He tips his head back and forth. “Define ‘fine’. I can walk on it but it’s still weak even with all the physio I’ve been doing. Tried my squats this morning and...” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Never mind. Anyhow, I got you the same thing as last time,” he says, gesturing at the cup on my side of the table. “Is that okay?”
I blink. “You remember what I like?”
His neck reddens. “Yeah. Is that weird?”
Actually, it’s sweet. Even Shannon can’t remember that I only like whole-milk lattes, and we’ve been having coffee together for decades. How does Sam know more about me than she does? I shake my head, not sure what to say. “Thank you.” I sit down, then realize what I need to say. “How much do I owe you?”
He’s taking a sip of his own drink so can’t answer but he waves me off with his free hand. When he can speak, he says, “Nothing.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind. Maybe...” His blush had been fading but it returns with a vengeance. “You could... if we do this again...”
I realize where he’s going and nod. “Next time it’s on me.”
He smiles. “Deal. Okay. What’s stopping you uploading the videos?”
I don’t know how to respond to such a plainly stated question, and I feel stupid.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Sorry. Geez. It won’t be on you next time because you’ll never want to see me again.”
I have to laugh at his stricken expression. “Sure I will. And it’s a good question.” I sigh. “Just wish I had a good answer.”
He leans forward. “Do you want to--”
“Can I tell you about it?” I say at the same time.
We chuckle, and he says, “That’s what I was going to say, so sure. Talk away.”
But I’m not sure how. I’m surprised I even want to. “It just...” I drop my elbow onto the table and rest my chin in my hand. “Oh, Sam, I don’t know. I want to. You’re right about that. But I reach toward it and... it’s like it burns me somehow. I have to pull away. I want it but it scares me. So I don’t do it. But then I feel bad. I can do my course work without any issues, but this... it’s like it draws me in and pushes me away at the same time.” I can’t believe how open I’m being with him. Letting him see where I’m vulnerable means he’ll see how he can hurt me, but I can’t stop myself talking. “Plus I’ve spent a ton of time looking for Will, and though I haven’t found him yet I have to keep looking.”
Sam was nodding as I spoke, but he stopped when I got to Will. “What do you think,” he says slowly, “will happen when you find him?”
“I’ll make him pay.”
He fiddles with the cardboard sleeve around his cup. “And that’ll help you?”
“Yes. Definitely. He needs to know that what he did to me was wrong.”
More fiddling. “And when he knows... that will help you? More than chasing him down is hurting you?”
I stare at him. “It’s not hurting me at all. How would it be? I just spend a few hours every night trying everything I can think of to find him. No problem. And it’s helping me now, taking action against him, and it’ll help even more when I find him. For sure.”
Sam looks like he disagrees, and I take a breath to tell him I know I’m right. There’s no doubt in my mind I am. I tried to get revenge on the show and was humiliated, and it was Will’s fault that I made that attempt. I will make him pay and I will be happy afterwards. That’s all that’s keeping me going, knowing how good I’ll feel when I manage to put my plan in motion. I know I’m right. Once I’ve dealt with Will I’ll be able to get my life worked out.
Sam must realize that he’s got it wrong because before I speak he says, “Okay. Well, if it’ll help you I hope you find him. Now, did you bring your computer?”
I nod, glad we’re moving on from my plans for Will, and pick up my bag from the floor. “You want to see a video or two?” I start digging for the computer.
“Nope. We’re going to upload them. Right now.”
My hand jerks away from the bag when I realize what he said. “Here? Now? But...”
He waits, his eyes calmly focused on my face.
But what, exactly? I did the best I could with the videos. I’ve watched them again and again and though I hate them I can never see anything I’d like to do differently. So what’s my problem?
Fear. Fear of posting them and having absolutely nothing change. Fear of them being ignored. Fear of people hating them and making me furious. Any of that would feel awful.
But I don’t feel great at the moment either, so I take a deep breath and pull the computer from its bag.
When I look at Sam again he’s grinning at me. “Attagirl,” he says, his grin widening. “Be brave.”
I swing my chair around so we’re beside each other and awaken the laptop from its sleep. As I flip through menus to find the program I want, Sam says, “You know you can reorder that stuff, right? Make it easier to find things?”
“I do, but I can’t be bothered.” He chuckles, and I finally get my video editing program running and say, “Help me pick. I don’t know which one to do.”
He glances at the screen then turns to me. “Why pick? People are asking for them. Upload ‘em all and wait to see what happens.”
I blink. “All? But...”
Again he waits.
Despite my stress, I laugh. “That’s your favorite trick, isn’t it? Say something then just sit there and let it attack me.” Dory and Lynn on the hotline also know that trick, and though it had been infuriating at times when Lynn did it it had also been effective. Whenever I talk to Dory I’m already so angry I can’t be infuriated any further.
He grins. “You got me. Well? Did it attack?”
“Big time.” I lean back in my chair, away from the computer. “But what do I do while I’m waiting to see what happens?”
“Make more,” he says without hesitation. “And put those ones up too. Just keep going. Don’t think about what people will think. Get it done.”
