Blogger Girl

by Schorr, Meredith

  To the question, “What do you think it was about Cut on the Bias that caught the attention of an agent and publisher whereas other novels never make it past the slush pile?” Hannah responded, “Honestly? Luck. Pure and simple. I happened to send my query letter to the right agent at the right time. While I believe Cut on the Bias is a terrific read and I worked my butt off writing it for two years, I am well aware that there are some amazing novels out there that will never see the light of day. What makes one book stand out from the others? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my agent. LOL.”

  I didn’t know who answered the question, but it wasn’t the Hannah Marshak that I knew and loathed. This Hannah Marshak actually came across as humble and grateful for her success instead of what she really was, cocky and entitled. Fearing I would lose my lunch if I read anymore, I quickly closed out of Divalicious.

  Reaching into my bag to text Bridget, even though I figured she was still with Jonathan, I removed my cell phone and saw that I had a voicemail. I put the phone on speaker and listened to the message. I rolled my eyes as I heard Erin’s voice.

  “Hi Kim, it’s me. Just calling to say hi. How are you? I saw on Facebook that Hannah posted a review of her book from the Chick Lit and Dreams website. It was very favorable! Was wondering when you were gonna post your review. She told me it was supposed to come out before the book was released. Time is a-ticking, sis! Okay, better go. Gerry is taking me out for an early dinner. Call me!”

  “Aargh!” I tossed the phone on my couch.

  I turned back to my computer and checked my email. I scrolled my unread messages and while most included the subject line, “Review Request”, my eyes were immediately drawn to one from Candy Adams which read, “Review: Cut on the Bias.” Could this day get any worse? I chewed a fingernail and opened Candy’s email.

  Hello Kimberly!

  I hate to be a pest, but I was wondering whether you had an opportunity to finish Cut on the Bias? The novel has been very favorably reviewed so far and Hannah is quite pleased but we’re both anxious to see your review posted on the Pastel is the New Black website.

  Thanks, honey!

  Candy

  It took all of the self-control I could muster not to toss my computer across the floor. For the love of God, the world did not revolve around Hannah Fucking Marshak and neither did my life! I stood in the middle of my living room contemplating my next move and slowly, my lips curled into a smile. Chick lit readers of the world would have to look elsewhere for a review of Cut on the Bias, but if they wanted to “get to know Hannah,” I would gladly make an introduction. Needing fresh air, I decided to go to Starbucks to write my masterpiece. I put my shoes back on, tossed my mini laptop in my oversized handbag and headed out of my apartment.

  CHAPTER 24

  “The truth about Hannah Marshak

  If you’re a fan of chick lit, which I am guessing you are if you’re reading my blog, you might have heard some buzz about the upcoming release of “Cut on the Bias,” the debut novel of author Hannah Marshak. It seems I can’t even log onto my computer these days without reading an advance review or guest post by Ms. Marshak. If, like me, you’ve read these posts, you are probably under the impression that Hannah Marshak is your average girl-next-door who just happened to get a publishing deal. Maybe Hannah reminds you of a friend from your days back in summer camp or an old classmate. As someone who actually walked the same halls as Hannah in junior high and high school, I’m here to tell you that she’s not your “average girl” and you would not want her living next door or even in the same zip code. Here’s why:…”

  AFTER SHARING SOME of Hannah’s most evil machinations from our high school days, I typed the conclusion, “So in closing, while Jacqueline Milano, the main character of “Cut on the Bias,” might be a heroine to root for, Hannah Marshak, the woman who created her, is not.” I leaned back in my chair at Starbucks and quietly clapped my hands. Magnifique. I set my blog to have the post go live at 6 the next morning and took a sip of my vanilla latte.

  Was it professional of me to air Hannah’s dirty laundry? Probably not, but if she was going to withhold her true essence from her potential readers, someone had to set the record straight. Pastel Is the New Black was my blog and I could post whatever I wanted. If, armed with the knowledge that Hannah was a two-faced, manipulative, lying attention whore, people still wished to spend their hard earned money on Cut on the Bias, so be it.

