Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus

by Cathy Yardley

  Lunchtime passed but Elli didn’t stop to eat. She couldn’t. She had taken in the poisonous words and she knew any food she tried to put on top of them would pour right back out. After one that included a photo of Ruby with her eyes scratched out by what looked like a red pen, Elli could take no more. She had to get away from this awfulness, back to a world where she felt safe.

  She knew Ruby was in the other room, working on an introduction for a panel discussion. Elli walked to the door and knocked, not waiting for a response to enter. Ruby was seated in a wingback chair, her frail legs propped up on an ottoman. Elli was surprised to see that Ruby looked to have drifted off to sleep, swirls of papers in front of her on a lap desk. “Ruby?” she asked. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  Ruby’s eyes fluttered open and she blinked a couple of times, looking confused. It appeared to take the woman a moment to remember where she was and why Elli was there. “Yes, hon? Do you need something?”

  “I was just thinking I could do the rest of the letters another time. I’d say tomorrow, but I promised my nine-year-old neighbor we’d go hunt for Pokémon, so tomorrow’s not great. I maybe could do the day after that, but my mom needs help letting out a dress for a family wedding.” Elli started by talking fast and managed to pick up speed as she went. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d be so busy right about now, I didn’t expect it at all.”

  Elli waited for Ruby to look chagrined and then ultimately send her away, but Ruby didn’t respond immediately. She merely stared at Elli’s face, as though trying to figure something out. It was unnerving.

  Finally, Ruby replied flatly, “Cut it out, Elli. For both of our sakes.”

  No one had ever said anything like that to her before. If anything, once Elli started flaking, people couldn’t wait to get her out the door. Sometimes they offered to pay her a little extra, through the day or week, all because they didn’t want to deal with it. It always made these situations that much easier. She wasn’t sure how to respond to a refusal. “But I just can’t give you the time and attention I thought I could.”

  Ruby looked exhausted. Maybe she had stayed up too late the night before? She had been very involved in trying to finish Resident Evil 7. She’d been talking about it for a week.

  Ruby shook her head. “No. You asked for this job, which means you take everything that job entails. Including hate mail. Is there going to be meanness and ugliness? Of course. Every job has that. Hell, every part of life does, too.” She paused, folding her arms in her lap. Elli had never seen this expression on Ruby’s face. Her lips were pressed tightly together, almost disappearing.

  “I’m sick, Elli. Really sick. And the truth is, I gave you this job because you were so eager,” Ruby continued. “I wasn’t sure I needed an assistant. But now that you’re here, I see that I really do.”

  Sick? She looked overworked, but not sick. Though people sometimes confused the two. Surely Ruby didn’t want to force her to do something that made her so uncomfortable. “And I’m happy to do so much of it,” Elli said brightly.

  “Then you decide, Elli. Are you going to be a Hermione or a Bella? I know which one I’d rather be.”

  Ugh, who wanted to be a Bella? Weak and trembling with no hopes or aspirations of her own beyond becoming the vampire bride to a hundred-year-old teenager? Still, Elli wanted to go home and sink back into her own world of cosplay. Or curl up in her favorite chair with her favorite blanket and binge an entire season of Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki quietly smoldering at any demon who dared take them on.

  “I need you. I can’t keep up with everything alone,” Ruby said, again sounding wiped out. “I thought I could, but… you came into my life for a reason.”

  Elli felt that way, too. And she could tell that would be Ruby’s final sentiment on the subject. She hesitated for another moment, trying to decide what to do. It took only a few seconds of reflection to realize she couldn’t walk out on this woman. Who would be there to help Ruby through things? She needed help, and it would be cowardly of Elli to run away simply because she was uncomfortable. And there were so many parts of this job that she loved. There must be a game she could invent to distract herself from the venom in those letters. Hermione would handle this challenge with aplomb.

  “All right.” Elli nodded. “But I think I should get us lunch before we head back into the trenches.”

  Ruby nodded. “Whatever you’d like to order, it’s on me.”

