by Raquel Belle
“I fucking hate that guy—Anthony Preston. He’s such a prick,” I said. Around us people were starting to settle at their tables as the first course was being brought out.
“Yeah, well, just ignore him. The last thing you need is a repeat of last time, right?” Carl slipped my hand onto his forearm, and we walked to our table.
“I hope that nightmare never happens again. The last thing I need is to be put on a similar beat as him.” I drank from my glass, and Carl pointed to the stage which had lit up. The graphics behind the podium read, New York Media Foundation.
“Well, well…” Anthony said, as he pulled out the seat to my right and sat down. He picked up his name card and placed it back in front of his table setting. “My favorite journalist… I guess we’ve been seated together.” His tone was low and condescending, so that only I would hear. I ignored him and, instead, turned towards Carl.
“Aw, come on, Beth. There’s no reason we can’t be civil?” Anthony poked me in my side.
I jumped and turned around. “What are you? Five?”
He laughed. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. How’s your week going?” His tone was still haughty and ingenuine. This was his game—he liked playing with people. I wouldn’t give into it anymore.
“It’s going well. Like many other journalists, I’m working on a story and keeping my eyes on my own paper.”
Anthony snorted. “Boring, you should take a page out of my book and see how helpful my methods can be. There are a million ways to get information, Beth. Not all of them have to be honorable.”
“Yes, yes they do. Our service is to the truth, and there’s honor in that. What good is the truth if you get it by being grimy?”
“The readers don’t know that. As long as I have the truth to give them, they’ll keep reading my stories and buying my papers.” He picked up his water glass as the server came around to pour. Anthony kept his challenging gaze on me. I shook my head and sighed.
“So, what are you working on?” He asked.
I rolled my eyes. He wouldn’t let up. It’s like he got some sick enjoyment from bothering me to no end.
“What are you working on?” I asked, pointedly.
Anthony smirked, his dimple popped out again, and I resented it. Supremely annoying and despicable people shouldn’t be allowed to be attractive. He shrugged as if he were unconcerned about sharing information with me. He was that full of himself. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m working on a feature. Got free tickets to Pennsylvania Avenue out of it. Seen it yet?”
“Wait…” I glanced at Carl who was studiously ignoring my conversation and chatting to the woman to his right. “Are you doing a feature on Jonathan Fitzwales?”
“Of course… Why?” Anthony’s brows furrowed, and his expression became less condescending and more serious.
I almost laughed but not from mirth—it was from disbelief. “That’s…great. I heard the musical is something special to watch.” I was already kicking myself for giving too much away. Even though I didn’t say it, he’d realize it.
“Are you jealous, or are you writing something on him too?”
“Anthony, I have never and will never be jealous of you. If there’s anything you need to file away about me in that trash-bin-of-stolen-information you call a brain, it’s that.”
Anthony looked at me in surprise. For once, he didn’t have a response. I glanced down at my salad and realized that I no longer had an appetite.
“So, you are covering Jonathan then? Wow that’s…” He laughed, and I hated how warm and velvety the sound was. He shrugged. “You’ll never write an engaging enough feature, honestly.”
“Oh, really? Why don’t you stay out of my lane this time and watch from a distance as I create the better content.”
“Do whatever you want. I’ll look forward to seeing stacks of un-bought Post weeklies decorating the newsstands while everyone reads the Tribune.” He stood and grabbed his empty cocktail glass. I scoffed and let him leave. We’d only end up tearing each other’s throats out and this was a classy event. Plus, I didn’t want to embarrass Carl anymore by entertaining Anthony’s petty jabs.
“You know what his problem is don’t you?” Carl leaned towards me and speared some salad onto his fork.
“A fragile ego and toxic masculinity?”
Carl laughed but shook his head. “He’s upset you’re getting stories at his level. It means he has another great journalist to contend with.”
“You’d expect this level of competitiveness from like a political reporter, but a features writer?” I finally took a bite of my salad—at least the food was good.
