She smiled. “You, too,” she answered easily.
Her phone dinged. She grabbed it, looking at it as Cuddlebug went to get towels from the hotel bathroom.
She braced herself for a message from Michelle. She’d promised to not avoid her, and she knew Michelle had big plans that she wanted to discuss, especially after the success of the Jezebel article. She’d probably want a follow-up, and writing blogs had been like pulling out her own fingernails with pliers. God knows what they’d have her doing next. The promo element made her nervous.
Oh, who was she kidding? Success made her nervous. Failure made her nervous. She was basically a big ball of anxiety.
She forced herself to look at the phone, just to get it over with. Thankfully, the text was from Druv. Going to be late home, he said. Case coming up, gotta work.
You’re working too hard, she texted back. Do you want me to bring you some dinner?
“Hey,” Cuddlebug said, handing her the towel. “If you’re not in a rush, I thought we could eat. They’ve got great room service here.”
“Sorry. I have to write,” she said.
“I love that you’re a writer,” he enthused.
She sighed. She probably shouldn’t have told him she was a writer, but she needed an excuse to leave, so she’d brought up the deadline a few weeks ago as an escape. Now he looked at her like she was some kind of rock star. Which would be awesome, if he wasn’t always trying to talk to her about it: asking her what she was writing and making “helpful” suggestions.
“You know, ever since we got together, I’ve been having some great ideas for a thriller,” he said, plopping on the bed next to her as she toweled off. “You could write it, and we could split the…”
“Nope,” she cut him off. If she had a nickel for every time someone suggested that little arrangement, she could have bought her own private island and hired Tom Hardy to be her cabana boy. “I barely have time to write my own.”
“It’d be about this couple, like us, who were in love,” he continued. “And it turns out that the woman’s husband is a spy and a terrorist, and she’s terrified of…”
She narrowed her eyes at that. “What do you mean, ‘a couple like us’?”
“You know. An interracial couple,” he said.
The phone pinged again. To her shock, Cuddlebug reached over and grabbed her phone.
“What the fuck?”
He flicked the screen open. “You really should have a passcode,” he said, holding it away from her with a grin. She watched, stunned, as he read the text, frowned. “That asshole wants you to bring him dinner? Because he’s working late? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“I offered to bring him dinner,” she said, getting up on her knees, reaching for the phone.
Cuddlebug held it away, like a high school bully. Just because he was taller than she was, and she couldn’t reach it. She suspected he actually thought she’d find it cute.
“Give me that.” Her voice was frigid.
“Guy even tells you exactly what he wants. All this Indian food. And I suppose he expects you to cook it, too. While you’re under deadline!” Cuddlebug said, with righteous indignation. “Who does this guy think he is?”
“Give me the goddamn phone now.”
He finally paid attention, handed her the phone. But his expression was determined. “You don’t have to jump through hoops, just to please him,” he said, reluctantly offering the phone back. “I would never make you bring me food. I’d never expect it from you. Damn it, you’re not his slave.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
The phone rang as Aditi was grabbing it, and she accidentally hit the “answer” button. She frowned, glancing at the name. MICHELLE.
Great. Just great.
“Hello?” she said, glowering at Cuddlebug, who crossed his arms. “Miche?”
“Hi, Aditi.” Michelle sounded… down. Not just serious.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m having a shitty day.”
Aditi stood up, naked, walking away from the bed. Away from Cuddlebug. “Is it Ted? He giving you problems?” Frankly, she doubted anyone would get the drop on Michelle, especially not her ex-husband. He might be a top-notch literary agent, but Michelle learned wheeling and dealing from her mother, who was absolutely bloodless when it came to negotiation.
“Anyway… the Jezebel article.”
“I’m okay,” Aditi said. “I mean, it’s bad, but if I avoid my inbox and don’t look at my mentions or comments or anything, I’m staying even.”
“I’m glad. Nothing like Taneesha, right?” To her credit, Michelle sounded genuinely concerned.
“No. Nothing like that, thank God.” And Aditi was grateful. “I’m not looking forward to doing more promo, but I’ll do it if you want. I just need a little more time. Actually, I’m sort of looking forward to writing the follow-up.”
“What follow-up?”
“Jezebel. After the response, they requested a follow-up,” Aditi replied. “After seeing what Taneesha’s going through, and the shit storm that followed just my piece… You know what? Fuck them. I am not going to play nice and sit on the sidelines. That’s why I wrote my book, after all. I mean, what would the point be if our protagonists just sat there, silent, and rolled over at the first plot point?”
“I don’t think you should do it.”
Aditi smiled. It was nice, that Michelle was so concerned about her. “Don’t worry, I got this. Seriously. I’m not talking salt the earth like Christina. Just a response, including talking about the assbags who are trolling me and sending me death threats.”
“I’m on this, and I promise, I’ll make it up to you,” Michelle reiterated. “We’ll figure out something else. I’m actually considering a book tour for you.”
“What, like a bunch of different blogs?”
“No, a real, physical book tour,” Michelle said, shocking her. “Seven cities, maybe. For YA, that’s really effective.”
