Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus

by Cathy Yardley

  She cleared her throat. “So, drip coffee, or a latte or something?”

  “I’d love something hot… and sweet.” His smile broadened.

  Damn it. That had definitely been a come-on. Act normal. Deflect.

  “So, maybe a mocha?” She glanced at the cell phone on the counter, wondering how long that Pidgey would wait before it disappeared. “Or a salted caramel latte? I could do a peppermint or cinnamon mocha, too. What do you think?”

  The man stared at Elli for a long minute. “You got a boyfriend?”

  At this rate, she’d never get rid of him in time to catch that Pokémon. “Um, no.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nope!” Would he notice if she just sort of… peeked at the phone? She smiled extra bright, keeping eye contact with him as she tipped the screen upward and tried to look down without looking like she was doing so. “So, about that coffee…?”

  “How about dinner?”

  “No.” She pointed to the case, deliberately. “See? Breakfast sandwiches, some wraps, cookies, pastries. I could heat up a Danish, if you want. That ought to take care of that hot-and-sweet thing.”

  He stared a long minute. “You know,” he said, sounding vaguely pissed off, “you could just say you weren’t interested.”

  He was still muttering as he walked out of the shop. That could’ve been worse. It had only taken her a few minutes to get rid of him. Sometimes it took fifteen minutes and a screwed-up food order to shake these guys loose.

  Well, the important part was that he was gone. Elli picked up her phone. Pidgey was gone too. She swiped around the map to make sure and then checked her inventory. She was starting to run low on Poké Balls, but on her break she could walk around the block and resupply from all the PokéStops in the neighborhood. It was the best thing about taking this job at the coffee shop. There weren’t a lot of PokéStops near her house but there were six or seven right on this block.

  Her phone buzzed and a purplish flying creature popped up on the map.

  Was that… Aerodactyl? Only one of the rarest characters in Pokémon GO!

  “What are you doing?” a voice said behind her.

  Elli recognized it immediately as belonging to her boss. Of all the times for him to show up! She shoved her phone in her apron pocket. “Um, hi, Mr. Pasternak,” she stammered.

  “Hello, Elli, how has it been this morning? Busy?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been okay, Mr. P.”

  “How many times must I tell you? Please, call me Aaron.” He patted her shoulder.

  “Um… Aaron.” It felt weird, but then, she’d felt a little weird around Mr. P. since he’d hired her. His black hair was going seriously gray at the temples, and he was a little pudgy, wearing sweaters that were a touch too snug and khaki pants that were a little too loose. She knew he was maybe forty-five, but he seemed so much older, especially since he went to synagogue with her parents. They were in their early sixties, having had her later in life, the surprise baby after her brother and sister. They loved Mr. Pasternak, though. Possibly because he took in their luftmensch daughter and gave her a job.

  “I think it’s all the construction,” he said, scowling at the workers through the front windows and leaning against the counter.

  If she thought the conversation with the road guy was bad, this was much, much worse. Mr. P. could talk for hours. Sometimes she thought he only came in so he could talk to her. He wasn’t married, his life was the shop. He was probably pretty lonely.

  She wondered if he’d ever tried playing World of Warcraft. There was always somebody online.

  “So… were you texting a friend?” he asked, gesturing to her pocket. “A boyfriend, maybe?”

  “I was just playing Pokémon GO.” She pulled out her phone, shifted it around. Where was it? If she’d lost that Aerodactyl…

  “Oh. I saw that tsutcheppenish on the news. You’re not one of those crazy people, are you?”

  “I’m… um, not familiar with that word,” she said.

  “It’s like… an obsession. An irritating…” He must have seen or sensed her feeling of offense, because he quickly stopped. “Never mind. Not a big deal,” he said, waving his hand. “I have your paycheck.”

  She reluctantly put her phone away, but she eagerly took the check. “Thank you so much, Mr. Pasternak!”

  “Aaron,” he said. “After all, I’m not so much older than you, nu? I’m only forty. You make me feel like an old man!”

