Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus

by Cathy Yardley

  “What the hell are you doing over there?” Vivi asked. “You look all red.”

  “I’m fixing something,” Christina said through gritted teeth. She didn’t even look over. She was all in. She’d never written an article or anything, but she’d been pissed and vengeful plenty of times.

  This time, it felt righteous.

  The cops won’t listen to her. They say until she gets hurt—!!!—they can’t do anything. And her work blames her for the problem, tells her there’s nothing they can do, implying that she somehow provoked all of this.

  Christina hit the send button. Within minutes, she started getting responses.

  That is FUCKED UP!

  What the hell?

  Unfortunately, it’s common. Isn’t that what always happens? Women get threatened, men do nothing until they’re dead.

  That makes me so angry.

  I’d like to send THEM a dead cat!!

  Yeah! See how THEY’D like it!!

  Christina smiled. That. That was the response she was looking for.

  Feeling a little calmer, knowing that people got it—and that there was righteous anger on Taneesha’s behalf—she sent the next comment:

  The guy who started all of this, the guy she works with? Here’s his address. Let’s see how HE likes it.

  Her finger hovered over the Return key.

  “On my signal,” she muttered, “unleash hell.”

  MICHELLE

  Michelle sat in the small conference room, waiting. She was wearing a suit, her best power suit, in funeral black. Partially because she usually felt confident in it. Mostly because she felt she’d either want to die or kill someone after meeting with Sterling Knight.

  She’d made the mistake of reading his blog prior to this meeting. She wanted to get a sense of where his head was. For a guy who was asking for an apology, he hadn’t minded driving more traffic to Aditi’s blog post. In typical fashion, he’d nicknamed her “Lardass Jasmine.” He’d pointed out her “feminist agenda,” wondering openly how such a thing had gotten past “his own publishers.” He then mentioned a slew of other award-winning books that were diverse, rallying his base, claiming that they were sub-par and only got attention because of bleeding heart liberals. He was fanning the flames of hatred in his already stirred-up readership.

  She had a bone to pick with Mr. Knight.

  Gwen opened the door, wearing her usual flowing dress with a serious expression that was utterly at odds with it. Sterling Knight, on the other hand, looked like a caricature. He was wearing a suit, a navy pinstripe with a fussy red tie and a camel overcoat. He even had a fedora. Taking off the overcoat, she saw the pocket square that matched the tie. The only thing he lacked was an umbrella. He looked like his author photo… that is, preening, pretentious, and deliberately posed.

  Well, she couldn’t fault him for branding. He looked dapper, until you looked in his eyes. There, she saw hints of derision and smugness.

  He was dying for this apology. Just couldn’t wait.

  She gritted her teeth, got to her feet. “Mr. Knight,” she said.

  “Mrs. Andrada,” he said. His voice didn’t go with the dapper outfit. He should’ve had a low, sonorous voice. Instead, his voice had a little squeak to it, with just a hint of Jersey. “Or should I say Ms.? I understand you’re getting divorced.”

  She stiffened, and involuntarily looked at Gwen, who reddened.

  Goddamnit.

  “Either is fine. I never changed my name,” she replied instead, shaking his hand.

  “Of course you didn’t.” His handshake was a trifle too strong—not painful, but definitely meant to intimidate. She gripped back hard, then released his hand and motioned to the table. Ignoring her motion, he sat at the head of the table, leaving Gwen to flank his left side as Michelle took the seat at his right.

  “Can we get you anything? Coffee, tea? We even have that root beer you like.” Gwen sounded nervous, supplicating. Michelle clenched her jaw.

  “You know me so well,” he said, but he stared at Michelle as he said it; another power play that practically said, I have history with the publisher. You’re just a flunkie. But the words out of his mouth were simpler: “I’ll have coffee today. Cream, two sugars.” It was curt, like something you’d tell a waitress. He barely looked at Gwen as he replied, a small smile playing around his lips. “And I’d love a bagel or something. Didn’t have anything to eat on the train in today.”