It was like getting dumped into an ice bath. “You mean show up in seven cities and… sign books?” Aditi wondered if her voice sounded as appalled as she felt.
“And maybe give a little talk beforehand,” Michelle said, making things worse. The anxiety was like a vise, squeezing Aditi’s chest. “Don’t worry, we’ll come up with questions and prep you. And the crowds won’t be that big…”
“Then what’s the point?” Aditi squeaked.
“… Only maybe a hundred or so. Depending.”
“Only a hundred!”
“If you can deal with the wrath of trolls, a hundred fangirls won’t be anything,” Michelle said. “It’ll be more effective, more targeted.”
Aditi sighed. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said, wanting to push the idea as far from herself as possible. “I mean, it’s still up in the air, right?”
“Nothing definite yet.”
“All right.” Aditi took a deep breath—or tried to. “Well, I told that editor I’d do one more piece at least, but after that, I’ll stop.”
There was a long pause. “Don’t do the Jezebel piece, Aditi.”
“I told you, I’ve got this,” Aditi argued, digging her heels in, surprising herself. “I’m not scared.”
“I’m not saying this as your friend,” Michelle said, and all the sadness that had drenched her voice in the beginning came back. “This is from the publisher. No more pieces for Jezebel. No more think pieces, period.”
“Ewww, you know how I feel about the term ‘think piece,’” Aditi said, before stopping short. “Wait. You’re telling me they don’t want me speaking out, at all? So, what, I don’t have to do any posts, or promo?” She paused, as things clicked in her head. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me they’re not going to promote my book at all? Other than possibly a damned book tour, while I’m supposed to be writing their fucking sequel? Do they even still want the sequel?”
“Calm down,” Michelle said, and her voice was glacial. “Would I let them scr
ew you over?”
“Kinda feels like it, yeah!” Aditi said.
There was a tense pause. “As your friend, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Aditi felt a stab of guilt, but didn’t apologize. Because it did feel like she was getting screwed.
“It’s political,” Michelle finished.
“Fucking right it’s political. So is my book.”
“No. It’s political for me,” Michelle said, her voice lowering. “Believe it or not, I’m not happy about this, either. But there’s shit behind the scenes that I’m dealing with, and it means backing off from controversy right now.”
“Controversy? Are you shitting me?” Aditi said. “I thought this was supposed to be this great opportunity. I didn’t even want to write anything, but you said there was a deadline and I had to get it in. I did this because you told me to!”
“And now you don’t have to!” Michelle said. “Dammit, my hands are tied on this one. One of our authors was a complete dick about this. Well, he’s technically always a dick, as well as a sexist, racist, overrated douchebag, but he’s decided to take this as a personal offense, and he carries enough weight that my publisher’s backing down. I don’t want them to mess with your book further. We’re just going to have to make the best of it, okay?”
Aditi gripped the phone hard, and for a second, envisioned herself throwing it against the wall. She supposed she ought to be relieved that she wouldn’t have to write any more blog posts. But what about my book? What if it got no sales support, no publicity?
What would happen then?
Michelle sighed. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get plenty of promotion. I guarantee it. I will do whatever I have to, to make sure your book gets the attention it needs.”
“Except let it be political.” Aditi bit out the words. “So I guess I’ll just write the book, then? Or are we afraid that’ll be too political?”
Michelle’s minute of silence let her displeasure be known. In that moment, Aditi couldn’t give a flying fuck.
“You can keep blogging, if you want. I’d keep it light, though. And of course, social media, but I know you’re giving that a wide berth right now.” Michelle’s voice was monotone, like a computer’s. “This wasn’t my idea. I’m really sorry, Aditi.”
“Yeah, so am I,” Aditi said. “Talk to you later.” Then she clicked off the phone, putting it down hard enough on the desk that she had to check to see if she’d cracked the screen.
“You okay?”
She’d actually forgotten for a moment that Cuddlebug was still there. He was staring at her, blue eyes full of worry. He stroked her arm. She shrugged his hand away.
“What happened?”
She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to talk to Druv. But her emotions—she felt them crashing through her from all sides. The anger. The unfairness. Her publisher just knuckling under to the pressures of some old meninist author. Michelle knew how important her stances on feminism were. She wouldn’t have ordinarily talked about them, but now that it seemed to be making an impact—didn’t they want to make an impact? Why the hell wouldn’t her publisher get behind anything that helped boost sales?
Unless the publisher didn’t believe in the book?
“It’s just all so unfair,” she said, and hated that she felt tears scorching her eyes.
“Oh… oh, sweetie.” Cuddlebug swept her into his arms. And while she hated the dependence of it, hated that it was Cuddlebug, after a moment’s stiffness, she melted against his chest, letting the tears of rage and frustration pour out.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Shut up,” she murmured against his chest, but with the tears, he couldn’t understand her.
