Musings of a Gossip Queen: A Chick-Lit Comedy

by Victoria Bright

  “I’m not a bubble brain; I’m sure I can remember a number,” she says, rolling her eyes. Yeah, sure…

  “Fine. It’s 212-344-7926,” I answer.

  “212-344-7926. Got it! I’ll text you,” she states, stepping back into her apartment and closing the door.

  I shake my head and enter my own apartment. Milo comes flying down the hallway like a bat out of hell, tangled in toilet paper.

  “Milo, what the hell?” I shriek, chasing him around the living room to remove the toilet paper. As soon as I pick him up, I cringe as my fingers brush against the wet toilet paper under his belly.

  Please don’t be pee. Please don’t be pee. Please don’t be pee.

  Milo looks up at me and wags his tail, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as if he’s laughing at me. Yep, it’s probably puppy pee. Great.

  9:22 p.m.

  Living room couch

  After cleaning psycho Milo’s mess, I curl on the couch with a glass of wine and my tablet. After leaving the gang at the bar, my mind keeps reverting back to my old life. Although I’ve been gone for about a month and a half, I’m curious to see how much has changed since leaving.

  I make a fake Facebook account and search Audrina’s name. Seeing her smiling default picture brings tears to my eyes. It wasn’t long ago when I used to be in those default pictures and now I’m completely scrubbed from her life. I scroll through her public timeline, a small smile forming on my lips to see that she and Jacob are still together despite how I almost broke them up. She looks happier than ever and for that, I’m happy, even if it means I had to lose her.

  As I continue scrolling, I come across some of the posts she made when the meltdown happened.

  “It’s funny how your own best friend can betray you and spread lies about you and your boyfriend. #backstabber #liar #nofriendofmine”

  The post has over 50 comments, ranging from “She’s a lying bitch,” and “She’s obviously jealous of you since she has no life. What a whore.” These are some of the same comments that some people flooded my page with after word broke out, causing me to have to deactivate my page for a few weeks.

  I take a deep breath and type Casey’s name in the search bar. The only public default picture he has is of some anime cartoon character, robbing me of seeing his face. He hasn’t posted anything publicly in almost a month and a half, but the last public post says something that I know is meant for me.

  “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done. I’ve lost everything because of you. #Burninhell #blabbermouthB #nowImhomeless #thanksObama”

  With a sigh, I look up Cameron’s name. Tears that I’ve been holding back roll down my cheeks as I look into the blue, smiling eyes in his profile picture. Back then, I thought he was too nice, not really my type, and a bit too clingy. Oh, how I wish I could have all of that back. I wish I could have my old life back. It’s hard being in a new city with no one to rely on and some endangered baboon hating you for no real reason. I wish I had him to call and cry to. I wish I had Audrina and Casey to laugh with when I told them about my stories from work. I wish I had someone, anyone at this point.

  My phone buzzes next to me with a text message, revealing a number that isn’t saved in my phone.

  [Unknown]: Party is at 11 2morro night. Limo will be here @ 10:15! Get that SnapChat ready!

  I chuckle to myself. Madicunt should probably start updating her resume to send it out to new magazines once I take her job.

  Blake: Sounds awesome! Can’t wait.

  While I have my phone in my hand, I look down at the now smudged number that Silas scribbled earlier. After saving it in my contacts, I shoot him a quick text.

  B: Hey, it’s Blake. Looking 4ward to 2morrow. Where should I meet you?

  I hold the phone in my hands and wait for a reply to come through, only to nearly jump out of my skin when it rings and “Sex Bomb” pops up on my screen. WHY WOULD HE CALL? WHAT SHOULD I SAY?

  Milo looks at me from his position on the back of the couch and cocks his head. His curious eyes look as if to say, “Well, are you gonna answer or be a cock block?” I glance back down at the screen and clear my throat before finally pressing the green accept button.

  “Hello?” I answer, doing what I think is a sexy phone operator voice.

  “Blake?” He sounds genuinely confused. Did he even mean to call me?

