed my cell phone onto the coffee table, grabbed my roller skates from the side of the couch, and started to lace up. Okay, I also had to knee-pad up, and elbow-pad up, and wrist-guard up, and protect my head with my favorite glittery helmet. I might’ve loved to skate, but I wouldn’t go as far as saying I was an expert skater. The fact that I even bought a mouthguard to wear while roller skating was proof of that. I refused to wear it, though. I had a tendency to whistle to whatever music I was listening to, and whistling with a mouthguard in was damn near impossible.
I know, I know. I’m an odd bird.
But in my defense, San Francisco has a lot of hills, and that’s no easy feat for an amateur roller skater.
Even though my skating skills lacked accuracy, I was determined to make it another form of transportation. I still hadn’t found my vehicle version of Delilah, and a girl needed options besides her bike.
Today, I was using the skates to make a quick run to my favorite mom-and-pop grocery store for coffee creamer. My fridge’s contents were dismal at best, and one day soon, I’d get determined and actually go to the grocery store to buy more than just one item and some candy from the display by the checkout line.
But seriously, how can anyone not buy at least a bag of M&Ms while they’re waiting in the checkout line?
Whoever you are—because I really think there’s only one person in the entire world who can achieve this insanely difficult task—I applaud you.
“Be good, Louie,” I shouted over my shoulder as I carefully walked over the carpet with my skates and toward the door.
I didn’t even need to check for his response. No doubt, it was either sarcastic or him just completely ignoring me.
I locked the door to my apartment and adjusted the straps of my backpack on my shoulders. I had learned quickly that if roller skates were my mode of transportation, I had to have a backpack on to carry shit. Otherwise, stuff in my pockets tended to stab me when I ended up on my ass.
The instant my wheels hit the tile hallway, I started to wobble. My arms shot out as I tried like hell to catch my balance, and luckily, I managed to grab ahold of the banister leading toward the stairs before I face-planted.
Don’t worry. It always starts out this way.
I promise, I get better the more I skate.
My gaze moved down the two flights of stairs, and I immediately changed tactics.
Definitely elevator.
With the wall as my guide, I made it to the doors and tapped the down button. The doors opened a few seconds later, and I skated in, rolling right into a guy holding a newspaper.
“Whoa.” He stepped back while the paper in his hands wrinkled and jostled.
Without any other options, I gripped his forearms with my hands and managed to steady the wobbles again.
A nervous laugh escaped my lips. “Sorry about that. I guess I miscalculated that entrance.”
“First time on skates?”
Now was probably not the time to let him know I’d had these wheels for six months.
“Uh-huh,” I lied and removed my death grip from his forearms. “Just learning the ropes, I guess.”
“Well, you know what they say,” he said with a smirk.
My head tilted to the side. “What do they say?”
I honestly didn’t know who “they” were, but if they knew my track record with roller skates, I’d venture to guess they’d tell me to stop skating.
“Practice makes perfect.”
“Ah,” I said with a nod.
“I’m surprised your parents let you ride around on those things in the city.”
My parents? “Uh…”
I had a feeling now also wasn’t the time to tell him I was, in fact, thirty-two and not sixteen. He’d most likely give me the familiar look that everyone else gave me. If I had to put that look into words, it probably said, “Wow. You’re kind of weird.”
The elevator doors opened, and he folded up his newspaper and slid it into his back pocket. “I hope you stick to the courtyard. It’s safer that way, little lady.”
Little lady. Internally, I smiled at the absurdity. This guy was probably younger than I was.
“Okay.”
“Have a good day,” he called over his shoulder as he made a beeline for the front gate.
“Yeah. You too.”
Slow and steady, I skated off the elevator and through the courtyard. Once I found my rhythm—and balance—I was moving down Folsom Street like I was seconds away from lifting off and flying.
I was that good. Well, at least, in my head I was.
The fact that I had managed to make it five blocks without falling on my ass was a goddamn record. My determination was paying off. In no time at all, I’d be a skating pro without the awkward warm-up that included falls and crashing into unsuspecting gentlemen in the elevator.
Two blocks later, I rounded the sidewalk and saw the sign for Gus’s Community Market. I smiled and carefully navigated the cracks in the concrete.
Knowing the end was near, my gaze jumped up and zeroed in on the entrance doors, but my little bubble of happy was immediately popped. There stood Simone, outside the doors, chatting up a teenage boy wearing a “Gus’s” apron.
