Читать книгу A Bitch Named Karma - Stephanie Haefner - Страница 7

Chapter 3

Marcus and I met for breakfast the next morning before he headed to work and I headed to Val’s office. He carried the plates with bagels and lox and I had both beverages. Maneuvering through the crowded café, a businessman in a suit two sizes too small bumped my hand with his laptop case. My caramel macchiato crashed to the floor and splattered on my shoes.

“Watch it, asshole!”

All I received in return was a dirty look. An employee appeared and cleaned the spill and my shoes and fetched me another drink.

“What do you think about karma?” I asked Marcus once I’d sat down at the table.

“I don’t know. Never gave it much thought, I guess.”

“I had a bizarre dream about it last night. Do you think it exists?”

“Could, I guess.”

“Like my macchiato. Last week I bumped someone and she spilled coffee on her shirt. Do you think the scene this morning could be karma?”

“Like the universe is out to get you for a simple accident? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s stupid. Forget I said it.”

* * * *

Later that morning, the elevator door opened to the offices of Smith & Roland, people sprinting around, every one with armloads of papers and boxes. The place normally resembled the theater a few blocks down that only showed nature documentaries—quiet and boring with most of the audience half asleep. Something was definitely up.

Val’s office looked like a battle had just taken place. I stepped around cardboard boxes as she popped up from behind her desk.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Oh, Lexi. Everything is a mess! I don’t even know how to tell you this. You better sit down.” Her gravity-defying hair looked a bit more frizzed out than normal. “I’m not gonna be your editor anymore.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She sighed and sat in her chair. “It’s true.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Here, look.” Val brought up the email sent to her the afternoon before, from Mr. Smith’s secretary no less. A short and simple “Please clear out your office within twenty-four hours and report to Human Resources for your new job assignment.”

After reading the single line of text that so swiftly changed Val’s career, I wanted to scream and cry and throw myself on the ground in a toddler-esque tantrum yelling, “No! No! No!”

“Your last royalty check—it wasn’t a mistake,” she said and looked to me with glossy eyes. “Your book sales have dropped. So have some of my other authors. They say it’s all my fault.”

She stood and began placing some things in a box as she told me about her replacement—an outsider. This supposed miracle-worker of an editor had been lured away from another publishing house. Mr. Smith and Mr. Roland needed to make some major changes for the good of the company and hoped the big bucks they threw at this new woman would save it.

“She’s here already,” Val said, stifling her tears. “You’re meeting with her today in her temporary office. As soon as I’m cleared out, she’ll be moving in here.”

My relationship with Val far surpassed the editor-author marriage. We were also friends. She’d established my career and walked me through my first publishing experience. She’d given me my first big break and now she was my rock. How the hell would I do any of this without her?

As she reached to pull one of her photos off the wall, she broke down crying. I did the only thing I could think of.

“These assholes can’t fuck you over like this! This is unacceptable! If they don’t give you your job back, I’ll walk!”

“Lexi, no. They mean business. For the sake of your career, you need to stay put.”

Our eyes met. She was serious. I’d trusted Val on every aspect of my career in the past, no questions asked, and had no reason to doubt her advice now.

“Fine. I’ll meet with her. But if I don’t like her, she can go to hell. They all can.”

I walked down the hall confident as my Manolo Blahniks click-clacked on the marble, ready to raise some hell. A hand-written sign had been plastered to the door: Sheila Brown— Editor. The scent of a black Sharpie wafted into my nostrils as I pounded on the door. I heard a screechy “Come in” and found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk.

She flipped through a manuscript and didn’t look up when I strode through the door.

“Sit, Ms. Marshall.”

“I didn’t tell you who I am.” I wanted to show off my tough side.

“I already know,” she said and finally looked up at me. A fluorescent shade of pink lipstick decorated her lips, doing nothing to improve her ghastly pale skin and salt-and-pepper bob. “I’ve read all your books, including the latest.”

“Oh, I see.”

She was well prepared for only being on the job one day.

“Marisol Takes Manhattan, your newest and first in a series.” She paused to push her glasses up on her nose, and I awaited her praise. “It absolutely sucks.”

