Loathe at First Sight

by Suzanne Park

  “Shit, this tastes like paint thinner.” He looked around and found a table behind us. Placing his drink on the corner, he said, “Yes, he’s hoping you’ll say something like that.”

  “And as the head of PR, do you agree? Are you here to coach me?” Tipsy tingles hit my toes and fingertips. That paint-thinner cocktail was seriously potent.

  “As someone who saw what you went through, I think you should say what’s in your heart.”

  “And what if my heart hates everything about gaming right now?”

  Kat and Rain walked by us, with two stolen trays of cookies. My heart softened a bit.

  Joe looked me in the eye. “With all the odds stacked against you, somehow you managed to release that game, with no executive support. Say whatever the fuck you want.” He grabbed his drink from the table and raised his glass. “Tell them all to fuck off.”

  Ian took the mic again and rambled off the names of everyone who’d helped make Girls of War a success. He paused and shuffled the index cards on the podium. “Today we also launched Ultimate Apocalypse, and we’ve reached over thirty thousand downloads as of an hour ago. We’re projecting to hit one hundred thousand before midnight. Congratulations to the UA team!”

  A healthy wave of applause filled the air. It didn’t sound like pity clapping.

  “I’ve invited Melanie . . . er . . . Melody Joo to come onstage to talk about her experience leading the production of this sleeper hit. We appreciate all her contributions as a woman in gaming, am I right? Let’s give Melody, our female production superstar, a round of applause for her hard work.”

  The clapping continued as I made my way to the stairs. Ian gave me a firm handshake at the podium. He whispered, “Five minutes. And then we drop the balloons. It’s on a timer.”

  I peered through the blazing white spotlights. Joe stood there right in the front, with five fingers held up. Thank god for Joe and his timekeeping skills.

  A quick scan of the room revealed it was 90 percent men. Some older dudes stood in the far back, presumably the board of directors. Ian drank artillery cocktails at the bar while Kat and Rain jointly stole stacks of survivor box lunches without him noticing. And Asher remained absent, probably still on the fucking phone with Warner Bros.

  I took a slow, deep breath, and then spoke from my heart.

  “Thank you for that rousing male speech, Ian, from the bottom of my female heart. Speaking of females, how many of you gave reviews for the Girls of War game on BetaGank or some other review site today?”

  About 80 percent of the audience raised their hands. Even some of the board members did. A few guys in the back even gave celebratory whistles.

  “And how many of you reviewed Ultimate Apocalypse?”

  All hands went down, except for Kat, Rain, Joe, and Kedra the receptionist. And the two dev interns. That was it. Six people, seven if you included me. No whistles.

  “Right. Seven people from this company reviewed that game. It’s an unwritten rule at Seventeen to have all employees honestly review every game we launch. Ninety percent of our company submitted reviews for Zooful Nation, which targets six- to twelve-year-olds. You aren’t anywhere near that demographic, and yet, you all posted reviews for that game.” I swallowed hard. “I’m not even saying UA should have gotten an automatic five stars from you. In fact, Kat over there is so honest, I bet she gave it only three.”

  She yelled back, “I gave it three and a half!”

  Her comment cut the tension. The crowd laughed and all eyes moved back on me. “Okay, let’s move past the reviews. How many of you downloaded UA?”

  Again, the same people, plus a row of women raising their hands in the back. Nolan burst through the doors in the back, donning a massive UA T-shirt, waving at me with both arms. I nodded at him.

  Moving to the front of the crowd, he winked at me and smiled proudly, fueling my confidence.

  “You see, Ultimate Apocalypse was the ultimate underdog game. It became an incubator project that was thrust into market without any room for error. You’ll remember that resources were taken away. We were moved to back burner status. And somehow, with our bare-bones team, we pulled it off. With no marketing budget. No dev resources. And a junior producer who flew by the seat of her pants but had an amazing team to support her to make it all come together. This game had been set on a course to fail, and the world expected as much. But the team of devotees, those seven people who had their hands raised high a few seconds ago, wouldn’t let this game crash and burn. Because that isn’t part of our company’s DNA.