  “Oooh, have you had the hot chocolate at Jet Fuel? I know it’s spring, but I can never get enough of it.”

  Ruby laughed. “Hot chocolate sounds great. But maybe grab a bagel sandwich or a cheese plate along with it.”

  CHRISTINA

  Thanks to Christina’s schedule now being tied to Vivi’s both personally and professionally, she wasn’t on the call sheet for the day and spent the morning in bed. Josh had pushed for Christina to show up anyway and be a floater, but Warren rarely listened to his second. Acting as a floater PA was the worst job, because it meant that she would be busy all day, filling in wherever needed. It required caring and effort, two things Christina wasn’t especially known for. The best part of Warren letting her stay home was being able to tell Josh, the Douche Extraordinaire, that not only wasn’t she coming to work, but she was getting paid her full day rate.

  Sometime after one p.m., Christina’s cell phone rang. She was buried beneath a mountain of covers and practically had to excavate herself out. She saw that the call was from Vivi and answered.

  “Why are you awake so early?” Christina groaned. “We have to be back at work at eight tomorrow.”

  “I was hoping you’d come over and fuck me so hard I’d need people to carry me around tomorrow.”

  Christina was a big fan of sex, but Vivi was straight-up obsessed. In spite of her exhaustion, she smiled. “Too tired to fuck,” she moaned. Taking the phone along with her, Christina dived back under the covers. There was too much daylight to contend with on the surface world.

  “Aww,” Vivi replied, sounding like a purring kitten. “I’m sure I have a little blue pill that can help with that.”

  No more pills for at least twenty-four hours. No blues, no pinks, no clear ones with skulls stamped on the gelcap, and no more goddamned liquor. Just for a minute. Just long enough for Christina to be able to feel her face and fingertips again. “Rain check on the blues, okay? The only thing I want to do today is order something shitty and disgusting from Uber Eats and stay in my sweats, watching terrible movies from the nineties. I want to see some cities blow up, blockbuster-style.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Could we do that here?” Vivi’s tone had changed; it wasn’t her sex kitten persona at all. If anything, Vivi sounded uncertain, as though she didn’t know what to expect of Christina’s answer.

  Christina sat up a bit, surprised. This was her recoup ritual, but no one had ever joined her during it. “I might still be too drunk to drive.”

  “Then get a car. It’ll cost like six bucks at this hour.”

  Christina considered this for a moment. “All right,” she finally agreed. “I can be there in forty minutes.”

  “But I only live twenty minutes away from you,” Vivi replied, switching back into a baby doll voice.

  “You’ll want me to shower, trust me.”

  Vivi laughed. “No, I won’t. I’m an actress, not the fucking Queen of England. If we feel like showering later, we’ll do it together. If we don’t, we’ll let the alcohol ooze out of our pores and cover it with popcorn grease.”

  “What kind of food do you want?” Christina asked. This wasn’t a Dan Tana’s kind of afternoon. She wanted the shittiest, fattiest food that wouldn’t burn its way through the container before it got to her.

  “There’s an amazing hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant on Sunset that delivers in twenty minutes. The color of the orange chicken does not occur in nature,” Vivi replied. “Of course, it’s pretty gross coming back up, but that’s the price
you pay.”

  The vomiting thing again. Christina didn’t know how to handle it. She’d worked in the industry since college, and she understood the pressures Vivi faced (as much as someone could, from the sidelines). But Christina legitimately liked Vivi, more and more each time they hung out, and this behavior was unhealthy and dangerous. And she didn’t know how to broach the subject without saying something insensitive.

  “Hey, how about we go for Kung Pao chicken and brown rice?” Christina suggested. “Then we get our junk fix but you don’t have to worry about throwing it all up after.”

  There was a decided pause from the other end of the line. Christina could tell Vivi got what she was trying to say.

  “Deal,” Vivi agreed finally. “But I need an egg roll with meat. None of this spring roll shit.”

  Christina’s smile widened and she heaved herself off the bed. “Order the food. I’m on my way.”