The videos forgotten for a second, I say, “How’d you get so smart?”
He blushes. “I’m not.”
“Sure you are. That’s great advice.” Curious, I add, “Are you an artist or something? That sounds like stuff I’ve read about how artists need to just keep putting their stuff out there.” Not that I’m an artist, but I seem to share all of their worst traits without any of their good ones.
“Not me.” He studies me for a moment. “My ex-wife was, though.”
I don’t know what to say, so I go for, “Oh.”
“Yeah. Made these amazing stained glass windows. She had a lot of trouble letting her work go, though, so I did a lot of building her up.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice, but since she’s his ex-wife I figure some lurks beneath the surface. “That was nice of you.”
He shrugs. “That’s how it’s supposed to go, I think. Each of you builds the other up.”
“Is that how it went with you two?”
He blinks.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling my cheeks blazing. “None of my business.”
“No problem, I just didn’t expect you to ask that. The answer? Not really. She... well, if she weren’t an artist I’d have called her ‘self-absorbed’.”
The time I’ve spent putting up with Shannon and her rudeness in the name of her supposed ‘artistic temperament’ makes me say, “Not that artists can’t be self-absorbed, of course.”
He smiles. “True. And I guess she was. Especially when she was working. But she’s been gone for years now, so we don’t need to talk about her any more.”
I nod, but still ask, “Do you think about her a lot?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Nope, almost never. We just weren’t right for each other.” He takes a sip of his drink then adds, “And lately I’ve been too busy dealing with Melinda and all that to think about her even if I wanted to.”
I’m more than able to think an
gry thoughts about Will and Dory and the producers and that jackass Chuck from Christmas all at once, but I say, “Yeah, that makes sense,” because I don’t want to talk about his past lovers any more. “So, you really think I should upload them?” I was going to do that with Brett, and doing it now feels like I’m betraying him even though I know he’d have wanted me to. It makes me feel torn and helpless and lost. I hate all those feelings.
Sam smiles at me. “Do you?”
My eyes move to stare at the computer screen. I’m terrified, far more than I should be, and I’m craving a glass of wine to mellow me out. “You’ll help me?”
“Every step of the way.”
Chapter Seventeen
After all the videos have posted Sam and I chat a while longer at the coffee shop then he insists on taking me out for dinner to celebrate my moving forward on my goal. I let him, glad I dressed up a little bit, and we have a great time talking about everything from his still-out-of-reach squat goal to ideas for promoting my videos to some of the moments on the island that are somehow funny when I discuss them with him instead of hellish the way they are when I think of them on my own. After dinner we go for a walk and chat some more, then sit at a coffee shop and savor the fact that a surprising number of people have already viewed and commented positively on my videos, until I finally have to say I need to go home because I work at seven the next morning.
It’s a wonderful evening, and as a result I go to work on Saturday feeling more relaxed and optimistic than I have in a long time.
That lasts about five minutes.
As my shift starts, Saul calls everyone together and says, “I’ve got a little personnel announcement.”
Jay the new guy, standing next to him, looks delighted, and I wonder whether this could have anything to do with him before dismissing the possibility. Saul always uses the term ‘personnel announcement’ when he’s telling us about someone being promoted to supervisor or manager, and since Jay only has a high-school diploma he can’t be promoted.
Except he has been.
As I listen in shocked silence, Saul says, “Jay here has already proven his worth to the company and he is moving into the office as an assistant sales manager. It’s a big step up, but Gregory feels sure he’ll do us proud and I agree.”
I join the others in applauding, with no more enthusiasm than they do and probably far more fury. Saul’s eyes meet mine, and he has the decency to look awkwardly away but that only makes me more angry. For years I’ve been told I’ll never get off the factory floor without more than a high school education, that Gregory the owner would never let that happen, and somehow after only weeks of work Jay is moving up, and way up. And I’ll be making water filters for the rest of my life.
It’s not fair. Again. Why can I never catch a break?
Saul dismisses us, and a few people go to congratulate Jay, no doubt making sure he thinks kindly of them when he looks down on them from his new position. It’s not a bad idea, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Instead, I go after Saul.
He’s walking away fast, but I’m faster so I catch him before he disappears into the office area where I’m not allowed to go. Where Jay is now going to spend every day, getting paid more than me while also being far away from the awful static-causing machines and my horrible coworkers.
Rage flooding me at the injustice, I say, “What the hell, Saul?”
He puts his shoulders back and glares down at me. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, you know this isn’t fair. I’ve been here for years, busting my ass, and he gets promoted? This fast, with no degree? I think ‘what the hell’ is about the nicest thing I could have said.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to justify myself to you, Ashley. I’m the boss. And Gregory’s the owner. And we both feel Jay has potential.”
“And I don’t?”
He takes a quick sharp breath and I steel myself for an insult, but instead he says, sounding almost sympathetic, “Actually, you do. But you need to stop being ‘Angry Ashley’ all the time. Mellow out a bit and maybe--”
“People walk all over me now,” I scream at him. “If I mellow out it’ll just get even worse. I have to defend myself, and do not call me ‘Angry Ashley’!”