  Happy to get that out of my system, I perused the other chick lit sites on my blog roll, with the exception of Chick Lit and Dreams since I did not want to read the great review of Cut on the Bias that Erin had mentioned. When I was finished, I logged onto Facebook to see what was going on in the “real world.”

  Caroline had posted pictures from her trip to Iceland and I commented that I hoped she was having a great time and couldn’t wait to hear all about it. I “liked” Denise Porter’s status that it was her fourth wedding anniversary, and I laughed at the video Jonathan had posted about the SNL skit spoofing Fifty Shades of Grey. I continued to scroll, mumbling, “boring, extremely boring, same ol’” and was about to log out when I saw in the news feeds’ ticker that Nicholas Strong had been tagged in Daneen Barnett’s picture. Feeling my heart practically beating out of my chest, I took a deep breath and double clicked on the picture.

  Staring back at me was a smiling Nicholas, dressed in a well-fitted dark suit. He held a drink in one hand while his other arm was around Daneen’s slim waist. Stunning and long legged in a dark purple evening gown, Daneen grinned as if she held the winning lottery ticket. From where I sat in my uncomfortable wooden chair in Starbucks studying the photo of Nicholas with his arm around her, it looked like a huge jackpot.

  I covered my face with my hands as I tried to wipe away the visual of them socializing with other power couples at whatever event they had attended or worse, dancing cheek-to-cheek at a wedding of one of Daneen’s friends or family members. I wondered if Nicholas had let her wear his suit jacket to stop her from shivering while they stole secret kisses outside.

  I closed my eyes and let the implications of the picture sink in. I was being silly. Posing for a picture together did not mean they were an item. The fact that Nicholas hated me didn’t mean he had immediately jumped in the sack with her! I opened my eyes and returned my focus to Facebook. Daneen had tagged Nicholas in two more pictures and I let out a joyous exhale when I saw Lucy and a few other lawyers from the firm in the other ones. It was a work function after all.

  But why were Nicholas and Daneen next to each other in every single picture?

  “Well, if it isn’t Kimberly Long.”

  I looked up to see Hannah Marshak staring down at me with her huge topaz eyes. With my luck she had psychic ability in addition to writing talent and had come here to guilt me out of posting her “unauthorized biography” on my blog the next day.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, nodding towards my laptop.

  I turned it away from her and was about to say it was for my blog to see if she'd start kissing my ass again when I noticed them. “Nice shoes,” I said dryly, pointing to the identical shoes I had worn to the reunion.

  Hannah's face turned pink as she flipped her black pump to reveal the bright red sole. “Yeah, I realized I didn't own plain black Louboutins when I saw yours at the reunion.”

  I couldn't help laughing a little but since I was still reeling over the Facebook pictures of Nicholas and Daneen, it came out more like a strangled cry.

  “Yeah, well I would have bought them earlier but...” With a hint of annoyance in her voice, she said, “Wait...are you crying?”

  Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I said, “No!”

  “Ha! Yes you are!”

  I buried my head in the keyboard and shook it, denying the undeniable. I felt the vibration of a chair move and raised my head to see that Hannah had sat down and was studying me.

  “Spill,” she said.

  She couldn't be serious.
I was supposed to confide in her? No way. “It's nothing.”

  Hannah pointed a flawless red nail at me. “You don't cry easily. Believe me, I know. You and your little...well you probably don't think she's that little...”

  I shot her a nasty look, still struggling not to burst into tears.

  “Anyway, you're many things but a crybaby is not one of them. So what gives? It's Starbucks. Not a hospital or funeral home.”

  I banged the back of my head against my chair. “Fine! I just Facebook stalked the guy I was dating and he's tagged in all these pictures with a horrible girl!” More horrible than you even.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Not the cutie from the reunion, is it?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured the way Nicholas used to smile so wide each time he saw me. Hard to believe it was the same guy who never looked my way anymore. I opened my eyes. “Yes, him.”