  “You’re only forty?” she asked, then winced, because the surprise in her voice was obvious.

  “I look much older, then?”

  “Oh, no… not at all,” she hedged. To distract herself more than anything, she opened up the check right there, so she wouldn’t have to look at his face. Then she frowned. There was something wrong.

  “Um… has there been some mistake?” she asked. “This is too much.”

  “A little bonus,” he said, and his grin was wide and a little bit smug. “Think of it as… as a late Purim treat, if you like.”

  Funny, all she’d ever gotten for Purim before was hamantaschen cookies. An extra two hundred bucks? Way better! She now had enough money to buy the craft paint for Princess Vivian’s jewelry and chain belt, and the satin and velvet for the sleeves. And she could spend all the rest of the time between now and the con focused on making the dress perfect!

  Best Purim ever!

  “That’s so awesome!” she said, giving him a quick hug. She quickly regretted the impulse when he hung on a little too tight, a little too long. “Um… so, thank you! I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me. This is wonderful!”

  “I’m so glad you’re happy, dear,” he said, positively beaming, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

  She scooted a step back, then took off her apron, tucking her phone in her pocket. “I hope I’ll see you again sometime. I mean, I’m sure I will,” she said, when she saw his face cloud. “This has been a wonderful opportunity. I really can’t thank you enough!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She put the apron on the counter. “Well, now I have enough money,” she said. “This job was just temporary, until I could save up enough to go to New Orleans with my friend.”

  His eyes bulged. “What?”

  “This was always just temporary,” she said. “Didn’t my parents mention that, when you told them about the job?”

  “No, they most certainly did not,” he said, his voice frosty. “They said nothing of the sort.”

  “Oh. That’s… awkward. Well, I really do thank you.”

  “You’re just going to leave? Right now?” He was turning red. “Just like that? It’s not even the end of your shift!”

  “Yes, but you’re here,” she said. “Really, the shop is hardly ever busy, and between you and Alec and Kendra, you really don’t need me at all.” Kendra, an older woman, had even complained that she’d lost hours because they’d brought on Elli. She’d felt vaguely guilty about that.

  He looked grim. “You are how old, Elli?”

  God, this was excruciating. Maybe she should just make a run for it?

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  “You act so much younger.”

  “Um… thanks?” She glanced longingly at the door. “So, I guess I’ll see you around. Bye!”

  “Tell your parents that you did not work out!” he called after her. “Tell them that you were not who I thought you were!”

  She winced. That would come as no surprise, unfortunately. She’d disappointed them more than she’d disappointed all her previous employers put together… and there was quite an assortment of past employers.

  Safely on the sidewalk, she pulled out her phone. Of course, the Aerodactyl was gone.

  MICHELLE

  It was the end of the day—finally—when Pam stopped in her office. “Still nothing from Aditi,” she growled. “And too late for it, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry.” Michelle pushed her hair out of her face
. The ponytail had only amplified her headache. She’d taken out her contacts and put on her old glasses. Her sweater had a soup stain and now a matching coffee stain at her wrist. She looked, and felt, like a complete disaster.

  Pam glowered. “It’s going to have to get done as soon as possible tomorrow. I figured she’d flake. I was able to get a little breathing room from most of them, except for io9. I’ll see if I can beg them to squeeze her in somewhere.”

  “I’d really appreciate it.” Michelle took off her glasses, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. She was probably wrecking what was left of her makeup, but… fuck it. At this point, she already looked more like a hobo than a professional. Raccoon makeup couldn’t worsen the situation at this point.

  Andrew, another editor, peeked his head into the office at the two of them. “We’re going for drinks. Michelle, no offense, but you look like you could use one. Up for it? How about you, Pam?”

  “Yeah. Today’s sucked, I could use a few,” Pam said, then studied Michelle. “He’s not wrong. You kinda look like shit.”

  “Thanks for that,” Michelle muttered.

  “I don’t… you know what I mean,” Pam said, with a small grin at Andrew. “You normally look like you stepped out of a Vogue ad. Now, you look like…” She laughed. “Well, like one of us.”