  “Y-yeah, hi,” I say, feeling super awkward.

  “Oh good. I thought I had the wrong number at first. You sounded like my aunt Gertrude for a minute there,” he replies. I slap my palm against my forehead. Yeah, phone sex operator is NOT my thing. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Oh no…I’m just, uh, hanging around,” I say, wincing as the words came out. Geez, I haven’t been off my dating game THAT long to not know how to talk to a man on the phone.

  “Well, I’m calling to see if you’d rather me pick you up in the morning and take you there,” he says. Either he’s doing an awesome job at ignoring my awkwardness or I’m overthinking the whole thing.

  “That sounds good. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself and your passion about animals,” he says. What the hell does that even mean?

  “Cool.”

  “I’ll see you at 9 then?”

  “Sounds good.”

  There’s a pause that seems to go on for eternity before he finally clears his throat. “See you tomorrow then,” he says.

  “Right back at ya,” I state. Oh God, why’d I say that? How lame can I be?

  Thankfully he chuckles. “Good night, Blake,” he says and hangs up. I squeeze my phone in my hand and squeal, startling Milo. Sure, we’re only going to an animal rights protest, but a girl can dream.

  11:26 p.m.

  Laying in bed

  Blake Unfiltered blog post #787

  It seems like last night was successful. Free Willy was upset (as expected) that Sex Bomb and I had more fun than she wanted us to. Gary even told her if she didn’t get her shit together (well, not exactly in those terms, but you get the point), then I could end up replacing her. Man, was Shamu upset! I almost thought we’d have to get a tranquilizer gun to put her down with. Oh well. Sucks for her. It’ll suck even more if Sex Bomb and I end up together. Then she can ride off on the huff train on a first-class trip to Cuntland.

  Speaking of Sex Bomb, I’ll be spending tomorrow with him. Sure, it’ll be for a protest, but it’s alone time with him outside of work. Maybe I can put my moves on him and see where that’ll lead me. I’m sure I’d get further than Madicunt would. And can you believe he thought I sounded like his aunt? Gertrude sounds like a woman who does nothing but adjust her hearing aid and hack into a handkerchief. Here I was thinking I sounded sexy when I sounded like someone’s aunt who spoked too many cigs.

  On another note, you never really remember the wounds you have until you have them ripped open. Went out for drinks with a few co-workers and my friends from back home were mentioned. I never realized how much I missed them until someone brought them up and forced me to realize that I didn’t have them in my life anymore. Going back and seeing life move on for Audrina, Casey, and Cameron was harder than I thought, mostly because I knew they were doing just fine without me and I’m sitting here struggling without them. I’m fighting with myself on whether or not to reach out to them, at least to tell them that I’m sorry. I don’t know. Maybe I should just let it go and focus on what’s going on in my current life. Taylor’s invited me to another party. Maybe new friends will help me forget about the drama with my old ones. Who knows?

  xoxo,

  B

  Chapter Six

  Saturday, January 17th

  9:03 a.m.

  My bed

  I pull my pillow tighter over my head as an obnoxious horn blows outside of my window. It’s fucking Saturday; who in their right mind wants to be up at nine on their day off anyhow?

  FUCK! Silas!

  I pop out of bed like a jack in a box and dash over to
my bedroom window, accidentally knocking poor Milo off his pillow. I peek out to see Silas on his motorcycle downstairs. FUCKITY FUCK FUCK! I’VE OVERSLEPT!

  My phone rings on my nightstand across the room, displaying “Sex Bomb” on the screen.

  “Hey, I’m so sorry. I overslept,” I say, rushing around my room to find something to wear.

  His chuckle is a bit comforting to my frazzled, yet half asleep mind. “Well, I’ll be down here when you’re ready,” he says and hangs up.

  I toss the phone on the bed and run to my closet. What do you even wear to a protest anyway? My eyes scan my attire, already cancelling out a third of my wardrobe since it contains leather or some kind of fur. I settle for pair of denim skinny jeans, and a cotton NC State t-shirt. Even though it isn’t the most impressive outfit, it’ll have to do for now.