  “Yes, UA was a sleeper hit. We won a coveted advertising award and got a ton of nongamer media coverage thanks to a dear friend of mine who moonlit as our publicist while pregnant on bed rest. We didn’t get a movie deal or anything, though. Warner Bros. must’ve lost my number or something. But we got a shitload of downloads and reviews, with no help from you all.”

  I looked at Joe. One minute remaining.

  Shit. Wrap this up, Melody. “I want to thank the core team who worked so hard to make UA successful. And to those who downloaded the game, thank you for that. To everyone who didn’t raise his hand, please think about why you didn’t feel compelled to support this game. What are your biases? What made you think, ‘I’ll help Girls of War, and Zooful Nation, but not this other game?’ I think you know why.

  “The UA team, despite all odds, proved itself. This game is on track to pass the break-even point this week and will be profitable. Soon, we’ll be competing with Zooful Nation on lucrativeness. So please, go do the right thing. Download and review this fucking game.”

  My phone lit up on the podium with a text from Nolan. *****FIVE STAR SPEECH!

  I cracked a smile and looked directly at him with my conclusion. “Thank you for your support.”

  The jumbo monitors around us lit up with “Congratulations!” messages as ceremonious trumpet music blared on the speakers overhead. Thousands of balloons showered down on the partygoers, many of whom stood silent and stunned. It was kind of like the Stephen King Carrie prom scene, but with balloons, not blood. And no death.

  A decent number of attendees snapped into action and downloaded the game. I said what needed to be said. My heart was no longer heavy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Wedding day. Also known as “Bridezilla’s Bitch for a Day” day.

  “Have you seen my phone? I swear I just had it. Can you call it again so we can find it?”

  “Can you unwrap this candy? My fingernails are drying. Just pop it into my mouth when you’re done.”

  “Ohhhhh, maid of honorrrrrrrr! Can you call room service and ask why they’re taking so long with my lunch?”

  Cinderella Melody. And Jane was the evil stepmother and stepsisters combined.

  This is only going to be for one day, I told myself, while waiting in the cashier line at the hotel minimarket. The morning began ominously, with my car not starting. Luckily, Nolan was nice enough to drive me to the hotel. With my blessing, he ordered room service up in the bridesmaids’ suite and crashed on my pillowtop bed while we got ready in Jane’s room.

  I placed three bottles of cold, lime-flavored Perrier water, an apple, and a banana in a basket. All for Jane, of course. For me, I grabbed a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. My comfort food. Mental note: do NOT touch any bridal shit with flaming red cheese dust fingers.

  Revised mental note: pour the Cheetos directly into mouth. No cheese dust fingers!

  “Can I get those for you? Or at least charge them to Sean’s room?”

  I looked up to find Asher grinning at me. He had a fresh haircut and no beard. He also looked tan and had less of a beer gut. That movie deal had done him wonders.

  “Hey, how are you, Mister Hollywood?” I asked cheerily. We’d be walking down the aisle together within a few hours, smiling fakely at the camera and at all the wedding guests. After the reception I could go back to mostly disliking him.

  Asher snorted. “Yeah, you can thank my dad for tha
t. He’s the one who brokered all the film and TV deals. He and Ian go way back and had a lot of discussions already in the works before Ian told me our studio was producing GoW. As for hard-earned success, you win hands down. I’m just a plain, lucky white dude at a video game company. You’re Melody Joo, slayer of internet trolls.” He unloaded everything from his basket onto the counter and I added my purchases too. “So, the news isn’t out yet, but I accepted an offer at a start-up game studio in Bellevue. I’m going to be a senior producer! I wanted to go somewhere my dad couldn’t interfere. Want me to put in a good word for you there?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Things at Seventeen were much better now. Great, in fact. My raise and bonus came through, and a few weeks after the UA launch, I was now in charge of Ultimate Apocalypse 2 production with my own small team.

  The cashier said, “Twenty-two dollars and ten cents, sir.”