CHRISTINA
Christina rubbed at her eyes. She’d been at Vivi’s for a couple of days now… she’d have to go home at some point, get some clothes, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to fit into Vivi’s, even if she wanted to wear the expensive, girly stuff. She’d been asleep too long and partying a little too hard—even for her. She knew that Taneesha was getting bothered, but somehow it hadn’t really sunk in how bad it had gotten. Dead animals? Guys stalking her? What the actual fuck?
And now Aditi was catching flak, just for standing up for Taneesha.
“The world sucks,” she said out loud.
Vivi stirred. She was half asleep on the couch, watching some reality show and mocking people she knew. She brushed off Christina’s comment. “Oh, for God’s sake, just kiss and get it over with,” Vivi muttered to the women on screen. “She creates these dramas but she’s so gay, it’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even like sex with guys!”
Christina let out a silent sigh, more an exhalation than anything. “My friend is getting doxed.”
Vivi wasn’t really listening.
“Like, people are sending her cat corpses. Fuck’s sake.”
Now Vivi’s eyes flicked over to her, irritated and yet intrigued. “Cat corpses? What are you talking about?”
“My friend, Taneesha. They treat her like crap at work, because she’s a woman,” Christina said, then slowly explained Taneesha’s situation, glossing over parts when Vivi’s eyes, too, glossed over. “Anyway, now people are threatening her. They’re trying to scare her, and it’s working. And her company won’t do anything about it.”
“Not even when the guy who started it all works there, too?” Vivi rolled her eyes. “What a bunch of assholes!”
“I know!” Christina felt jubilant. See? Vivi understood.
“That’s like producers typecasting because they see a woman with tits and automatically think she’s a bimbo,” Vivi said. “And they carry that thinking into contract negotiations. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve been lowballed because I’m young and sexy.”
“I’ll bet.” Christina gave her an over-the-top leer that made Vivi giggle.
“And I’ve been stalked. Once, a little while ago,” she said, again with a shrug.
Christina felt her chest clench a little. “What? How did I not know about this?”
“Why would you? My agent said that getting a stalker is how you know you’ve made it. I’m not sure if he was bullshitting me on that one, actually,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Anyway, the guy’s in jail.”
“How’d they catch him?”
Vivi smiled. “Well, I had this fan club, and I told them that a guy was stalking me. So they all stalked him.”
“Wait, what?”
Vivi’s doll-like face curved into what could only be categorized as a devious, almost demonic smile. “I told them what he looked like, and that he’d been following me. They found him and harassed him, took pictures of him. One even dug up his criminal record.” She shrugged. “By the time I was done, the police had everything they needed for a case. And he knew not to fuck with me any more.”
Christina mulled the concept over. Hmmm.
There were a lot of people who were incensed, if the comments she’d been reading on Aditi’s Jezebel post were any indication. And she knew that a lot of people would be angry on Taneesha’s behalf if they knew that Taneesha was the actual victim. People would want to do something. She certainly did. Even if Taneesha hadn’t been one of her closest friends, she would have wanted to do something.
Vivi might be onto something.
Christina went to the subreddit where Taneesha’s doxing had happened, or at least where the screen caps of it had been posted. Reddit had taken the posts with Taneesha’s information down, but not before a bunch of people had saved her address and personal information. The thread itself was still there, and it was completely horrible. It had all begun with that one guy from her office—the one complaining, calling her Social Justice Warrior—a bitch, an affirmative action pick, and calling out her actions in kicking his ass in WoW.
Like she should know her place?
Readi
ng the Reddit page got Christina’s blood boiling.
Like she should feel fucking lucky that she has a job at all, and the only reason she has a job is because she’s black and a woman, so she should shut her mouth?
“Why don’t we look into you, buddy,” she muttered, her fingers flying over the laptop keys.
In the next few hours, Vivi continued to chuckle away at the television as Christina dug up the guy’s online history. His job history. And, most important, his contact info.
Then she posted her own screed on some feminist boards and other subreddits.
A black woman game programmer, after getting shut out of meetings and treated with disrespect at her workplace, got even in a unique way: by going to her coworker’s World of Warcraft game and kicking his ass soundly. She beat him on his own turf, the game world, and she beat him mercilessly. His response? After trying to complain to Blizzard’s management about the treatment (the game company then assured him it was all above board, the whiny asshole), he decided to get even in real life… by posting her addresses, both home and work, and her phone number.
Christina took a breath. She felt like a time bomb was ticking in her chest, ready to explode.
It is so… fucking… unfair.
This woman has been getting what apparently is now common for someone who gets doxed. She’s a woman, so she also gets the usual rape threats and death threats. See what I did there? Usual. This is standard fucking practice for these assholes. It’s expected.
As rage and impotent frustration bubbled up in her, Christina found herself typing faster and harder, her keys clacking away like an old-fashioned typewriter.
But to up the ante? She’s getting dead animals. Some of them mutilated. That’s some serial killer shit. And they’re sending her pictures of herself, just walking around, going about her day! Can you imagine how terrified you’d feel? Some guy, taking pictures of you as you’re going to work? Going to the grocery store? Then sending you those pictures… showing you that he knows where you are, that he sees you even when you don’t see him? That he could get you at any time?
Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus Page 30