  She walked to the dresser, pulling out her comfiest sweats—and a slightly less comfortable panty/bra combination. Christina wasn’t looking to get laid this afternoon, but just in case…

  MICHELLE

  It had been a shit week. No one was saying Aditi’s lack of focus was Michelle’s fault, but she could tell from the looks they gave her and the passive-aggressive comments that they all felt it. Up until now, she’d always been supremely confident in her ability to do her job—and do it better than most. But now work felt like a desert filled with quicksand, and she didn’t know just where to put her feet to avoid the traps.

  Thanks to the Ted and Jamie debacle, her coworkers now knew more about her than she would’ve liked, and not on her terms. Then there was Aditi.

  Michelle knew she wasn’t helping Aditi, but she didn’t know what else to do. This was her mode of being, and it had worked thus far. She could see no other route to take, and the lack of options gave her a flutter of panic that sent her running back to the empty pack of cigarettes. And almost to the bodega at the end of the block to buy a brand-new carton.

  Then there was the situation with Ted. He’d sent her a snide text earlier that morning, saying he would be stopping by the apartment to pick up a few things. His exact wording was: “No need to be there, Michelle. I’ve seen enough of you lately.”

  Asshole.

  Maybe if he’d been interested in seeing more of that side of her, their marriage wouldn’t have drifted apart into the vast, cold nothingness of space. At least she was able to respond that the super had changed the locks—standard procedure when one person enters or exits the lease, she said. It was a lie, but Ted didn’t need to know that.

  Besides, she didn’t trust him. A few grand had been withdrawn from their “fun” bank account, the one they used for vacations and non-necessities. They had been told not to touch anything but the basic checking, and only for day-to-day living. Double asshole. Why couldn’t he just be cool about the divorce, the way she was? So it hadn’t worked out. Of course that sucked. But they’d been together for a million years and he knew the old Michelle inside and out. Her hopes, fears, and insecurities. The new Michelle… Well, even she was still figuring her out. But for Ted to be so mean just felt cruel. And she’d never pegged him for cruel. Ted was always the more thoughtful of the two of them in the relationship: He remembered favorite flowers, her favorite song from the sainted Rumours album, and made sure their favorite Italian place always sent way too much fresh chili oil with the already insanely spicy arrabbiata. But divorce does crazy things to people. She’d seen it in her childhood, but she naively hadn’t expected to encounter it in her adult life.

  It was just after two p.m. when a message popped up on Michelle’s phone. She assumed it would be from one of her friends, but it was Pam. Did you vet Aditi’s post before it went out to Jezebel? I guess I’m mostly fine with it but like to be kept in the loop. There are a few edits I really would have liked to make.

  Michelle frowned. Damn, damn, damn. Before answering, she opened another browser window and went looking for Jez. And there it was, several posts down. “Safe Spaces.” Why was Pam upset? Because Aditi had broken the chain of command? Clearly the folks at Jezebel must have liked it, because they threw it right up in the queue. Clicking back to the messaging app, Michelle typed: No, she sent it over herself. I might’ve suggested it, don’t know. She didn’t really trust Aditi on this particular front, but she wasn’t about to say that.

  The typing bubble appeared, but a full minute went by and no words appeared. Michelle hated this phenomenon more than anything. It always made her think the ultimate response would either be ten pages long or that the sender was so angry they needed to write and delete thirty attempts before getting one right. Finally, the screen dinged and Did you read it? popped up.

  Michelle replied, Give me a minute, then clicked over to Aditi’s post. She immediately understood Pam’s issue. The post was good, and it was timely. It was obviously born of what had happened to Taneesha, but Aditi also referenced their own part of the publishing world and the struggles with the MRAs within. One of whom, Sterling Knight, was also part of Michelle’s editing roster.

  But Michelle felt conflicted. She was proud of Aditi. They’d worked through the drafts of her book, Michelle coaxing her each time to speak from her own experiences, even when world-building. It was an aspect of Aditi’s writing that had always been weak, as she’d been reluctant to put so much of herself on the page. But their work together had clearly improved this aspect of her writing. The Jezebel post was personal, and Michelle instinctively felt that women all over the world would identify with the sentiments expressed. Not to mention, Sterling Knight really had it coming, even if Aditi didn’t mention him by name. That self-righteous jackhole could use a little pushback.