“Maybe you’re right about that fragile ego bit. Anyway, who knows? The guy hangs around socialite circles, so he probably picked it up along the way.” A server came around taking drink orders. I asked for vodka with a splash of cranberry.
“How’d you survive in this business so long? Don’t you get tired?” I asked Carl. He’s been in the newspaper business for decades. Long enough to see how drastically it’s changed since the good ol’ days of boys clubs and a male-run news floor.
“Yeah, but when I get tired, I don’t fold. I stand up for the right thing. You gotta keep that in mind when pricks like Anthony Preston come scratchin’ at your heels.”
I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks, Carl.”
***
Café con Leche was my favorite little coffee spot and Cuban pastry shop. It was a rare find in the city, and close to Central Park. But it was also popular and every year it seemed to get bigger. Every year the owners bought more units in the building and instead of creating a cafeteria vibe, each unit was made to be quaint and cozy, like separate rooms of a house.
I stepped into the main storefront and inhaled the addicting scent of strong Cuban coffee. It was my turn to pick the coffee shop, and the girls were meeting me for our regular catch-up date. Three of my closest friends and I had such different lives nowadays that we literally had to schedule each other in, but our coffee dates remained a cool tradition.
I spotted them to my right in the pink dining room. Grace, Jasmine, and Cara sat near the huge window laughing. I smiled and stepped up to the counter to order my coffee and cheese pastry. The barista saw me enough times that we had an easy rapport, mostly in Spanish, and she knew what I liked, so she didn’t bother asking. I always tipped her well too. When I had the goods, I walked over to the girls’ table.
“Hello, ladies,” I said.
“Beth!” Grace said. She stood up first and gave me a tight hug. Grace, newly engaged, looked great. Her skin glowed, and her coffee-brown hair was pinned into a messy bun. She wore a knit poncho over skinny jeans.
“Oh my god, Grace, ever since you got engaged, you’ve been glowing.” I said. It was so good to see her like that too. She’d found the love of her life, and it was clear how happy she was. Found probably isn’t the right way to put it though. It’s more like she and Nick finally had the balls to admit it.
“Well, I’ve been trying out this new moisturizer, plus getting enough sleep is half the battle.” she said.
“A new moisturizer?” I asked, suggestively and she turned red.
“Beth! Oh my god,” she said, while giggling.
I put my stuff on the table and went around to kiss Cara on the cheek, and then Jasmine. “How are you guys?” I sat across from Jasmine, who, out of all the girls, lived the closest to me. She wore a North Face jacket with jeans, and her tight, curly, brown hair came to her shoulders.
Cara sighed. “Busy is my first and last name lately. I mean, thought I was busy before, but now…” Her blonde hair was pulled into a straight ponytail, and she wore a black suede blazer over her sweater and slim-cut slacks.
“Wait, I thought you were spending all that time with Jason now? Tell me you’re not inching back into workaholic mode again?” I asked.
“That’s what I said,” Jasmine said and sipped her coffee, giving Cara a knowing look.
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“Well I am spending time with him,” Cara said. “We see each other all the time. But that’s what it is now. If I’m not working or with Jason, then I’m sleeping. That class-action case I’ve been working on is getting bigger and bigger every day. Even Jason is starting to worry that I need a break.”
“Oh! Then we’re definitely planning a girl’s night out. We’ll go and get tastefully wasted,” I said. Getting out of the house was always the way to go for me when it comes to de-stressing. Of course, I was barely ever home in the apartment I paid for anyway, but I did sleep there, and I always went back to feed my cat.
“Tastefully wasted where and when? Because sometimes you’re like the dungeon master and bring us to the most obscure places,” Cara said.
Jasmine laughed. “I wasn’t gonna say it, but …”
“I do not! I like to go find new places. That’s all… It’s good to try a place at least once. But fine, if we’re not feeling adventurous, we can go to that bar on Broadway that we all really liked…” I couldn’t remember the name because it was so long ago, and since then I’d discovered a hundred other good bars in Manhattan. I took a bite of my cheese pastry and savored in the warmth of the cheese and the flakiness of the dough.