  Milo cocks his head to the side as he watches me move around the bedroom like a wild woman, yanking a brush through my hair with one hand and pulling a Converse sneaker on with the other. I have to give myself credit though; I’ve managed to get dressed, throw my hair into a bun and pull my shoes on without having some kind of accidental mishap of either tripping over Milo or hitting something.

  9:11 a.m.

  Bedroom

  Ow!

  God damn it!

  I spoke too soon. Obviously Blake Spencer can’t start her day without tripping over her own two feet. Perhaps I can’t talk about Madicunt having flippers for hands when I have Tonka trucks for feet and headlights for toes.

  Stopping in front of the mirror to give my outfit a final look over, I almost scare the hell out of myself when I catch sight of my reflection. Mascara from yesterday has smeared and leaves me with a raccoon eyes, which does nothing for the growing bags that are camping out under my eyes. Even though it isn’t a “date,” I can’t be seen with a sex bomb looking like an extra from Tales of the Crypt. There’s nothing a little concealer, eye liner, and mascara can’t fix.

  I quickly wash my face, brush my teeth, and apply a little makeup. I put a little dog food in Milo’s bowl and scratch him behind the ears.

  “I’ll be back, boy. Stay out of the toilet paper!” I say and fly out the door.

  9:32 a.m.

  Outside

  “I’m so, so, so sorry,” I apologize as soon as I reach him. He’s leaning up against a tree scrolling through his phone when I approach. His hair is adorably messy as it usually is and he’s clad in ripped jeans (which I’m sure he’s freezing in), a black Metallica t-shirt and sneakers. His cheeks and nose are a bit rosy, which almost makes him look like an adorable cherub baby. He pushes off the tree with a raised brow.

  “No biggie,” he says, eyeing my coat. I glance down at the fleece-lined garment and shrug sheepishly.

  “Sorry. Only other coats I have is leather and fur. At least I can hide this one by keeping it zipped up,” I reason.

  He hands me a helmet. “It’ll have to do,” he says, swinging his leg over the motorcycle and sitting down. “Let’s ride.”

  I quickly snap the helmet on as best as I can and hop on the back of his motorcycle. His earthy scent fills my senses as I secure my arms around his waist. Just as he starts the bike, Taylor walks out of the door.

  “Hey!” she calls out.

  Silas pauses and looks at me over his shoulder. Taylor prances down the stairs and jogs over to us with a bright smile. “You’re the guy that came to the party with us the other night, right?” she asks him.

  “Yes,” he answers. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”

  “Taylor,” she says, smirking at me before turning her attention back to him. “I was telling Carolina here about another party going on tonight. You should totally come with. It’ll be like a double date.”

  “Date?” Silas repeats. I subtly shake my head at Taylor, who only grins and continues on with her nonsense.

  “Well, yeah. You simply can’t let someone as hot as Carolina here go to a star-studded party without some man candy on her arm. It’ll be fun; think about it!” she says and jogs away.

  “Sorry about that,” I say once she’s out of view. He shrugs and revs the engine, easing onto the street and taking off into the wind.

  10:02 a.m.

  Some street corner in Manhattan (and no, I'm not prostituting)

  I’m not really sure what I was expecting when he said "protest," but it isn’t anything like I thought it would be. Sure, there are a few people standing around with signs, but no one is angrily chanting or doing "protesty" things as I thought they would be.

  A woman holding a signing reading, "Not your mom, not your milk" walks over to us and gives Silas a hug.

  "Hey there, brother!" she exclaims before turning to me. "And you've brought a friend!"

  "Ursela, this is a friend from work, Blake. Blake, this is my friend and protest organizer Ursela," Silas says.

  "It's so nice to meet you," Ursela says, holding out her hand. Her freckles stand out against her pale skin, almost to the point that they look unnatural. She’s lanky and quite tall, I’ll say almost six foot probably. Her frizzy red hair is pulled into a ponytail, loose strands whipping around her face as the wind blows.