  By way of confirmation, Michelle scrolled down to the bottom and quickly glanced through the comments. There were already hundreds of them, all positive, from what Michelle could see. Women sharing their own stories, admitting to being afraid to express these same concerns in their own lives. Forgetting about Pam, Michelle broke into a grin, pulling up the Slack window. She knew Aditi was on.

  Michelle: @Aditi, KICKASS post on Jez. I’m proud of you.

  At first, there was no response. But then Aditi is typing appeared.

  Aditi: Thanks. :D

  Michelle wanted to say more, but her phone dinged again and she remembered that Pam was still awaiting a response. Thoughts? the screen read.

  It’s great work. I’m sorry if I overstepped by having her send it straightaway. Won’t happen again. How’s it being received?

  The response from Pam was quicker this time. Jez site nearly crashed from the shares. Highest traffic in months. The Samantha Bee show has already called about having Aditi on during the launch.

  And suddenly the shit week didn’t seem so bad. Michelle let out a whoop and clapped her hands. That was her girl. This was the Aditi she’d been waiting for. Maybe making her a little nuts had paid off after all. The sudden noise led to a polite knock on the door. Jamie leaned her head in. “Sorry to bother you, but is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fantastic,” Michelle said. “But thanks for checking.”

  Jamie nodded and went to close the door, but hesitated. “One of my friends just shared Aditi Sodhi’s Jezebel post on Facebook. It’s really good.”

  “One of your friends in publishing?” Michelle asked. It was a positive sign that Aditi’s words were resonating, but they lived in a pretty small bubble. To Michelle, the approval of someone already in their world was a lot like a grandmother’s approval—sweet but meaningless.

  “No, one of my high school friends from Texas,” Jamie replied. “She’s a stay-at-home mom.”

  Fucking-A-right, she is, Michelle thought.

  Now that was a win. Michelle often reflected on how much harder their jobs were in the age of the Internet, but virality was one of the few benefits of this new age of publishing. It was so tough to get something to hit, but when it did, it had legs beyond thei
r own efforts.

  “Does your friend read genre fiction?” Michelle asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Since I’ve come to work for Faraday, she’s all caught up on our catalog.”

  Michelle smiled. “Grab one of Aditi’s signed ARCs and send it to her.”

  Jamie’s face lit up. “Really? She would think that was so cool.”

  With the mood Michelle was in, she was close to sending the Facebook-sharing Texas mom every upcoming ARC they had. “Of course.”

  “Thanks. She’ll be thrilled and I’ll look like a rock star,” Jamie said as she headed back to her desk.

  As soon as her assistant was gone, Michelle clicked back over to Aditi’s post and refreshed the page. At the top right was a small flame icon, showing how many times the story had been viewed. 153.7K. Not bad for something that had been posted less than three hours ago. For context, she went back to the main page and scrolled to several earlier posts. One about the Kardashians yielded 94.2K, but another poppy post about the week’s tabloids was listed at 22.9K. Clicking through every post she could find, Michelle was astonished to discover that most had between four and nine thousand views.

  Holy shit.

  This was even better than she imagined.

  TANEESHA

  The last straw was the photos. The threats had been coming in for days, dead rodents delivered by FedEx, fifty pizzas delivered to her house (which she’d promptly driven to a homeless shelter and dropped off), and so many Twitter DMs and posts about rape and torture that even with most notifications off, trying to get into an app—Twitter, messaging, voice mail—had turned her phone into a brick. She’d finally had to follow through on deleting her account altogether.

  All of this was hard to take. But then came an envelope of overnighted photos: Taneesha walking into her office. Unlocking her front door. Buying coffee at the stand near Starwisp. A whole slew of them, packaged together with the words See you soon scrawled on the envelope in red Sharpie.