  “What happened? He dumped you for a taller chick?” She snorted.

  I shot her another dirty look.

  “Joking! Lighten up, Long. If I recall, he wasn't exactly tall either.”

  I raised my eyebrows, alluding to her overt interest in him at the reunion.

  “Right. He was sexy anyway. So who's this horrible girl?”

  “They're both associates at my firm. She hated that he was with me, a measly secretary, and wasted no time when we got in a fight.”

  “Let me see,” she said, reaching for my laptop.

  I angled it towards her and pointed at the photo of Daneen smiling brightly next to Nicholas.

  I watched Hannah silently study the photo until her eyes opened wide, she covered her mouth with her hand and started laughing.

  “What?”

  Hannah pushed the computer toward the middle of the table and took my hand in hers. I fought the urge to remove it immediately because I had a feeling she was going to tell me something important.

  “Daneen?”

  “Yes. You know her?” It figured. They were probably BFF. I slipped my hand out from underneath hers.

  Hannah smiled. A smile that reached her eyes and the type of smile that had never before been directed at me. “Daneen's the 'Shitter'!”

  CHAPTER 25

  THINKING MY EARS must have deceived me, I asked her to clarify her previous statement. “The Shitter?”

  “The one and only,” Hannah nodded.

  I scrunched my forehead. “What the fuck?”

  Hannah stood up. “Come with me.”

  Jerking my head back, I said, “Come with you where?” I had no intention of going with Hannah anywhere lest she lock me in a closet and force me to give her book a 5-star review.

  “This story requires something a bit stronger than caffeine. There’s a bar around the corner. Ryan’s Daughter. Come on.”

  “Ryan’s Daughter? Isn’t that a bit undignified for your taste?” Glancing at her Louboutins, I added, “Not to mention your shoes?”

  Waving her hand in my face, Hannah said, “Undignified is exactly the right atmosphere for what I’m going to tell you. Now put your little computer away and come on.” She paused. “Unless you’re not interested in getting the dirt on your man’s new woman.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “She’s not his new woman!”

  Hannah shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe yes. Maybe no.”

  I sighed loudly, threw my mini laptop in my bag and followed Hannah outside into the spring air. From behind her, I called out, “What dirt?”

  Hannah kept walking straight ahead, motioning with her hand for me to keep walking.

  “What dirt?” I repeated.

  I followed her into Ryan’s Daughter where we found two empty seats at the bar. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming. Or living in a Seinfeldian Bizarro World. Bridget would die when I told her. First she would kill me for having a drink with Hannah and then she would die. But before I was murdered, I needed to know something. I turned to Hannah. “The Shitter?”

  Facing forward, Hannah gave me the hand. Showing more courtesy to the attractive male bartender, she smiled and said, “Two dirty vodka martinis please. Extra olives.”

  Since Hannah refused to speak to me until the bartender poured our drinks, I sat there silently trying to figure out what Daneen had done to be nicknamed “The Shitter” by Hannah. Based on my own experience with Hannah, it was more likely Daneen didn’t actually do anything and Hannah had simply made up a story to humiliate her. If that was the case, I’d have to empathize with Daneen and that was the last thing I wanted. I hoped no one I knew would walk in while we were together. I’d never live it down. And I had a feeling Hannah probably felt the same way.

  At last we had drinks in hand and Hannah finally spun her bar stool around to face me. “Brace yourself.”

  “I’m braced!” I took a long gulp of my martini, involuntarily snarling from the strength of the alcohol.

  Hannah let a small smile escape. “Okay. Daneen lived in my dorm freshman year. We lived in the SAE dorm and Daneen was a little…” She paused for a second as if trying to find the right word. “Let’s say ‘eager’ to make an impression. One night she got in a bit over her head and did some drugs with the guys…”

  I interrupted, “Drugs? You mean pot?” I took another sip of my drink.