“Oh, yeah, the speakeasy one,” Jasmine said. “That was actually cool. I liked that the place didn’t take itself too seriously. The drinks were priced well, too.”
“Ooh, or we could go to a gallery opening in Tribeca. I almost forgot. My co-worker in the arts department has been following this post-modern sculptor that she’s obsessed with, and she’s covering the opening night in…like…a week. The booze there will be free and plentiful.”
“I like that idea too. Edgar’s was also nice. Remember we went for Grace’s engagement?” Cara asked. She put her sunglasses on the top of her head and eased back in her seat.
“That’s not why you remember it, it’s because that’s where Jason saw you! Hussy!” Grace exclaimed and poked Cara with her finger. “There, the gallery, we’d have no choice but to get tastefully wasted. Remember that one gallery we went to and got kicked out of?” Grace asked, giggling.
“We got kicked out of a gallery?” I glanced at the three of them and they all burst into laughter. “What? I feel left out, and I don’t like it.”
“Of course, you don’t remember because you got wasted. Remember your horrible ex, Andrew?” Cara asked.
“Yeah, the scum beneath my shoes? What about him?” I’ve had a lot of boyfriends in the past, but Andrew was the most infamous. He was an insecure asshole who cheated on me throughout our relationship.
“We went to the gallery and discovered he had a painting in there, and he ended up being there too. You wanted to humiliate him, so we came up with the plan to spill wine on him. But you needed the courage to go through with it, and that’s when we pretty much went through two bottles of wine,” Jasmine said.
“But you had more to drink than we did,” Grace said. “When you were finally drunk enough, you got a glass of red wine, walked over to his painting, and threw the wine on it.”
My jaw unhinged. “How come I don’t remember any of that?”
“Girl, ‘cuz immediately after, you blacked out, you were completely out of it. We had to shuffle you away from the painting, but then we got kicked out because you were so drunk,” Jasmine said.
“Oh my god…” I said. They all laughed at me. I shook my head. “I must’ve blocked that entire night out of my memory. That sounds traumatizing.”
“That’s why we didn’t tell you. It’s been long enough now though. And you’re lucky you didn’t have to end up buying his painting because we got you out of there fast enough,” Cara said, still giggling.
“Yeah, we had to carry you home, practically,” Grace said. She sobered up with a sip of her tea, as she dabbed at a tear in her eye.
“That I do remember,” I said. We’ve all had to do that for each other from time to time. Less frequently the older we’ve gotten.
“Why don’t we ever have girl’s night in anymore, though? Remember when we used to plan out a marathon, order take out, and just veg? The last one was that Sushi time,” Jasmine said.
“Yes! I loved binge night. Sushi night was a different story though, but let’s bring that back. I’ve been begging all of you to come over more so Nick can get to know you guys,” Grace said.
“We will,” I said. “Yeah, binge nights were always iconic. We should plan that and a night out.” Outside, a group of girls laughed loudly. A few seconds later, we all got distracted by their gaggle of voices when they walk into the shop.
“What’s going on with you guys, anyway?” Cara said. “Beth, are you working on anything good?”
I sighed, heavily, and the girls looked at me with interest. They all knew when I was getting ready to tell a whole story. “Tell us! Lay down all of your worries,” Grace said.
Jasmine snorted. “Go on.”
“I got assigned a new story,” I said. “It’s a feature on Jonathan Fitzwales because he’s starring in Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“That’s exciting! Why are you pouting though?” Grace asked.
Jasmine followed, “What, you want to move on from writing features?”
“No, I love that I got him as an assignment. You guys know how popular that musical is. The article has, like, a guaranteed audience,” I said, and drank from my coffee.
“I’m still waiting for tickets to come through the lottery system,” Cara said. “Everybody talks about that musical. It’s ridiculous that I haven’t been yet, I wanted to go with one of you if you were up for it.”