He takes a step back, and for an instant I wonder how I look to him. Do I look crazy? Then I don’t care. I have to stand up for myself. Nobody else will. “You guys lied to me, and this place is shit and I won’t stay here another second. I quit, Saul. Right now, I quit.”
“Then leave your locker key with Sally,” he says, and turns and walks away.
I stand frozen in the hall. I didn’t mean to say that but the words just fell out. I do hate it here, though, and I always have. I have more than enough in savings to keep me going.
The thought of using my long-held savings to survive makes me feel sick, but imagining trying to convince Saul to give me back the job I despise makes me feel even worse, so I spin around and go back to the factory floor, where I empty my locker then throw my key to the dirty concrete in front of Sally before storming out.
All the way home on the bus I talk to myself about how unfair this is and how badly I deserve revenge and what I’ll do to make that happen. I have to do that, because whenever I stop egging myself on I start to feel afraid and alone and unsure of how I’ll survive, and I’d far rather be so angry I can barely breathe than so scared I want to cry.
By the time I enter my apartment I’ve decided on my first revenge tactic. Without even taking off my jacket, I snap open my laptop and find a job posting site then write up a description of what would be the world’s best job ever if it actually existed.
Workers wanted, no experience necessary, for relaxed friendly factory. We assemble marshmallows and chocolate and graham crackers into pre-built s’mores, and you’re welcome to eat all you want as well. No quotas here, and no stress, because we already produce more than we can sell.
Sounds too good to be true? Well, then, ignore the $50/hour salary and the ping-pong tables and the free coffee and massages on site. I’ve got more money than I can ever spend so I take the best care of my workers I possibly can. If you’d like to be one of them, send me your resume and a high-resolution picture of you with one or more of our ingredients. Creativity matters!
Grinning because I love what’s going to happen even though I won’t see it, I post the ad using the ‘hiding your tracks online’ tricks Sam told me Will had used so people won’t know it was me. For contact information, I give Gregory’s email address, which I know he won’t check until Monday because he’s always made a big deal of having his weekends off, and the company’s main fax number because one of the receptionists was obnoxious to me once. Enjoy drowning in pictures of marshmallow-covered people, bitch.
My next thought is to find someplace online where I can order literal tons of marshmallows and have them sent cash-on-delivery to the factory, but as I begin searching I hear Sam’s voice in my head asking, “And that will help you?” He was talking about Will, but I know he’d feel the same way about this.
I want to keep going, because what else can I do? But his voice won’t stop asking me, and though I search for a bit it’s half-hearted and eventually I close the computer because I know he wouldn’t approve and I can’t make myself keep going.
Then I curl up in a ball on my bed and sob myself to sleep, feeling alone and terrified and so lost and sad and wondering why in the hell anyone would think this is more helpful than taking revenge.
Chapter Eighteen
When I wake up the next morning, my eyes so sore and swollen I can barely see and my poor popcorn-attacked tooth still throbbing, I wash my face and take as many painkillers as I think I can handle then clean out Silver’s cage while considering removing the job ad. No doubt it’s received a ton of responses already. Have Gregory and the others suffered enough?
Spotting my bank statement on the hall table as I go out to the garbage chute with the newspaper that was linin
g the bird cage, I know it’s nowhere close to enough. I’m going to have to spend my savings to keep myself alive, and I don’t want to. Every dollar that goes into that bank account matters so much to me. I don’t know why, since I’ve got nothing in mind to buy, but it does and so the factory deserves my revenge.
It deserves even more revenge, but my mental Sam won’t let me do anything else. I prefer the real Sam to my mental one, but he’s working today so I’m on my own.
I hate being on my own.
I consider calling Shannon and Becky but I don’t want to see them either. Grandmother? No way. She’d tear me apart for quitting the job she got me.
I bet she knew Saul would promote other people but not me. That’d be just like her.
A wave of anger rises in me, then hits the invisible wall of my exhaustion and slides uselessly to the ground. Everything feels so pointless, I can’t even get angry. I’ve tried so hard to get revenge against the show and Will and everyone else who hurt me, and what have I got? No job, no compensation, no idea where Will is.
The only thing I have is the knowledge that I’m the kind of person who gives a stranger a laxative because he didn’t think I was his type when I didn’t think so either. I need my anger to make everything make sense. Without it...
Tears come to my eyes but I force them back. No crying. No need to. I’m just tired. So tired. Too tired to think.
Though I should be doing my coursework and making the additional videos Sam and I discussed, I go back to bed. I’m useless when I’m this tired. Not that I’m wildly effective the rest of the time.
I fall asleep almost before I have the covers over myself, and I don’t wake up again until well into the afternoon, and when I do I know I did the right thing. Everything makes sense again. My anger’s back and it feels right.
I can cancel the job ad. It got me revenge on Gregory, so why continue kicking him when he’s down? And the show is over and done with, since I’ve fulfilled every detail of my contract and I’ll never do anything else with those jerks, so I don’t need to bother getting revenge there either. I was feeling so tired and weak because I was spreading my energy too thin, worrying too much about things in the past. I don’t need to do that at all.
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