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My phone dings with a notification while I listen to Ashley make fun of Matthew. I peek at my phone and see that I have a new message on our work app.Why can’t I go one day without them hounding me to pick up a shift?
I unlock my phone and open the app, and what I see causes me to gasp and chuck my phone across the room. The room is tiny as shit, though, so the action is unimpressive.
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOOO! What the actual fuck did we do?!” I cry out. Both girls stop talking to each other and look at me, mouths gaping. I feel big, hot tears slide down my cheeks. My anxiety shoots through the roof, and I briefly think I’m about to spew all the hot junk food I just inhaled.
“Al, what the hell is going on? What happened?” implores Ashley, wide-eyed and aghast. She flashes a worried look toward Ricole, who jerks forward to grab my phone. She picks it up and enters my password, the scheduling app still open. I see her blanch and nervously look at the both of us.
“I don’t remember this,” she breathes. Ricole and Ashley’s eyes meet, and you can tell Ashley doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. She slowly trudges toward Ashley, her right hand extended, holding my phone like an active bomb. Ashley takes the phone and lets out a wheezing cough. She continues choking and coughing, her eyes bugging out of her head. Ricole beats on her back. With our shitty luck, she just may have swallowed her tongue.
“Read the message out loud, please,” I whisper.
Ashley’s coughing finally subsides, and she reads, “I’m not sure why you thought it was appropriate to message me last night. I’m not the only person who has access to these messages. Our district and regional managers can pull them up at any point and time. I suggest you exercise caution with your drunk texts in the future. Please come in an hour before your shift tomorrow. I would like to discuss the consequences of trying to booty-call the man who signs your paychecks. Thanks, Andreas Rivera.”
“What the actual fuck did we send him, Ashley?” I whisper. Sobs threaten to break free from the dam of emotions welling inside me. Andreas hates me, and I really am going to get fired now. I’ve always been a crier, but my period is due any day. It’s turned me into a damn blubbering idiot.
She scrolls up to load the message we sent. She haltingly turns the phone toward me. I can see that not only is there a message, but a picture as well. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I lean forward to get a better look and see a picture of Ashley, Ricole, and me holding our pointer finger and middle finger up, spread apart, with our tongues sticking out in the middle. We look sweaty from dancing, our eyes barely open and not even looking remotely into the camera, obviously fucking tanked. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I sent a picture to my boss of my friends and me doing the international sign for eating pussy. I scan down to read the message and hold my breath.
ALANA MEYER:
Stacy may not want you to make her come with that delicious mouth, but the three of us are down for an orgasm or twelve. Hope you’re still awake. ??
Why? Why would we do that? How do we not remember doing it? WHEN did we do it?
I quickly take my phone and hold down on the message to see I sent it at one fifty-seven in the morning. Christ almighty, I’m fucked. Royally, sincerely fucked.
“This may be, hands down, the worst thing we’ve ever done, ladies,” I proclaim emotionally. “That man hasn’t said a kind word to me since we met. He treats everyone around him like a fucking servant. How in the world am I supposed to go have a meeting with him tomorrow? Fuck, I’m gonna get fired and have to move back in with my mom and dad.”
Ricole jumps up and walks behind me. She massages the tension out of my shoulders before beginning a pick-me-up speech. “You know what? Fuck him. You’re gonna do your makeup, style your hair, and wear the tightest jeans you own. And you’re going to walk into that office with your head held high, stare that shit-stain down, and apologize. You’re entirely too good for that place. If he’s going to fire you, you can get a job anywhere. This place was a stepping stone, anyway. You can start applying to a few different newspapers and bars, and you know we’ll help you with bills if you need it, sis. We love you.”
Ashley nods her head in agreement and sits down beside me. We all collapse into a pile on my futon couch, the black metal groaning and squeaking with our weight. They cuddle me until I stop crying and begin cackling like a hyena. None of what happened was funny, but the absurdity of the message we sent makes me howl with laughter.
We lay together wheezing and making up crazier and crazier stories about what’s gonna happen when I get to work tomorrow. Within twenty minutes, I’m feeling like an entirely different person. They’re right, of course. I don’t give a shit what Andreas thinks of me. He’s a pompous ass with a chip on his shoulder, and I refuse to let him treat me like dog shit. I cuddle into my girls and grab the TV remote, queuing up a streaming service. Trash television always fixes everything.
11
Chapter Eleven
Alana
My reflection in my visor stares back at me. Somehow, I overcame my nerves about my meeting with Andreas, and I took the time to shower, apply my favorite eye shadow, a sharp winged eye that could cut a man, and curled my hair. Ricole assured me that walking in looking my best and taking ownership of my fuck up was my best bet, so that’s what I was planning on doing.Take that, Andreas.
The walk to the front door feels shorter than it usually does, and I’m roughly an hour early for work. A foreboding feeling I’ve had in my stomach all day intensifies with each step. The creepy dishwasher ogles my chest as I breeze past him, and I remind myself to keep my head up and my shoulders back. I fucked up, but that doesn’t mean Andreas gets to treat me like shit today. I’m prepared for a write-up or to be sent home to start looking for a new job. Either way, I’ll be A-okay.
I knock on the office door, and Jim swings the door open wide. His garish purple polo shirt is covered in cat hair and remains untucked from his too-short, wrinkly black dress pants. His gray hair hasn’t seen a comb or a wash in a while, and his lips are crusty. The shoes on his feet probably used to be black, but now they’re washed out from wear, and they no longer have any shine to them. Oh, and his socks are two different colors. Has he been sleeping in this office or what? It’s clear he didn’t bother to check his reflection before leaving today. Jim’s breathalwayssmells like popcorn, and it’s hitting me in the face even though he hasn’t spoken yet.
He seems surprised to see me and says, “Hey, y’know you aren’t due until five, right?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, I feel someone walk up behind me. Judging by the flustered look that immediately takes over Jim’s face, I guess Andreas has also arrived for our meeting. Jim stands quickly, knocking over a stack of papers with his paunchy belly.
He blurts, “Andreas, we weren’t expectin’ you today. I hope everything is okay?”
He holds his hand for Andreas to shake, and I note a slight tremble as he waits. Andreas extends his heavily tattooed, sculpted by the angels, harder-than-granite forearm out from behind me. As he takes Jim’s hand, the front of his body brushes against the back of mine, and I’m thankful I wore my fuck-me jeans and remembered to spray a bit of perfume on my neck. I watch the men’s hands interlock and move. Andreas seems to squeeze harder than necessary, and Jim’s face is uncomfortable. Jim lets go first, then he wrings his hands and then wipes them against his pants.
Andreas informs Jim of our scheduled meeting this afternoon and dismisses him from the office. “If you wouldn’t mind, Jim, I would like to speak with Alana alone. Perhaps you could start inventory early today.”
There isn’t room for argument in his tone. His deep voice sounds rough and cold. Jim hastily grabs his clipboard and walks out. Andreas guides me deeper into the office with his warm, large hand on the small of my back.
His arm shoots out, and he motions to a swivel chair sitting against the wall. “Take a seat.” He remains standing, his arms folded across his wide chest. He’s leaning back against the wall. We stare into each other’s eyes for seconds, but it feels like hours. His face is unreadable. He arches one of his thick brows, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
Finally, he speaks. “Alana, did you have an enjoyable girl’s night out?”