“Can’t you just ask Jason to rustle up some tickets? I keep trying to win ticket auctions. I mean, it’s ridiculous. But wait, so does that mean you have tickets to see the show?” Jasmine said.
I grinned, feeling a little smug, but I couldn’t help it. “Yeah I got a ticket through the paper.”
“Lucky bitch! Jason would never sit through a musical, Jazz,” Cara said, directing the last comment at Jasmine.
“Neither would Nick,” Grace said.
Cara continued, “But anyway, Beth, what’s wrong with Jonathan? Is he problematic for some reason?”
“No, it’s not the actor. Last night I went to the New York Media Gala, and that prick of a man, Anthony Preston was there.”
“Oh…no…” Grace said, hanging her head exaggeratedly.
I nodded, sagely. They knew. They remembered the hell I went through trying to keep Anthony off my ass when we were both covering the backfire scare.
“Of course, he bumped right into me and spilled his drink down my back. Then we proceeded to bicker for the next ten minutes until it came out that he’s covering Fitzwales and the musical, too.”
“He spilled his drink on you?” Grace said. “What the hell?”
Cara shook her head. “We have to figure out a way to get that guy off your back.”
“Really? The only thing she can do is write a better story than him. Like last time,” Jasmine said.
“You really think my article was better last time?” I said. Once my stories get published, I let them go, otherwise I’d obsess.
“It was a hundred times better,” Cara said. Jasmine and Grace nodded in agreement.
“Thanks, well, I hope I can write my feature in peace without him trying to peek over my shoulder and copy my work like we’re in fucking high-school,” I said. “I can’t deal with more of that stress. I’ll commit murder.”
“It’s okay, Beth, I’ll defend you.” Cara laughed. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that and not talk about murdering someone, instead let’s think sabotage. If he comes to you for anything, just give him bullshit leads.”
I finished my coffee and my pastry and shrugged. It’s not like I hadn’t tried that the first time. Anthony was just a persistent ass. “I just… I’ll have to get back into meditating.” Everyone laughed. “What? You don’t think I can meditate?” I looked at all of them, confused.
“I’m trying to imagine you sitting still for an hour, not doing anything,” Jasmine said, giggling.
I laughed. “Yeah, but I used to meditate!”
“Really? When?” Grace said.
“Okay, fine, I tried it one weekend for a few minutes at a time. It’s harder than you think,” I said, cracking them up.
We hung out at the coffee shop for a couple hours, just catching up. When we parted ways, I felt a lot better. The bad mood that plagued me since I’d interacted with Anthony had dissipated.
Chapter Four
Anthony
The Neiman theater on Broadway was teeming with activity. It was a brisk night, but everyone who was there for the play didn’t seem to mind. They were all trying to get pictures in front of the Pennsylvania Avenue billboard and anything else that had the theater and musical’s name printed on it.
“This is just as crazy as I thought it would be,” Naomi said. “I can’t believe the paper even managed to get tickets.” She pulled her pashmina tighter around her arms, and then we both got distracted by the woman in a blood red dress who walked past us.
“Curves for days, huh?” I said.
Naomi sighed. “What sucks about going out with you is that people think we’re a couple. Neither of us get any second looks.”
“Nao, you’re the one who practically begged me to take you as my date. You said you’d throw yourself under a cab on Broadway if I didn’t take you. Now you’re complaining about not getting second glances.” I rolled my eyes at her, and she flipped me the bird. Naomi was my best friend. I’d known her my whole life, and our families were close too. We went over to pick up tickets in the will-call line.
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars she was gay. But she must’ve seen you standing next to me, and that’s why she walked by so fast,” Naomi said in all seriousness. I couldn’t not laugh at her. She pinched my arm, and then the people in front of us stepped away from the window, so she couldn’t beat me up anymore.
“Hi, yeah. The Tribune tickets, please?” I said and handed my ID to the clerk.