Feeling like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of my lungs, I struggled for oxygen. Everything around me went gray and the words “absolutely sucks” echoed in my brain over and over. I’d slaved over this book for the better part of six months, making every sentence perfect.

A shrill laugh blared into my ears. It sounded familiar. I couldn’t place it, but knew it didn’t come from Sheila. She sat emotionless.

“What do you mean? Are you sure you read the whole thing?”

“Yes, every boring, plotless, cliché-filled word.”

The room started to spin and a tingle radiated throughout my legs. Fearful that I might black out, I moved a box of office supplies from a chair and sat down. I breathed slowly and deeply, staring at her, wondering if I’d heard her right. How could she possibly say that? I was Lexi Marshall—a multi-published author. Women adored my books. They devoured them. This malicious statement insulted every fiber of my being.

My temperature began to rise as bewilderment changed to anger. Ms. Editor handed me my disc, then ripped some sheets from a legal pad and shoved those at me, too. They were filled top to bottom with chicken scratch.

“I made notes for you. Revise and have it back to me in two weeks.”

Finally finding the confidence and attitude I’d possessed before entering her office, I asked, “And what if I refuse?”

“Then you can try and sell your garbage to another publisher.”

* * * *

I left the office, stomping down the street with my jaw clenched tight like a pit bull’s. I expected the pressure to crumble my teeth, but instead it gave me a massive atom-bomb-like headache.

How could this happen? Women everywhere loved my books. This Sheila had no friggin’ clue. Who the hell was she to tell me how to write my novel? An archaic, styleless shrew couldn’t possibly know what today’s fashion forward woman wanted to read.

I seethed and walked on, remembering my massage appointment. The thought of hot rocks being rubbed on my skin sounded excruciatingly painful. I just wanted to go home and drown myself in a bottle of my favorite cabernet. The fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning meant zero to me.

I keyed into my apartment and Cha Cha ran up to me, jumping around, her tiny painted nails scratching at my leg. A hyper dog was the last thing I needed to deal with. Pushing her away, I grabbed the wine from the kitchen and walked toward the bedroom. My body yearned for the high-powered jets of the whirlpool tub.

As I approached the door, high and low pitched moans sounded from behind it like a porno flick on full volume. Were Betty and Floyd screwing again? My eighty-year-old neighbor’s bedroom butted up against mine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard them getting it on mid-day, but they’d never been this loud before. I walked into my bedroom and found Brenda spread eagle on top of my velvet duvet wearing my black hooker boots. Zak’s hairless, perfectly tanned ass pumped up and down and neither of them even noticed me there. I threw the bottle of wine on the floor, shattering it on the hardwood.

“Oh my God, Lexi!” Brenda exclaimed, covering up her pierced nipples with a purple beaded bolster pillow. My boyfriend lay naked between her thighs and her first thought was to cover her flabby tits?

Zak jumped off the bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, so you weren’t fucking Brenda just now? I didn’t hear her screaming your name?”

He stood there, a bright pink condom still standing erect. He looked to the floor and I took this simple action as an admission of guilt.

“How could you?” I managed to ask, looking from Zak to Brenda. “And in my boots!”

I turned and ran from the apartment, flew down three flights of stairs to the street and kept on running. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away.

As my feet pounded on the pavement, I heard the laughing again, this time even louder. Could everyone on the street hear it, or just me?

Surely I looked like a crazy woman as I ran down the sidewalk dodging in and around pedestrians, nearly taking a header into a produce stand. I slowed down after that—last thing I needed was a concussion. Couples walked past, holding hands, cuddling. Yeah, they looked all mushy and lovey-dovey on the outside but I bet those women didn’t know. The guys were probably screwing their girlfriends’ friends on the side, too. I scowled at a passing male and when I wasn’t paying attention, the heel of my favorite pair of Manolos caught in a sidewalk vent and snapped off.

“Can this day get any worse?” I asked the gods, an invitation for more disaster. As the words came out of my mouth the sky darkened and a feeling of doom enveloped me. A truck zoomed by, splashing my cream cashmere coat with the dirtiest, grime-filled muck water imaginable.

Hobbling down the street with black water dripping from my hem, I thought about this catastrophic morning. It had started so well—complete perfection. Over the course of an hour, it had all been royally screwed up. I hailed a cab to Maxine’s, the restaurant where Rachel waitressed. Her cheeriness, although sometimes annoying, helped in times like these.

