by Myers, Kelly
“So, then what did you do?”
“What I had to do,” I shrug. “Poor thing was so uncomfortable and in need of support that I told him to add my name next to his.”
“Where?”
“On the article, where else?”
“Isn’t he gonna think you’re trying to steal his thunder?”
I chuckle. “Believe me, he was relieved.”
“You guys are weird over at the business news.”
“It’s not about the effort he’s putting in—that credit is all his. It’s about making it harder for the enemy.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” she giggles, scrunching her nose.
Unable to hide my own smile at her amusement, I look away and sigh. It only took a second. “Are you done?”
“No, I’m not. How does your name make anything harder?”
“If they think they can intimidate a senior journalist, I’d like to see what they’ll do when they see his boss’ name on the second piece. I don’t think they’d wanna mess with the head of the section. If Derek is a relative softie, I’m tougher than they know.”
“Gosh,” she shimmies her shoulders and throws back her head. “You’re getting me all hot and bothered here with all this thrill.” She then pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Speaking of thrill, how was your date?”
“It was fine,” I don’t realize how tepid my response was until after I hear it myself. “It was good,” I enunciate.
“That bad, huh?”
“Seriously?” I tilt my head. “It was good, really good…” then I lower my voice. “We had sex.”
“Wow, sure,” she widens her eyes with a roll and a frown. “Because that’s the definitive measurement.”
“What do you want me to say? We listened to music, had some wine, talked a little, and then…”
“Lemme guess,” she wags a finger in the air. “He took you to bed and laid you there on your back… the breathtaking second time, drumroll?”
I exhale in resignation. “Yes.”
“What will you do when you’ve been married ten years?”
“We’ve been on six dates, and now you pronounce us husband and wife.”
“You’ve had sex twice, and in both times, it sounded like something I’d use to put my eleven-year-old niece to sleep.”
“Not everyone can be like you.”
“Satisfied?” she defiantly replies. “Excited about when I’m gonna see my man next? Getting wet just thinking about our last time? You’re right,” she shakes her head, picking up a chip. “It is too much to ask for the modern working woman who was liberated to demand a full set of rights.”
“Zoe!”
“No, really, what was I thinking? Wanting you to get the life you deserve? How silly of me to believe that my beautiful, intelligent, successful friend needs a man who can blow her mind in bed? You clearly don’t need that when you’ve got your name on the frontlines of some futile struggle against The Man.”
I push my tongue in my cheek. “Are you done?”
She smacks her lips. “Pretty much.”
“I can’t believe you just reduced my entire profession into a philosophical cliché.”
“Then we’re even because I can’t believe that you’re so blind to everything else.”
“Sex is hardly everything else.”
“It’s a crucial pillar of any romantic relationship. So if you’re happy to settle for becoming some lame dud’s wife with three kids living behind a picket fence, that’s so perfect because you paint it every month,” she draws a quick breath, leaning forward. “Because you’re so frustrated and unsatisfied that the overflowing energy in your body comes out as an obsessive-compulsive need to control everything around you…” she finally exhales. “Then be my fucking guest.”
Taken aback, my eyes widen as I let my lips part without formulating any comprehensible words.
“Just don’t come crying to me about it,” she exasperatedly tossed her napkin on the table.
Blinking quickly, I finally find my voice. “Where the hell did all of that come from?”
Smiling, Zoe tilts her head and pushes herself back with both hands against the edge of the table. She leans with her chair so far back that I think she’s going to topple over. “Zackary Willams,” she raises her eyebrows. “Mike Broady, Peter Simmons, Lewis Charger, Daniel Frank…” she grins victoriously. “And Michael.”
“Jesus, you’ve kept a log?”
“I didn’t need to,” she drops back forward, the chair creating a thud. “I was there after every breakup. Picking up the pieces. And you know what you always said, every time without fault like clockwork?”
I know what she’s about to say, but I stare blankly nonetheless.
“I guess I should’ve known that we were wrong from the start. I’ve ignored all the red flags.”
“And the red flags—”
“None of them were half the man you need, Dina,” she interrupts. “Because let’s face it, honey. You’re all woman.”
Having heard enough, I clear my throat and go back to enjoying my meal. Well, attempting to enjoy it after the truth bomb that Zoe just dropped on me. It wasn’t our first time to discuss this, yet the novel part was her listing all of my failures and throwing them in my face the way she just did.
“And how’s your love life?” I calmly ask before taking a sip of my lemon soda.
“Jack and I tried something new the other day,” she shrugs, and I can’t tell if she’s sorry for what she said or if she’s genuinely shrugging off yet another sexual adventure.
“Care to share? I might wanna try it with Michael,” I joke, aiming to disperse the tension.
She gives me a mischievous look. “I don’t know if you’d be comfortable sitting on your washing machine while it’s on… let alone butt naked.”
7
Gabriel
I have spent the entire day psyching myself up for tonight. Between my back-to-back meetings and conference calls that dragged on until ten o’clock at night, I managed to text my friend Galina and arrange for her to meet me at my house at eleven.
In my bedroom, candlelight was the only thing shattering the dense darkness of a moonless night.