Oh, fuck. Abort. Abort. Abort the mission!
I tried to maneuver my skates to a stop, but instead, I just jolted myself to the right. It was a domino effect after that. My
knees wobbled, my feet shot out in the opposite direction of one another, and I fell directly on my tailbone, on the concrete sidewalk.
Pain shot behind my eyes and I shouted, “Motherfucker!” loud enough for anyone within a fifty-mile radius to hear.
So much for being incognito.
“Son of a bitch.” I stared at my pathetic display and groaned.
“Need a hand, LoLo?”
Oh, God. Say it isn’t so…
I followed the masculine hand being held out toward me, up the veiny forearm, to the defined chest, until I reached a set of blue eyes I knew all too well.
Reed Motherfucking Luca.
Could this moment get any worse?
“Lola!” A poorly executed British accent called toward me. “Oh my God, are you okay?” Simone kept shouting as she walked quickly toward me. “Everyone just saw you fall. That looked so embarrassing!”
Yep. It could get worse. It could, and it did.
“We want you to start doing a weekly spotlight on the website too,” Rhonda Leech decreed as I toyed with the hem of my T-shirt, already over this meeting in every way possible. She’d called me in first thing this morning, but it’d taken me nearly the whole day to follow orders. With the way she seemed to bark all of her words like an angry dog, I was guessing she wasn’t thrilled about my pace.
“Your video was a hit for several reasons, but I’m not naïve enough to think one of them wasn’t how goddamn physically attractive you are.”
I rolled my eyes as she tossed out a hand and waved at…well, me.
“And you aren’t naïve enough either, so cut it out with the eye rolls.”
“I just had no idea you’d been pining for me, Rhonda,” I teased, and her whole face seemed to ice up.
“Can it, Luca. You’re a pain in my ass. That’s all you are.”
I figured that was true enough and kind of exciting, seeing as a little healthy confrontation was pretty much my running goal with Rhonda. It wasn’t that I wanted to be the token asshole employee, or that I wasn’t taking the job seriously. It was that the more I came to this office—and it had only been a few times so far—the more I saw how terrified Rhonda had everyone around her. She didn’t give pats on the back, she gave ass-chewings. And since no one else was eager to teach her some lessons of her own, I willingly filled the role. It was, in fact, one of my specialties.
If confrontation were a superpower, I’d have my very own cape.
“But people are loving the little dance you’ve got going with Lola Sexton, and I love what the people love. So I’ll deal with the pain by constructing a pillow made of money.”
I had to laugh at her single-minded focus. No wonder the paper kept her at the helm.
“I thought the press was supposed to be unbiased. You know, only here for the news.”
Now, she was rolling her eyes.
Still, a promise I’d made brought my attention back on task.
No more videos. I’d promised it and swore it to Lola during our very first encounter, and if I reneged, any chance of keeping her close would be lost. I was a liar, but not like this—not when it was this important, and especially not when it would completely destroy my own achievements and goals.
“Sorry, I can’t.”
Apparently, Rhonda’d still been talking—though I hadn’t heard a word—and my declaration interrupted her midsentence.
“What?” She shook her head. “You can’t what?”
“Do any more videos.”
She waved me off. “It’s all set up. You won’t have to do any of the other work. Just stop by the office, do the recording, and go on your way. Though, sorry to tell you, smoking in the building is strictly prohibited.”
“That’s okay.”
She smiled. I did too.
“Because I’m not doing the videos. And the rules are pretty loose where I write.” At my apartment.
“Reed,” Rhonda started, her voice placating when she noted the serious set to my face. “Listen—”
“No videos. I can’t. But my column will be on time every time.”
“Reed—”
“Is that it?” I asked, standing from my chair and leveling her with a look that said it was.
Lines ruined the previously smooth skin between her eyes, her face pinched in anger.
“Fine. I can’t force you to do the video,” she acquiesced. The set of her jaw said she’d already checked with Human Resources to find out. “But you should know that this is going to seriously affect your success here.”
“Aw, Rhonda,” I cajoled. “Don’t you worry about me.”
With a rap on the doorframe, I made my exit. Her assistant, Lyle, looked like he wanted to high-five me on the way out, but I didn’t hang around to chat.
Down the hall and down the steps, I moved past the girl at the front desk with a wave and out the doors into the fading sun.