  Michelle found herself grinning ruefully. “I had to edit Sterling Knight.”

  Andrew hissed, drawing back and making the sign of the cross with his fingers. Pam hooted.

  “No wonder… shit. I’d have a bad day too, dealing with that dickhead,” Pam said, with even more than her usual venom. “Do you know he ensured that I wouldn’t work on his publicity? Said he didn’t want to work with a dyke, basically.”

  Michelle’s jaw dropped open. “He said that? To your face?”

  Her phone rang—Ted again. She’d had a hard time getting into the culture at Faraday, and now, for the first time, she felt like she was fitting in. Maybe she should have drinks with them. She hit ignore, swearing she’d call him right back, maybe see if he could meet them out somewhere.

  “Nah. Told Gwen, to her face. That’s his MO,” Pam said. “But he did lord it over me and yelled when he came in and I was stuffing envelopes with the publicist who was organizing his book tour. Got all up in my business.” Pam’s face turned red. “I wanted to kick his ass so badly.”

  “Everybody who works with him feels that way,” Andrew said. “He’s been published by Faraday forever, but he goes through editors like chewing gum. If he wasn’t so tight with major players at the WSFS and that stupid bloc…” He shook his head. “God, I hope they just take a seat this year. Nobody wants to see their slate of meninists flaunting pulp, and I’m tired of wading through all the controversy and rants that inevitably spring up.”

  “Like that’ll ever happen.” Pam shook her head. “I swear, they get worse every year.”

  Michelle’s phone buzzed again. Another text from Ted. PICK UP THE PHONE, DAMN IT.

  “Did you hear what he posted about on that blog of his? The Knight Rants?” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Seriously. If you thought his fiction writing was bad…”

  Michelle tried to surreptitiously text Ted back. IN A MEETING. IS THIS AN EMERGENCY? She tried to keep looking at Andrew, nodding, chuckling as he retold the story of Sterling’s latest skewering of Social Justice Warriors and Vegan Lesbian Anarchists.

  “And he’s not being the least bit… I don’t know, ironic?” Michelle chimed in. “Even after editing him, I keep expecting it to be some sort of massive troll.”

  “I thought he was doing a really big meta-parody at first, too,” Pam said. “Then I met the guy, and realized—nope, just a pure asshole!”

  They all started laughing. Some of the stress released from between Michelle’s shoulder blades, although her neck still felt tight. Ted was pissed she’d blown him off today. Well, there had been plenty of times when he hadn’t answered her calls about contracts, too, she thought defensively. They’d have to talk about it when she got home.

  God, she wasn’t looking forward to that.

  “Where are we having drinks…” Michelle started, but Jamie walked into the room, looking paler than usual.

  “Michelle,” she said, “Um… Ted just called.”

  “I haven’t decided,” Andrew continued. “What are you guys in the mood for?”

  “Martinis. Or are they lame now?” Pam said. “Fuck it. Whiskey.”

  Michelle stood up. “I’ll call him back,” she told Jamie, starting to grab her purse and coat. She’d call on the way down to the subway, maybe. “Did he say what it was about?”

  Jamie looked nauseous. “He says…” She cleared her throat, glancing at Pam and Andrew. “He says he’s moving out, and thought you should know.”

  Pam and Andrew immediately fell silent, looking at Michelle awkwardly.

  “Oh, God, Michelle,” Andrew murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

  Pam quickly shuffled toward the door. “You should probably take that call, then,” she said. “And don’t worry about drinks. You’ll, um, probably be busy?”

  For a publicist, she was horrible at personal interactions, Michelle thought absently, feeling numbness at the sheer sucker punch of humiliation hitting her. “Ah… all right. Thank you, Jamie.”

  They all fled, closing the door behind them. She picked up the phone, hitting Ted’s contact with enough force she was surprised her screen didn’t crack. “The FUCK, Ted?” she asked.