  Hannah shook her head. “No. I mean real drugs. Coke.” She took a small sip of her martini, her lips barely touching the glass.

  My mouth opened in surprise. “Daneen? Holy shit!”

  “I haven’t even gotten to the shit part of the story!” Hannah laughed and took another sip of her drink.

  “Okay, this I’ve gotta hear.” I giggled and then realizing I was having fun with the enemy, sipped my martini and adopted a serious expression. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, as the story goes, Daneen went back to this guy Evan’s room, lost control of her bowels and took a shit while having sex with him.” Hannah stopped speaking and looked at me for a reaction.

  “No way.” No fucking way.

  Hannah nodded. “Yes way. Hence the nickname. She transferred out of school because of it!”

  I downed the rest of my martini and raised my voice. “No fucking way!” And that little bitch had the nerve to call my college a party school? As far as I knew, no one had ever shit in her pants while having sex at Syracuse University. Unless she became a Mormon and transferred to Brigham Young, she had no right to talk.

  “Yeah. Crazy right?” Looking off in the distance, she said, “I should use that story in my next book.” Then she motioned for the bartender to pour two more drinks.

  “Classic.”

  “Next time Daneen gets in your face, subtly bring up her crapping in her pants and I guarantee she’ll back down.”

  Smirking, I said, “Subtly bring it up? Sure!” As Hannah raised the martini glass to her mouth again, I noticed that her lipstick was completely intact. The girl had skills.

  Hannah shrugged. “Best advice I can give you.”

  Feeling tipsy, I looked over at Hannah and thought to myself that this was probably the first time I had actually enjoyed myself while in her company “I appreciate the advice, Hannah.” It was true. The idea of Daneen and Nicholas together didn’t seem quite as bad now that I knew she had shit in her pants. I took a final gulp of my drink, noting how much better the vodka tasted after hearing about Daneen’s fecal incontinence.

  “Yeah, well, I hate to see another woman cry,” Hannah said impassively.

  I pressed a fist against my lips to contain my laughter as Hannah motioned for the bartender. Leaning her chest over the bar, she said, “Can we have the check, please?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “And one more olive too?”

  The bartender’s eyes flicked from Hannah’s low-cut blouse back to her face. Then he reached into the container of olives and dropped two more in her glass. “No extra charge.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” she said.

  While the two of them made googly eyes at each other, I grabbed my wallet from inside my bag and thr
ew a twenty on the bar. Not removing her gaze from the bartender, Hannah pushed the twenty back towards me and said, “I’ve got this. You should save your money.”

  I didn’t have time to be insulted before Hannah gave the bartender a wad of bills, said, “Keep it” and stood up. To me, she said, “Ready?”

  I glanced at the bartender who looked disappointed. “Sure.”

  As we walked towards the exit, I whispered, “He liked you.”

  Flipping her hair, Hannah said, “Yeah, he did. But he’s a bartender, Long.”

  Same old Hannah.

  Drinking inside during the day always messed me up and when we exited the bar, the glare of the sun surprised me and I momentarily shielded my eyes with my hands to regain my bearings. I thought of something as we began walking towards Second Avenue. “Hannah?”

  She stopped walking. “Yeah?”

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I said, “This ‘shitter’ thing. It really happened, right? You’re not just making it up?” I really had to pee and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

  A wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows, Hannah asked, “Why would I make it up?”

  Before I could stop myself, I said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Hannah opened her eyes in surprise but then raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I save my creativity for my books these days.” Smiling, she said, “And besides, when was the last time I went out of my way to make you feel better, Long?”

  I laughed. “Good point.”

  “Exactly. Get over yourself.” Motioning to an oncoming cab, she said, “I’m out of here. Try not to be so annoying.”

  “Only if you’ll try not to be such a bitch!”

  Hannah opened the cab door, turned to me and said, “Where’s the fun in that?” Then she got in the car and closed the door behind her.