“Oh, Gabriel,” Galina moans as I fasten the silk ribbon around her wrist. “I’ve missed this.”
“Likewise,” I wink, running two fingers with pressure from her forearm all the way along her armpit and down to the side of her breast. I see goosebumps covering her perfect, milky skin.
“Mmm,” she bites her lips, squeezing her eyes shut as she throws back her head, slightly hitting the headboard.
My phone begins to vibrate, but it’s all the way on the dressing table across the room.
“Dammit,” I shift to get up.
“Gabriel, no,” she whimpers, drawing it out.
“Just a sec, Lina.”
“God,” she groans.
I make my way there, catching a glimpse of myself naked in the mirror. Albert’s name flickers on the screen, and I sharply exhale.
“Hey. What’s new?”
“Gabriel!” I see Galina squirming over the silk covers.
“I just sent you their new article,” Albert’s grim tone alarms me.
“Hang on,” I launch the app and click on the link he shared a minute ago.
The page quickly loads, and I read the title…
Realizing Dystopian Fiction: An Imagined Technical Notion of Palanick’s Most Ambitious Visions
“Gabriel?” Galina’s drawn-out shameless despair soon evaporates amid the electric sparks that I can now imagine leaving my skin in radiating bolts.
“I see it now,” I address Albert. “Who the fuck is Dina Cormack?”
“Peele’s supervisor.”
“So, she’s flexing?”
“I hear she can be quite audacious.”
“My favorite kind,” I scoff. “Give me an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Come on, Gabr
iel,” Galina wails. “I can’t feel my hands.”
Turning around, I march toward her and, with one swift move, yank the ribbon loose from around her wrist. The second I do, her hands grab my waist, and she begins to kiss my stomach.
“How many sit-ups do you do every day?” she giggles, an impish look glowing in her eyes as I look down at her.
“A thousand,” I don’t exaggerate before I walk away.
She sighs, tilting her head. “Where are you going?”
I pull a drawer open and take out a small vibrator. As I hand it to her, I smile. “Don’t finish without me.”
“Did I come all this way to—”
“Get ready for me?” I smirk before going over to my small work desk by the window. “It’s only common manners, Lina.”
Slumping her shoulders, she rotates her head in a circular motion before staring at the device. “I guess…”
I see her reaching for her purse as I launch my laptop and hit some keys. When she pulls out her pack of cigarettes, I instantly shake my head. “Tsk, tsk. You don’t smoke in here.”
“What are you gonna do about it?”
Swiftly, I leap up and surge toward her. Her cheerful giggles fill the air as I snatch the pack from her hand and toss it away. In one quick movement, I overpower her and secure her in place, this time tying her ankles to the foot of the bed as well.
“Aw, come on!” she cries as she laughs.
I tilt my head, adding an extra knot. “You tried to break the rules.”
“I’m sorry?” she continues to chortle.
I then grab the vibrator, sliding it between her legs.
“Oh!” she yelps, throwing back her head and burying it in the plush pillow.
“That’s right,” I switch it on.
“Oh, Gabriel, I’m gonna…” she grits her teeth. “kill you!”
“Get in line,” I push myself back up and return to my desk. The screen was facing me and only me, while she couldn’t see anything. In the browser, I type Dina Cormack, and a full page of search results manifests itself before my eyes. The picture of a beautiful woman in a formal blazer greets me. Her pitch-black hair and lively green eyes complement her perfect face with strong yet alluring features.
“Hello, Dina,” I whisper, only audible to myself. “What have we here?”
A graduate of…
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
She earned first place at the National High School Essay Contest of…
Impressive, but what else is new?
Her favorite authors include Alexander Solzhenitsyn…
Oh, please, Dina. Can you get any more pretentious? You have to be better than that if you’re putting yourself in the line of fire with… me.
“Gabriel!” Galina shrieks, drawing my attention to her stained panties as she gasps for breath.
“Yes, baby?” I slowly stand up, dragging my fingertips along the cold wooden surface of the desk before I approach her writhing body.
“I can’t—” she hisses from between her teeth, arching her back as her feet tense up. “I can’t anymore.”
“No?” I lean forward, savoring the muffled sound of the vibrator as she takes my breath away with her phenomenal and utterly unintended display of plain, perfect pleasure. “But you look so alive.”
“I—I—” she stutters, beads of sweat rolling down her temples, disappearing into her shiny blonde hair. “Oh my God, Gabriel!”
“Shit,” I whisper, lowering myself onto her and kissing her as she rides a seemingly mind-shattering climax I have never witnessed her experience before. “Look at you,” I marvel at the beauty of her state.
Candid. Unadulterated. Real.
“Gabriel! Fuck! Oh, God, fuck!” she screams as her spasms shake the entire bed underneath us.
“I’m sorry,” I slide my hands around her, snaking them underneath her back and holding her tightly. “I’m distracted.”
I hear her breathing, heavy and revitalizing, in my ears. I feel her chest expand and retract against mine. Her back against my arms, in spasm before it relaxes as she regains her focus.
“Fuck you,” she pushes me away with both palms, wriggling to escape my grip that I quickly loosen. “Did you call me here to work? You’ve worked for the past sixteen hours!”