  “Damn, Melody, how many bags of Cheetos did you buy?” Asher laughed. “Please charge it to penthouse 1201.” He turned to me. “I heard they have two Jacuzzis in there. You know, one for each of them.”

  He grabbed a few infant-size bottles of local artisan handcrafted vodka by the cash register. “Add these, too, please. To celebrate.”

  The cashier smiled politely as she handed Asher his liquor and pushed my brown bag full of sundries toward me, with Chester Cheetah peeking over the top.

  “Do you need to go up right now? We could have a . . . pre-party.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being gross or not. “I need to go up to the room or Jane will freak out. Candace will be here soon for hair and makeup, and then it’s wedding time. I’m the only one here to help Her Highness.”

  “Sean’s been a bit of a prima donna prick today too. He’s stressed, but happy. Sounds like those two were meant to be.”

  Asher’s phone buzzed. His eyes bulged as he read his message. “Holy shit, Melody. Look at this.”

  Sue from HR sent a shocking email on a Saturday afternoon. “It is with mixed emotions that we announce that Ian MacKenzie has stepped down from the role of CEO of Seventeen Studios. Ian will remain at the company, dedicating his time to special projects. Our interim CEO, Tope Claybrooks, joins our company in two weeks . . .”

  “Isn’t this great?” Asher bellowed. “Ian’s getting demoted! Anyone who is assigned ‘special projects’ at Seventeen is basically getting pushed out. It’s a bullshit thing that companies say when they don’t want it to look like that person is getting kicked to the curb right away. Trust me, the only special projects Ian is working on are cover letters and updating his résumé.”

  “Wow, I thought guys like him were untouchable.” I never thought someone like Ian could fall so mightily.

  Asher grinned. “If enough people complain about you to HR, you become a liability to the company.” He lowered his voice. “You remember how I went to Sue and told her about how he asked me to leak your game info? Well, my dad actually told the board. Other employees have complained about him, too. I wasn’t the only one. I’m actually surprised it took this long for the company to take action.”

  I searched online for Tope Claybrooks. Assuming I found the correct Tope with game-related work history, she was a midforties African American woman with chunky dreadlocks. She had most recently been SVP of development at Bigfoot Studios, a huge casual game company in the Bay Area, and she got her CS degree from Spelman, the black all-women college in Georgia. I couldn’t WAIT to see what changes she’d implement at our company.

  “Good riddance, right?” Asher said, and held up his hand in front of me, waiting for a fist bump or something. “Hey”—he shot me a pretend hurt look—“you can’t leave me hanging.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He put his fist down.

  An appointment alert buzzed on my phone. “I’ve gotta go. Hair and makeup time. I’ll see you on the aisle. Don’t trip me.”

  He said, “I’m too scared of you, honestly. I wouldn’t dare!” He said it jokingly, but I think he meant it.

  Back at the bridal room, the hair-and-makeup artist tapped her foot as I unloaded the sundries. Candace had just finished and looked very glamorous with a half updo and loose curls cascading down her shoulders.

  I squealed, “Awww, Candie!” We ran up to each other but we didn’t hug. One sudden move and her makeup could smudge, or a rogue hairpin could get snagged. I awkwardly patted her shoulder. “How’s your kiddo?”

  “Annabelle’s great! She’s gaining weight so fast now.” Candace teared up, and she began fanning her face and looking upward at the sky. “Oh shit, I don’t want my eye makeup to run.”

  I sat down on the chair and the makeup artist inspected my face. “You need false eyelashes.”

  Um, what? “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.” I could barely handle contact lenses. Fake eyelashes? No way.

  Jane chimed in with an opinion, of course. “Melody, I think you’d look amazing. She put some on me. It’s mainly for the wedding pictures, to make my eyes pop more.” She walked up to me so I could get a closer look. Sure enough, she had these mile-long thick lashes. But she looked pretty and normal in them. I never even wore eye makeup.

  “Candace, did you get them?”

  “She didn’t need them. Her lashes just needed some mascara. Her eyes are gorgeous and so big.” The makeup artist lifted her stash of eyelashes from her cosmetic bag.