  Michelle glanced over at Gwen, who was smiling and nodding. Didn’t it bother her? No, of course not. Sterling Knight was making them tons of money. Gwen would probably bend over and tie the man’s shoes if he asked her to.

  Gwen got up, not offering Michelle anything, not that Michelle expected her to. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Gwen said.

  “No rush,” he said, waiting until Gwen left the room and the door shut. Then he turned to Michelle, an eyebrow cocked. “So. I believe you have something to say to me?”

  Oh, buddy. I have a ton to say to you, she thought, but kept it locked down. “Perhaps it’d be best if we waited for Gwen.”

  “Because you’re being forced to apologize,” he said. “And you want to make sure you get credit for doing it right.”

  Michelle kept her face impassive. “Because she called this meeting, and I don’t want her to feel that she’s being left out of anything.”

  “It’s an apology,” he said. “You can tell me now, and tell me again when she gets here, if you want to make sure your bases are covered.”

  He loved this, she could tell. Loved feeling like he could lord it over her. But she wanted Gwen there, so she could make a few points of her own.

  “Not going to say anything?” he baited. “That’s not very friendly.”

  “How was your weekend?” she asked, her voice mild.

  “Would’ve been better if I hadn’t been dealing with all this,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how many of my readers forwarded me that post of yours—sorry, your author’s. What the hell was her name, again?”

  “Aditi Sodhi,” she said. “I’m surprised you don’t remember it. You posted about her just yesterday.”

  You know, the one you gave the racist, weight-shaming nickname to?

  “You read my blog?” he said, with a laugh. “I find that hard to believe. Or maybe I don’t. Looking for ammunition?”

  She had to do something. She’d brought a notebook and a pencil with her—it was her usual MO, going into the conference room, and it often gave her something to fidget with. She gripped the pencil, looking at its spike-sharp tip.

  “I wanted to be clear on why you feel so strongly about needing an apology,” she said carefully.

  Gwen chose that moment to come back with a cup of coffee and a bagel. “It’s onion, with cream cheese. I hope that’s all right?”

  “That’ll be fine.” He glanced at Gwen, not thanking her as he took the beverage and food. “You’re coming in at the perfect time. Michelle here was just saying she didn’t understand why I need an apology.”

  Gwen’s eyebrows jumped toward her hairline, and she stared at Michelle. “But we discussed this,” she said, her words sharp.

  Michelle suppressed a sigh. “I said,” she repeated, forcing her voice to stay calm, “I wanted to be clear on why you feel so strongly about needing an apology. Which is why I read his blog.”

  Gwen’s surprise turned to a glower. “Faraday does not take political stances,” she said. “As I mentioned to you in our meeting the other day, Sterling, it was simply one author’s opinion, not Faraday’s.”

  “I think it might have been more Michelle’s idea than you think,” he murmured. He pulled out his phone and tapped in a few things. “You’re friends with Ms. Sodhi, aren’t you? Really close.”

  “We are friends, yes,” Michelle agreed.

  He turned his phone around. Michelle winced. It showed a photo of her and Aditi, cosplaying at some con—with Elli, and at least one of Elli’s friends. Aditi was a steampun
k Bollywood princess—her costume was frickin’ amazing. Michelle had dressed as Æon Flux.

  “I fail to see what this has to do with your apology?” Michelle said. Her voice was as flat as a record.

  “What I mean is, this little debut nobody comes out of nowhere, and suddenly she’s writing viral screeds on Jezebel, pushing a feminist agenda?”

  Michelle blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “I think you coached her,” he said. “What’s more, I think you’re promoting a feminist agenda here at Faraday, and I’m very, very disappointed in the direction this company’s acquisitions and editorial are moving in.”

  Gwen went pale. “I can assure you, we have absolutely no agenda of any kind here at Faraday, other than publishing the highest quality fantasy possible.”

  “Really?” Now his voice lashed out, and he shut off his phone before pointing at Michelle. “Then why don’t you tell me why this bitch decided to bleed red ink all over my manuscript, trying to emasculate my characters and push the narrative toward some bullshit Social Justice Warrior dictates?”