“It just happened to come up, Lina.”
“It’s Galina, God!” she rolls off the bed, landing on her feet and picking up her dress. “When did I see you last? A month ago?”
“This really wasn’t my plan,” I shrug, raising my eyebrows in clear exasperation I don’t try to hide. “But you know what it’s like.”
“Yes,” she angrily zips up her dress. “I know. Nothing can be done without you? Will the world fall apart? What sort of imbeciles did you hire to get here?”
“That’s—” I abruptly pause.
Galina is a fun friend and nothing more. I’m not going to reveal any information about my project to her or anyone else outside of the Palanick Tower. I can count the people who deserve to know about it on the fingers of my hands.
“So,” I watch her put on her shoes. “You’re leaving.”
“I have a dildo at home,” narrowing her eyes, she grabs her purse. “I don’t need to drive all the way here to use yours.”
“I understand,” I look away, trying not to frown.
“Goodbye!” she spitefully bangs the bedroom door shut, despite knowing full well that the sound of slamming doors drives me insane.
Gritting my jaws, I get back up and take a step toward the desk before I remember her pack of cigarettes. Flopping down on the bed, I reach with my fingers underneath until I touch it.
“Oh, well,” I take a deep breath as I pull a cigarette, realizing how lucky I am that she also left her lighter inside the half-empty box. “Cancer sticks, it is.”
Grimacing at the nasty flavor of Galina’s slims, I sit back down and deeply exhale.
She currently holds the position of…
“Well,” I narrow one eye to avoid the smoke ascending from the cigarette in the corner of my mouth, picking up my phone. “We’ll see about that.”
My fingers slide across the screen, and I hear a ring.
“Albert,” I clear my throat. “PR says nothing. They do nothing. Ramone will take care of this.”
“It didn’t work the first time,” he argues. “If anything, it seems to amuse them.”
“Walking into a haunted mansion is always amusing until you see your first ghost.”
He chuckles. “May the forces be in your favor.”
I end the call and immediately call Ramone.
“Loitering around Peele didn’t work,” I begin as soon as he answers. “Let’s go to phase two, this time with his boss, Dina Cormack.”
“Oh, a lady? I’m gonna enjoy personally making that call, then.”
“Go nuts.”
As I hang up with him, I also lower my laptop screen shut. Rising from my seat, I gaze at the mess that Galina left behind in my bed. Those twenty-five momme silk sheets may not have been created for the charade that just took place here, and yet here we are.
Here I am.
How many men would kill for a night alone with a Russian prima ballerina?
Or a twenty-five-year-old up-and-coming Hollywood actress with two box office hits in her portfolio? Or a prominent lawyer with her name on the law firm building where she recently made partner? Or… or… or…
I turn to see Galina’s cigarette that has burned to ash in my decorative crystal ashtray on the desk, a slim line of smoke drawing out its last squandered breath.
I’m not wasting my life. A man with my means shouldn’t be losing precious time chasing women and getting wasted. What I’m after is far more consequential than that. A far more imperative lifetime’s worth of significance.
Collapsing on my bed, I close my eyes and try to imagine the life of Dina Cormack. The woman who believes that slapping her hollow name on an editorial piece that lacks the bare minimum of critical t
hinking and insightful commentary is going to intimidate me.
She goes home to be greeted at the door by her big, furry dog and adoring husband. Perhaps he’s a high school history teacher or a university lecturer who dabbles with nanophysics. How sweet.
Their baby daughter coos in her crib as Mommy enters the room, picking her up and reciting an old lullaby that tells the tale of how everything turned out alright in the end.
How laughable.
Unable to sleep, I sit up and grab my phone from the nightstand. I open a folder entitled ‘The World’ and start scrolling through the images.
A gorgeous little blonde girl in dirty sweats and a torn-out bomber jacket sits in the back of a filthy truck. Three androgynous-looking teenage boys and matted hair crammed into what I can only assume is an animal cage, hiding their eyes behind their scrawny fingers in shame. The lifeless body of a middle-aged man in an abandoned garage somewhere, bloodied and bruised with a needle sticking out of his arm.
I swipe and swipe, but the photographs never seem to end.
This is the world against which I am revolting, Ms. Cormack. Far, far away from your perfect little life and safe haven within the walls of a news portal that keeps feeding the public analgesics instead of actual information.
Maybe she should know that one plus one doesn’t always equal two. That the world she pretends to unveil hides its true colors within the harrowing depths of its festering abyss—an inferno she clearly hasn’t seen.
Dina Cormack may be a brilliant journalist according to the standards of her own limited universe. But in mine, she’s a blinded sheep, unknowingly sucking the devil’s cock and receiving the oblivious public’s collective pat on the back for an arresting job superbly done.
Ms. Cormack, you haven’t experienced true wrath yet.
And as a merciful initiation, perhaps you should start by tasting mine.
8
Dina
“What brings you to these parts?” I tease Zoe as we meet on the sidewalk in front of the café across from my office.
“I told you, work,” she flips her hair as I push the glass door open, and we go inside.
“An interview?”