  “Oh, now you answer me?” he said. She could hear traffic around him, noise—he was outside. “I’m spending the night at a hotel. Not that you’d notice. And I found a divorce lawyer.”

  She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “It isn’t working. We aren’t working,” he said. “I haven’t been happy with you for some time now. I’ve told you repeatedly, and you just don’t seem to listen. I’m starting to realize that you just don’t care.”

  She clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. “Are you kidding me with this?” she hissed. “I’ve bent over backward to accommodate you! It just never was enough!”

  “I think we both knew this wouldn’t work out,” he said, in that pseudo-calm voice that made her even more angry.

  “And you had to drop this on me at work? You couldn’t just wait until I got home to face me?”

  “I figured this would be easier for both of us.”

  You figured it would be easier for you, she thought viciously.

  “And besides,” he said, “if you’d only picked up the phone earlier, when I called, we wouldn’t have had to go through all this drama. I’ll be in touch, Michelle.”

  With that, he hung up. She stared at the phone in shock before slamming it down on the desk.

  “ASSHOLE,” she shouted, then remembered she was still at work. She closed her eyes.

  Lock it down, she told herself. Wait until you get home—to your now-empty apartment. Then let it out. She’d made enough of a fool of herself today. Ted might’ve fucked up their marriage, but she’d be damned if he screwed up her job as well.

  ADITI

  It was one o’clock in the morning when Aditi finally made an effort to get some clothes on and make her escape.

  She’d meant to text Druv, but frankly, she’d gotten distracted. Said distraction was currently stretched out on the plush king-sized bed, making the soft whooshing noises that she hoped meant he was sleeping.

  Filtering through Tinder had been tedious, as always, but the way she was now feeling, it was worth it.

  Not that it was hard to find guys who wanted to hook up on Tinder. That was simple. Just say “I want to get laid” fairly early on, and most of them would snap to attention. But it was tough to find guys who weren’t shallow and hung up on the fact that 1) she was Indian, and 2) she was overweight. Even guys who were ugly, totally out of shape, and living in their moms’ basements seemed willing to call her out when she’d send the first picture. That’s why she d
id it early on. She didn’t have her face on any Tinder pics—she sure as hell didn’t want anyone she knew to find out. But even as a “big girl,” her body pics were sexy AF and she knew that they communicated just what she was interested in. Once contact was initiated (and the guy didn’t seem like a complete troglodyte) she’d go ahead and send a selfie with her face.

  If a guy was turned off—or worse, if they said some stupid shit like “you’re pretty for a fat chick”—she was over it, no harm no foul. They didn’t know what they were missing. She did. And she wasn’t going to waste it on an asshole.

  When she found guys who were into her, the next step was to weed out the desperate and cluelessly horny, and the dangerous. It took time, unfortunately. Some quick sexting and gauging how they responded (and how often they responded) was the next order of business. She’d sexted with three guys this afternoon before settling on this guy… what the hell was his name? Chet? Chad? Something like that. He’d won the toss because the first guy was woefully unimaginative, and his dick pic, when it finally arrived, showed a curving twig. The second guy had been a little too needy, saying he wanted to meet, meet immediately, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, please could he call her, he thought they had a connection. The guy was one step away from boiling bunnies—pass.

  But Chet/Chad/Whatever had been witty, with a filthy mouth, something she liked in sex talk. And when he’d sent her the requested dick pic (and waited for the request, good for him)—well, unless he had tiny hands…

  Oh, yeah. She could definitely work with that.

  The fact that he’d arranged a relatively swank hotel room had been another plus. Better for safety (for her), but it also showed that the guy wasn’t desperate. A guy who could afford a room like this could no doubt afford companionship, either the paid kind or the women who simply liked a guy who could pay.

  Then she’d met him. His face was nice: dark hair with a slight wave, square jawline, piercing eyes. But his body… Holy. Shit. The guy was chiseled out of granite, a Grecian statue crossed with a spank-me wet dream.

  And when they’d actually had sex… yeah, baby. He knew how to work with what he had—and what he had was impressive.