  I shake it and return her warm smile. "Same."

  "So how long have you been vegan?" she asks.

  I look at Silas and back to her. "Oh, I'm not vegan—"

  "Yet, anyway," Silas says and winks. Hell, if he keeps winking like that, I’ll bark if he wants me to also.

  "Well, we're glad to have you today and I hope you learn a lot of good things while you're here," she says, giving us a parting wave and joining the rest of the group.

  Silas takes out a small digital camera and points it at me, taking my picture. "You're very photogenic," he says. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

  I giggle nervously and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Is that a photographer’s way of hitting on a woman or calling them pretty? If so, I’ll totally take it. "Um, no, but then again I've never been friends with a photographer who would randomly take pictures of me when I wasn't ready."

  "Those are always the best ones though. More genuine." He looks at me for a moment. "More beautiful."

  A guy with curly chestnut hair comes up to us and hands me a stack of fliers. "Thanks for coming, guys. If you could help get these out to people, that would be great," he says.

  Silas looks at me and grins. "Ready to get started?"

  I look down at the flyer. It’s a drawing of what looks like a crying baby calf with a message underneath reading, "I scream for your ice cream" with facts on what goes on in the dairy industry. Taking a deep breath, I nod and look up at him.

  "Let's do it."

  11:34 a.m.

  Still outside on a corner

  Sweet baby Jesus in an igloo.

  It's colder than a polar bear's uterus out here. I should've brought gloves.

  11:48 a.m.

  Still outside freezing my ass off

  Watching Silas talk to people about something he’s passionate about is rather attractive, even though I have no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t say much, simply handing a flyer to every person that stops when he says, "Hi, can I talk to you about the harm the dairy industry is doing to animals and our environment?" Listening to him talk, I’ve learned so much about something I knew absolutely nothing about. As consumers, we never really think about what goes on to get the end results of the things we eat. We don't think about the suffering that animals go through or the lives they live before they end up on our dinner table. Now that I think about it, it's actually pretty damn sad.

  "So, I have a question about this dairy thing," I finally say when the woman he'd been blabbing to finally walked off (although she left him her number. Skank).

  "What's up?"

  "Cows aren’t killed for milk though, so why is it a bad thing?"

  He strokes his chin for a few moments, his eyes drifting to the sky as he thinks. "When does a human produce breast milk?"
/>   I cock my head and squint. "What?"

  "When does a human produce breast milk?" he repeats.

  "Well, a woman produces breast milk when she's pregnant, if that's what you mean."

  "It's the same with cows. They only produce milk when they're pregnant. But milking cows are constantly being impregnated, which is technically rape, to produce milk for us to drink."

  Wow.

  When he puts it that way, I can understand why it isn’t a good thing.

  "When the calves are born, if they're a female, they're taken away to eventually become milking cows. The males are taken away to be slaughtered for veal months later. We're essentially stealing a baby calf's food for our selfish purposes. We don't need milk from a cow. We aren't baby calves."

  "That makes sense," I say. "I guess it's easy to turn a blind eye to that when you don't have the truth in front of you."

  "Well, that's why protests like these happen, to get the truth out to those who don't know," he says. "You're bound to learn something new every day."

  12:56 p.m.

  Finally wrapping this protest up

  Things I’ve learned at this protest:

  1. Not all protests are angry.

  2. Veganism is confusing as fuck. Well, not completely, but it seems hard.

  3. Can you believe there's animal product in almost EVERYTHING? Silk comes from silk worm! A freaking worm! EW!

  4. Silas is incredibly sexy when he's talking about something he's passionate about. Pretty sure my panties would've melted off had they not been frozen to my ass.

  He walks over to me. “Thanks for coming today,” he says.

  “No problem. I had fun,” I say, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. If I don’t get inside soon, I’m sure I’ll start having symptoms of hypothermia.