Sunset wasn’t exactly late this time of year, and sun wasn’t a guarantee in San Fran even when it was up. It depended on where you were, what side of the hill, and how badly the fog had settled into the city’s hold. Still, this was a fairly late meeting for the regular working world, and as much as I’d have liked to say it was in an attempt to convenience me and my lack of convention, I was pretty sure it had more to do with Rhonda’s demanding schedule she was always reminding me about. I’d tried to reschedule for tomorrow, but she’d flat out told me I’d lose my job if I didn’t make it in tonight. Hell, she’d probably planned to have me shoot my first video on the spot tonight, material be damned.
I stopped to light a cigarette and looked up from my lighter just in time to see Lola, moving a hundred miles an hour on a pair of roller skates, make an abrasive move, spread eagle, and go down hard right on her ass on the sidewalk.
I tossed the unsmoked cigarette down without a thought and jogged across the street after one cursory glance to check for traffic.
She was still trying to pull her shit together when I got there.
“Need a hand, LoLo?”
Lola stared at my hand, considering the offer with about as much enthusiasm as if I’d offered to share my plague with her. I was about to retract it and my hand when an annoyingly fake British accent-wielding woman approached us in a trumped-up tizzy.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Everyone just saw you fall. That looked so embarrassing!”
She shifted her attention from Lola to me rather quickly when she arrived.
“Oh! Who’s this?” she asked coyly of Lola, who was still sitting uncomfortably on the sidewalk.
I’d had enough. Reaching down, I scooped my hands under Lola’s armpits and brought her to her feet. She looked annoyed, but like there was no way in hell she was going to reference her feelings toward me in front of the fake Brit.
“Reed Luca,” I said, offering her my hand. She took it and held on an uncomfortably long time before I prompted, “And you are?”
“This is Simone,” Lola grumbled before she could answer for herself.
Yeah, right. If this chick’s real name was Simone, I’d pay you five hundred dollars.
Sensing Lola’s annoyance with absolutely everything transpiring in that moment, I turned my attention to Simone. “Nice to meet you. Practicing for a role?”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Your accent. I figured you were practicing for a role. Which is a good idea, by the way. It could use a little work.”
“I’m not an actor,” she protested, a little uncertainly but dialing up the charm.
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s probably a good thing, huh? Pretty tough field to break in to if you’re short on talent.”
Lola coughed to cover a bark of laughter.
Simone turned to her with fake concern. “Oh, dear. That cough sounds horrible. So unattractive too.”
“Know what, Simone?” I cut in. Her big doe eyes came back to mine. “It was really nice bumping into you, but we’re late.”
“Oh? What for?” she asked, and Lola look
ed to me again. I didn’t mind. This was one of my absolute favorite fucking things to do.
“We’re doing a huge shop for a thing we’re doing with Meals on Wheels. That’s actually why she’s on the skates.” I hooked a finger toward Lola with emphasis. Simone looked between us, and her eyes lit up. Time to squash that.
“Anyway, it’s too bad you’re not an actor because we were hiring a few extras for the whole TV spot, but we really do need people with experience.”
“Oh, when I said I’m not—”
“Nice seeing you,” I interrupted her, pulling Lola into the store on her skates by an elbow. She turned awkwardly to wave over her shoulder, so I moved behind her and grabbed her by the hips to make sure she didn’t eat it again.
“Bye, Simone.”
“Oh, my God,” Lola cried when the automatic door closed safely behind us. “Far be it for me to give you credit for anything, but that was amazing.”
“What?” I asked innocently, grabbing a basket and hooking it on my arm. I didn’t need anything. I hadn’t been intending to shop at all, but I figured that was the reason Lola was here.
“Using your evil to do good. I swear Simone is the vapidest, fakest, most annoying human being on the planet, and you just schooled her at her own game.”
“And yet,” I mocked, a finger to my chin in question, “you seem to be friends with her.”
She rolled her eyes. “We can’t just ditch her. We’ve been friends for years.”
“Sure you can. It’s easy. People I don’t like in my life? Zero.”
“Well, even if I get rid of Simone, I still have a very persistent one,” she said pointedly, and I laughed, guiding her into one of the aisles. She just hung on for the ride with two hands clamped around my elbow.
“You only fake-hate me. That’s different.”
“No, no. The hate is very real.”
I waved her off and grabbed a box of tampons from the shelf, throwing it into the basket. “No. You hate that my opinion is different from yours on many topics, but you don’t hate me. You like me. You enjoy me. You’re entertained right this very second.”