going through the drive-thru on the way home, but decided I’d better stick to my budget. My choice was eating oatmeal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I chose the oatmeal. When you’re still paying your student loan along with car payments and rent, some nights are cheap nights.
I was just about to slip into the bath tub when Victoria called.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” she blurted.
“Where’d that come from?”
“Because I slept with White-Button-Down-Shirt.”
“No, I don’t think you’re a slut. Yes, I do think you give it up a little too easily.”
“So that means I’m a slut.”
“I didn’t say that. Look. You’re not a slut. A little on the loose side maybe. You like sex. Like a lot. I just think you need to be careful who you’re having it with. White-Button-Down seemed fine.”
“He called.”
“That’s a plus. There might be potential there.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I like that his ass is so flat, though.”
“Victoria! You’re impossible. I have to go. My bath water’s getting cold.”
I hung up the phone and slipped into the water.
Monday, July 18
Your day will be challenging but it’s nothing you can’t handle. Much of your success is due to your hard work and perseverance. Embrace something new. Tonight: Take a walk.
I should have known work was going to stink when I read my horoscope. I hate Mondays to begin with and then to start it with having to cover a house fire totally sucked. By the time I arrived on the scene, the fire had become an inferno. Flames licked the pale sky as the wooden structure became a blackened mound of charred rubble. At least the family of four was safe.
I reported from the scene most of the morning and by the time I returned to the office, I smelled like burnt wood and felt just as brittle. I was whipped. I know Horoscope said to take a walk, but there was no way I was walking after work. My feet hurt from standing all day. Once my butt hit the couch, it wasn’t moving.
The fire reminded me of one of my worst nightmares. It happened the night I watched a TV documentary about a 1944 circus fire that killed lots of people. The circus tent, which had been waterproofed with paraffin, caught fire. It was a terrible tragedy. That night, I dreamt I went to the circus and while watching the tigers perform the tent burst into flames. Paraffin dripped from the tent onto my skin, severely burning me. It took my mom hours to get me to sleep. To this day, I’m afraid to go to a circus and I think the worst way to die would be in a fire.
Frankie returned to the office at the same time I did. She’d been covering something at city hall.
“Are you up for trying that Zumba class tonight?” she asked.
“You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me. I’m too tired.”
“But your horoscope said you should embrace something new.”
“How do you know what my horoscope says?”
Frankie pulled out the lollipop she was sucking. “I read it.”
“You read my horoscope?”
“It’s not like I’m spying on you. I read it when I read mine.”
“But you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes.”
“I don’t, but I still read it.”
“Can you stop sucking on that lollipop like it’s a part of the male anatomy? It’s obscene.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “You need a good lay.”
I clenched my teeth and Frankie bolted.
I finished my story and checked in with Oyster Breath, who has this annoying habit of humming. He’s not a bad hummer (is that even a word?) but he hums tunes from the cavemen era. Stuff you hear while on hold for a gazillion hours waiting for the next available representative. Music my grandmother grew up with. Anyway, he looked out over the rim of his wire glasses and said, “Good job, Davies. You might make it in this business yet.”
I swallowed the basketball I hadn’t realized was wedged in my throat and returned to my cubicle to wait for him to finish editing my story. I knew when he was finished it’d be riddled with red notes. I used to think my high school English teacher had a love affair with Red Pen, but Oyster Breath beat Mrs. Beshore by a mile.
I made the mistake of looking at Matt when I sat down. He stuffed a brownie into his mouth and chewed while he talked. “How was the fire?”
He was using small talk to make up for his loud-mouth episode the other day. Matt is just one of those people who irritate me. I think it’s because he reminds me of this bully in elementary school. Teddy was my nemesis. I think he made fun of people so he wouldn’t be made fun of. Sort of like beating someone to the punch. He was as skinny as a stick and had a cowlick that couldn’t be tamed. In other words, there was a lot of material to work with if someone wanted to make fun of him. Thing was, he never gave them a chance. Until one day I put him in his place when I overheard him making fun of Laura, who was a mouse of a girl.
I decided to be nice to Matt and not my usual curt self. I realized lately how much working in a newsroom has changed me and I’m not sure I like who I’ve become. I’m much more dismissive and abrupt. Maybe it’s a hazard of the job and the deadlines, because a lot of journalists I know are like this. I’m tough because I have to be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or I’m not dying inside. “The home went up fast,” I told Matt. “I’m just glad no one was hurt.”
It didn’t take Oyster Breath long to edit my story. I was right about the red notes. There were lots of them, but I appreciated being challenged. To be honest, I’d learned a lot from Oyster Breath over the past year. The guy was an editing guru and I loved that he challenged me and never settled for mediocre work. I knew I was a better journalist today than I was when I came here, and that meant the world to me.
After addressing his notes in my story, I took the long way to the women’s bathroom, hoping to see Hottie Advertising Guy. I cut through the advertising department, scanning the area as I went. Hottie wasn’t around. He spends most of his time out of the office so catching him is about as likely as Oyster Breath discovering mints.
I checked the clock. I’d almost forgotten about my doctor appointment. While showering that morning, I’d felt a lump in my armpit. I called Dr. Lerman’s office on the way to work and pleaded with the receptionist to fit me in.
“Please, please, please,” I said. When I gave her my name, she said “Oh,” as if she suddenly realized who she was dealing with. It’s not that I go to the doctor’s a lot, but maybe more than most people because I worry so much. Last month, I’d apparently pulled a muscle from running. It happened on a Friday. By the following Monday, I was convinced I had lung cancer and was going to die.
My