  So that’s what really had his boxers in a bunch. He was still smarting over the fact that she’d deigned to edit him.

  Michelle wanted to point out that his characterization was flat. His main character was a bulky man who went through women like K-cups when not saving the world through violence and intimidation, and he had absolutely no developmental arc. It wasn’t even that he was a bad character. He was simply a void, a cartoon, the opposite of a fleshed-out character. Knight had gotten so used to getting green-lighted because his space operas focused on the bruiser, the Captain Kirk-style womanizer, he hadn’t realized that his readership was starting to dip a bit and his stories were getting repetitive and lazy.

  But Gwen was already looking apoplectic.

  You still need this job. Bills. Your editorial career.

  Michelle took a deep breath.

  “I take full responsibility for the issues with your edit,” she said, and saw Gwen shoot her a quick, grateful glance. “Which is why you’ll no longer be working with me.”

  “I made that damned clear,” he said. “You’re not doing me any favors there.”

  “I’m sorry that we couldn’t see eye to eye,” Michelle said, even though it galled her. She gripped the pencil, but otherwise didn’t let her body language show any change. “As to Aditi’s post, her story itself has feminist threads to it. She has a friend who was recently doxed, and she was writing in response to that.”

  “I imagine her friend did something to deserve it,” he said. “People don’t just get doxed randomly, you know.”

  Michelle’s eyes widened at that. “She did something to deserve it?” she said. “She deserved to get her work and home addresses published? She deserves to have food delivered at all hours, demanding payment? To have shit left on her doorstep? To have guys following her, taking photos?”

  He scoffed. “Pranks. You know how the online community is.”

  “She’s getting death threats.” Michelle took a deep breath. “So is Aditi.”

  “Yes, well… what are the odds that any of that happens?” Sterling waved it away. “I get death threats all the time. From SJW types. Nobody’s clean on either side of the aisle.”

  Yeah, but have you ever been really afraid for your life? Really?

  Michelle gritted her teeth. “You mentioned Aditi in your latest blog. If you didn’t want it to go viral, maybe you shouldn’t have helped by sharing the link to your readership?”

  His eyes glinted dangerously. “They had a right to know. And comment. I’m not the one who needs to apologize here.” He turned to Gwen, pointedly.

  Gwen frowned at her.

  “Aditi won’t be posting anything new on any blogs with a… feminist readership,” Michelle said, her voice cracking slightly. “She won’t be publishing a follow-up.”

  “You shouldn’t have encouraged her in that direction,” Sterling said. “And frankly, I’m not impressed with your non-apology. I am starting to think you’re singling me out for a campaign of retribution.”

  “You weren’t even mentioned in the article,” Michelle countered.

  “Funny, how your type tends to say ‘Oh, it wasn’t about you,’ but when people on the right say things, you snowflakes get unhinged,” he said, the Jersey accent getting a little more pronounced. “Then, it’s ‘Oh, it’s obvious’ and ‘dog whistle’ and all that crap. Well, I think you’re trying to push your liberal bullshit agenda in Faraday, and in the sci-fi/fantasy community in general, and I’m telling you right now: I won’t stand for it!”

  He got to his feet. So did Michelle.

  “I’m going to keep an eye on you, and your author, and Faraday,” he roared. Gwen cowered. “Because this isn’t over.”

  With that, he plunked down the coffee, hard enough that it spilled over, scorching his hand.

  “GODDAMNIT!”

  “Oh, my God,” Gwen said. “Sterling, please…”

  He shrugged off her restraining hand, grabbed his coat, and stormed out.

  “Fuck,” Michelle said. “Just… fuck.”

  Gwen glared at her. “Couldn’t you have just placated him? Would that really have been so hard?”

  Michelle glared back. “He called me a bitch,” she said. “And you just sat there. He said Aditi’s post was about him, and she doesn’t even know him. He’s pissed at me, he hates me—and dammit, you know I was right about his edits. You want to fire me over this? Because he’s got a hard-on for attacking liberals and wants everything to go back to the glory days when men wrote sci-fi and women didn’t? Seriously?”