  Thanks for pointing all of that out. “Fine. You can try it, but I can tell you now, you might need a plan B.”

  She asked me to open as wide as I could, and with my Korean eyes being shaped the way nature had intended, she had to forcibly hold them open the entire time as she gently glued the lashes onto the top and bottom of my lids. My eyes watered nonstop, which interfered with the glue drying. It’s not like I could help it. There were foreign objects near my eye sockets, and my eyes tried desperately to flush everything out.

  After five minutes of this medieval eye torture, she handed me a mirror.

  I looked . . . different. Like a hooker version of myself. And not in a good way. Every time I blinked I saw black lines.

  Blink, black. Blink, black. “These are glued on, right? It looks like they might be falling off and interfering with my vision.” Jane and Candace circled me, ensuring that the eyelashes looked great.

  “I . . . I can’t do this, sorry. I’m blinking way too much because I’m not used to having things hanging from my eyelids, and the more I blink, the more I notice the skinny black bars and it looks like I’m in jail.”

  Silently judging me, the makeup person unglued the lashes without protesting. I just prayed she wouldn’t punish me by giving me tight poodle curls and neon-blue eye shadow.

  The next time she handed me the mirror I looked much better. Pretty, in fact. Borderline glamorous. I hadn’t had a makeover like this since high school prom, and the person staring back at me in the mirror looked like a froofy Melody impostor. This fanciful look was nice for a day, but it didn’t feel like me. I couldn’t wait to wash it all off after the wedding and go back to my normal, lip-gloss-and-a-few-pats-of-powder life.

  Candace whistled. “Wow, she really enhanced all your features. You look stunning.”

  “Thank you,” I said, beaming now.

  With great care, we slid into our bridesmaid gowns and helped Jane into her wedding gown. She walked up to the full-length mirror by the bathroom door and slowly turned. A dazzling, picture-perfect bride.

  She grinned at Candace and me. “Wow,” she said, admiring her dress detailing on her back. “I look amazing.”

  Candace and I looked at each other and burst into a fit of giggles. Jane was something else.

  My phone buzzed. Asher. It’s showtime. Groom and groomsmen are ready and in position. Philharmonic is playing! BTW I have a flask in my jacket if you need it.

  “Time to head down!” I yelped, and we gathered our bouquets in the hallway. Nolan peeked out of the bridesmaid suite next door. His ruffled hair had multiple cowl
icks and he had pillow marks on his right cheek. “You look beautiful, Melody. All of you do! Good luck!”

  “Thank you,” I said, blushing as we walked down the hall.

  Candace’s eyes bulged at the sight of him and she elbowed me in the ribs. She whispered, “Wil and Nolan hang out all the time now. He talks about you so much.”

  I shushed her. “If he liked me that way, he would have asked me out already.”

  She responded with a shrug but no words.

  A door slammed and someone yelled, “Hold the elevator! I need to ask the front desk for towels. For some reason you don’t have any.” Nolan barreled toward us and made it just in time.

  On the ride down, I repositioned a loose curl that had fallen out of Jane’s tiara. When I looked up, Nolan shifted his glance away from me, smiling to himself, like he had a secret he wasn’t disclosing just yet.

  When we reached the ground floor, Jane and Candace exited the elevator first. Nolan said, “Um, Melody? Can you wait a second?” Up ahead, neither Jane nor Candace noticed that I broke formation while Nolan pushed the door open button.

  The doors started to beep. In a panicky whine, I said, “Oh god, you know I don’t do well in elevators.”

  “Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” He gestured with his hand for me to walk out first. He reached out and gently gripped my arm, not letting me join the bridal party yet. “So . . . I’m not an intern anymore.”

  My cheeks flushed at his touch. Instant blush, no makeup artist needed. “Yes, that’s right! I should have congratulated you before. Should we go get ice cream?” My heart raced and I couldn’t think straight, so all I could do was kid around. “You know, I should go now. It’s time for the ceremony.” The bridal party had turned around and was heading back toward us.

  How was it possible to feel so warm when he simultaneously sent chills down my fingers and toes? Those were some powerful pheromones he had.