Rachel sat me at a private booth, immediately knowing from my miserable expression and bedraggled attire that something was very wrong.

“I walked in on Zak and Brenda fucking on my bed,” I spit out.

“Oh no,” she responded and turned her glance to the window, suddenly entranced with the ass crack of a construction worker.

“Wait, you knew about this, didn’t you?”

“Lexi, I’m sorry. I was stuck in the middle. I’ve been telling her for months to stop!”

“Months! This has been going on for months? Oh my God! I can’t believe this.” I got up and limped toward the door.

“Wait. Let’s talk!”

“No. I don’t need a back stabber. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Tears welled in my eyes but I would not allow the wait staff at Maxine’s to see me cry like a weak baby. I waved down another cab and when the driver asked if I was okay, I gave him the evilest look I could muster.

“I’m fine! Just drive!”

With the meter running, he drove in circles, waiting for me to give him a destination. But I didn’t know where to go. As the meter closed in on fifty dollars, I gave him the address for Marcus’s office.

“Lex, what the hell happened? You look awful!”

“Thanks,” I tried to say sarcastically, but it came out with heaps of tears. Marcus hugged me and smoothed my wind-blown hair. We sat on the couch in his office and in between bursts of sobs and swigs from the flask he kept in his bottom desk drawer, I told him my depressing tale. He cancelled his appointments for the day and insisted on lunch at my favorite place.

Under no circumstance could I go anywhere looking the way I did.

“Well, I suppose this means a visit to the spa and a new outfit. My treat. What do ya say?”

He always knew exactly how to cheer me up. While Marcus made one last phone call, my cell rang in my purse. The boring bell tone rang as opposed to one of the cute songs I’d specifically picked for each member of my directory. The plain old ring meant my caller’s identity was a surprise.

“Ms. Marshall?” the deep voice asked. “This is Lieutenant Eckerson with the fire department. There’s been a fire at your apartment.”

Marcus and I rushed out of his office. The cab moved at a glacial pace, tires crawling on the asphalt rather than rolling. Visions of my wardrobe and shoes in flames flashed across my eyes. I could even hear my beloveds screaming in sheer agony.

Upon entering the building, we immediately smelled the smoke and dampness. The higher we climbed the stairs, the worse the smell became. The Lieutenant stood in the blackened hallway when we reached my floor.

“What happened?” Peering into my home, I could barely make out any of my possessions. Anything that wasn’t burnt to an unidentifiable lump was a water-logged mess.

“It appears some candles were burning in the bedroom. Did you know this when you left the apartment?”

“No, my boyfriend must have been burning them while he was fucking his whore this morning.”

He stared at me, eyes wide in a dazed sort of state. Like so many others, he didn’t know what to do with my bluntness. Then over his shoulder I saw a vision of a woman sitting on the charred remains of my kitchen counter. Her ruby red lips formed a devilish grin and she held a lit match between her manicured fingertips. She seductively blew it out, then disappeared, but I had recognized her. This ghostly form was the reflection from my dream the night before. And it was her laugh I’d heard earlier.

A crazy concept burst into my mind. These visions weren’t just hallucinations; they meant something. Had the universe sent this woman to carry out my karma? Was she Karma?

I didn’t get it. I’d never burned anyone’s house down or stolen anyone’s job. And I’d certainly never had sex with my friend’s boyfriend—well, not technically. One time I fooled around with a friend’s guy, but the penis and vagina did not meet. I repeat, penis and vagina did not meet! That ten-minute grope session in the darkened back corner of The Purple Pineapple, a now defunct college party bar, happened ages ago and it didn’t count anyway. He told me he was breaking up with her. In his mind they were already over.

“Oh, um, well,” the fire chief continued, and I snapped back to my disaster of a reality. “Here is an accident report for your renter’s insurance.” He handed me some paperwork.

“Renter’s insurance?”

“Oh, Lex, don’t tell me.” Marcus explained what it meant to not have the insurance.

I slumped to the soot-covered floor in the hall, wondering what could possibly be next. The day still held plenty of light.

“Oh my God! Cha Cha!” I screamed and bawled my eyes out.