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Dave, looking between us, nods suddenly. “I could go for some coffee, too.”
“Can you?” asks Jay, delighted. “Coffee boy Connor … That has a ring to it, doesn’t it? What do you think?” he asks the others. “Shall we send Connor here on a coffee run?”
The other two interns look at each other, then at me. I’m sucking on my tongue so hard, I might suck it right off.
“Connor, why don’t you be a go-getter for us?” suggests Jay, like he’s the encouraging mentor for a roomful of aspiring, starry-eyed children. “We will continue to do the big-boy work here, don’t you worry one bit about it. Let’s put in our orders, shall we? I’d like a shot of espresso in mine, personally.”
My lips curl with one restrained snarl.
His eyes show the first flicker of darkness, for a split second betraying his false sweetness. “You do know what a shot is, right? … A shot of espresso …?”
He’s toying with me. Like a cat’s toy, holding my own secret over my head.
Is this blackmail? I don’t like a bit of the look I see stretched over his self-important face. Far too much is on the line for me, and in this disquieting moment, I feel like Jay is capable of far more than merely humiliating me in front of my peers.
The taunting and the degrading requests persist throughout the day. I’m made to fetch snacks for all the interns from the vending machines, which are a long trek downstairs. I’m politely asked to type—and retype—and retype Jay’s article as he keeps changing his mind on the wording of the whole thing. I’m certain it has become apparent ages ago to the other interns—Dave included—that Jay is just having his fun at my expense. None of them come to my rescue or defense, which speaks volumes.
I break away for the bathroom, and it’s in the silence of that cold, tiled room that I stare in the mirror, anguished, furious, and wonder what the fuck all of this is for. Is this worth it? Is this what I have to look forward to, if I’m to pursue a career at the top of a publication I’ve admired for years?
Is this that dark underbelly Lex spoke of?
Is Jay the teeth Alan warned me of?
And what’s the cost?
The bathroom door swings open, and in struts Jay, ever so proud of himself. He leans against the door, shutting it, then folds his arms as he stares at me, smirking pompously.
I face him. “What do you want from me, Jay? Just name it.”
He snorts. “You? What could a rat intern like you possibly have that I want? I cannot believe I actually thought you were from Stanford.”
“You were at that bar last night, too,” I remind him. “What would the others think if they—?”
“If they don’t realize I’m gay by now,” says Jay with a roll of his eyes, “then they’re blinder than the editors who looked over my article. You know, the article I wrote in which you were so generous to point out my one typo.”
I sigh and come up to him. “Is that what this is? Revenge? Are you just pissed because I called you out? The article was great, Jay,” I tell him. “I’m sorry I pointed out the typo in front of everyone. I could have maybe done it in private. Maybe I was immature. Maybe I … I retaliated, too.”
“I knew you didn’t belong here.” Jay shakes his head as he looks me over. “It was written all over your face. From your big blank eyes to your pouty porn-star lips. I knew it … ever since I saw you stumble in late on that meeting our very first day.”
Desperation floods me. I’m in his face at once, pleading. “Please, Jay. No one can know I work at that club. You’re right. I’m not like you guys. I’m not financially privileged. I have to work a second job to afford living here at all. This opportunity doesn’t come to people like me.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees scornfully. After a labored sigh, he says, “And you can quit sweating. If they find out, it won’t be from my lips.”
I stare at him, surprised. “Y-You won’t tell …?”
“I won’t need to. In time, you’ll out yourself for the lowlife, bar-boy slut you really are.” He lets out a contemptuous snort of laughter, turns to open the door, then stops. “Whose dick did you suck to get this internship, by the way? Hmm, never mind, I lost interest.” And with that, Jay sees himself out.
16
I’m at my absolute worst.
It’s the end of another week at Wales Weekly.
I am officially the coffee boy joke on the upper levels. Even Bree noticed, but couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. Jay’s alleged clout, it seems, intimidates even the boldest of us.