  Gwen rubbed her face. “He’s a problem,” she said. “I’m not saying he’s right. But I’ve known him for more than thirty years. For Christ’s sake, he’s a legend in the sci-fi community. He’s written Nebula-winning work.”

  So fucking what? Michelle wanted to scream.

  “He was my friend. He championed me when it was really hard to be a woman editor in sci-fi. He’s not all black and white.”

  “So you’re saying that because he hasn’t been sexist to you specifically—despite treating you like a waitress—he’s an okay guy?”

  “Watch it, Michelle,” Gwen snapped. “What I’m saying is, I understand why you’re upset. But we have to handle this delicately. And frankly, it won’t kill us to be nice.”

  Michelle stared at her for a long minute. “I… I have to get out of here. I have to go.”

  With that, she left Gwen in the conference room, her stomach roiling. She felt trapped, completely out of control. She wanted to do something. Drink herself into oblivion. Except that drinking made her nauseous—she couldn’t hold her liquor. And she didn’t like how drugs made her feel; they’d only exacerbate the situation. She wanted to hit something. Do something. Feel better.

  She frowned. There was only one place, so far, that had helped her take the edge off. Maybe she needed to try it again.

  TANEESHA

  I am done, Taneesha thought. One hundred percent, utterly, completely DONE with all this shit.

  She was so tense, her shoulder blades felt fused together. She’d stopped for coffee and could’ve sworn that a car was following her. She’d taken a really long, roundabout route to work to try and see what was going on, and was late because she didn’t turn until the person stopped following her. Of course, thanks to the Douchebag Squad of Reddit and 4Chan, she probably didn’t need to take the precautions. After all, there was apparently no one online who wasn’t aware of where she worked, what her schedule was, and what her car looked like.

  Christ on a cracker, she was more than done.

  She had tempered her Bey look a little. She was wearing jeans, but they were fierce ones: skinny distressed jeans with deliberate slashes, paired with a fitted burgundy T-shirt that had a woman with glasses and a piece of tape over her mouth with SUPER-INJUNCTION scrawled on it in Sharpie. She wore a pair of fuck-I’m-fierce burgundy stilettos that made her strut ext
ra forceful, causing her braids to swing like chains.

  No one is fucking with me today.

  If she kept repeating it to herself, kept holding on to her private Sasha Fierce act like a life-saving talisman, she just might start believing it.

  It took a full hour before somebody finally commented on her shirt. “What does that even mean, super-injunction?” Mike, one of the coders, said, nodding at her shirt. “Is that a brand or something?”

  She smiled, Sucralose sweet. “It’s an English tort law, actually.”

  He blinked. “Huh?”

  “It’s when someone can not only block journalists from talking about something,” she said slowly, “but it also prevents the journalists—or anyone—from talking about the fact that they’re not allowed to talk about it.”

  Just like here. Where they’re hoping that not only will I stop making a fuss about getting stalked and getting death threats, but I also won’t talk about why I’m not supposed to make a fuss.

  She waited for it to sail slowly over his head. He did not disappoint her.

  “Ooookay,” he said. “Whatever.”

  Her phone lit up, and she jumped, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed the embarrassing jolt. Of course, no one was paying attention to her, and for once, she was thankful. Ever since she’d gone to HR about being doxed and stalked, people had been avoiding her even more than usual. She was toxic; she was a “problem child” in the making, and nobody wanted to be near her when the inevitable conflagration kicked off. Or, you know, if I get shot, she thought, tears stinging her eyes.

  She glanced at the display. It was the front desk. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes, then answered it. “Hello?”

  “I’ve got a guy here who says he wants to see you.” The receptionist sounded nervous.

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  Taneesha forced herself not to hyperventilate. “No. I’m not expecting anyone. What does he look like? Does he seem dangerous?”

  The receptionist swallowed audibly. “Um… let me ask his name.”

  Of course she couldn’t answer if he actually did seem dangerous! Oh, God. Should she be calling the police right now?