164. Heh heh
Next, I jumped off him and grabbed a wrist. Thank goodness he had a metal bed with lovely posts at the head and foot.
By this point, my blood pounded in my ears, and a feeling of unholy power coursed through me. I’d never, ever in my life perpetrated anything of this kind. I’d spent my entire existence taking everyone’s shit—with a smile. Lest the teacher, boss, parent, friend, bus driver etc, got mad at me. To hell with that. A cackle pealed from my mouth—loud, mean, angry—while my hands clawed like a supervillain’s, and suddenly I understood why people went rogue.
165. Misbehaving was fun
“What?” Taylor asked, softly. He was almost out cold at this point. I yanked his arm and tied up his wrist anyway.
I didn’t bother to respond to him anymore, but left the bedroom to let Mel into the apartment. As soon as she got inside, I gave her the highest of fives and a hip-bump. “Did you see him flip his shit?” I asked.
She jumped and clapped. “Yes! I can’t believe popping that gas tank door…thingie…”
“I don’t know what it is, either.”
“And throwing a little sugar around would be so satisfying! Is he out?”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s go tie him up the rest of the way.”
Like two little girls skipping toward Disneyland, we joked our way through incapacitating our very own douchebag. We left one of his hands free, but tied both legs. We also placed his phone near his free hand, so that if he couldn’t untie himself, he could at least call for help. Although we’d traipsed into supervillain territory, we yet had mercy.
166. We totally took a picture, though
He didn’t even stir, but began snoring.
We regrouped in the living room, chests heaving with breathless excitement. As one, we settled, stared at each other, and said, “What now?”
“Jinx!” I blurted. “You owe me a Coke.”
She grinned at her deserved punishment and looked around the room. I did the same, now that I didn’t have a horrible man-child to deal with. Ugh. The walls were dark gray dotted with naked woman art. Everywhere. And the place was a gross mess. He was rich, and Mel said she knew he brought in a maid. How did anyone get his place this nasty in the space of…a week? Dirty takeout in piles on the expensive-looking coffee table. Filthy socks piled under it. Ew—was that a pair of underwear hanging off a chair? And gross workout clothes on the kitchen counter, which we could see from the living room.
“Let’s get tetanus shots after this,” said Mel.
“Perhaps a spa day at the antibiotics factory,” I agreed.
Mel said, “I think we should go through his computer. Read emails, find his Reddit username, stuff like that. Dig for transgressions.”
We beelined for his desk. “It’s hard to type with leather gloves,” Mel said.
“That’s why I brought latex ones.” I fished into my purse and drew them out, two pairs. “I also brought cayenne pepper to put in his aftershave.”
Mel slapped me with a look. “Whoa, bad girl.”
“I just want to be thorough.”
“You’ve really had it with assholes, haven’t you?”
“You have no idea.” I snapped on my latex with the evil grin that came more and more naturally to me, and we began exploring the wide, wide world of Taylor online. His emails yielded paydirt almost immediately. He’d stolen several of Mel’s authors, just as we suspected. We took screenshots and saved them to a flash drive we’d brought.
Then we began digging a little more into his sent items.
“Bless his heart,” Mel whispered.
“To his own uncle!” I followed.
The little shit had been leaking internal meeting notes to a competing editor at another big publisher! Plans for book rollouts, trend data, all sorts of stuff. Seems he was working his way into an elevated role at the new pub—a couple of rungs above where he was at Mel’s company. “Screenshot it,” Mel said.
“Done and done.”
Next, we perpetrated the most wicked of modern breaches of trust—we explored his browser history.
167. We all look at porn. Don’t lie
But this… Lucky my stomach was empty, because barf vomit city. The ye old standard sexy sex was there, but then we found all this fetishistic crap with horrific racist names and gross faux-Japanese costumes and the like.
“I may never date again,” Mel said, “knowing this is what lurks among us.”
More screenshots of this stuff. Mel said, “I think our big boss, Diana, might be interested in this. Me so horny? Him so out of a job.”
His Reddit username yielded even more wonderful bounty, including his commentary about how much he hated women (click and save!), minorities (click and save!), non-Americans (click and save!), anyone who wasn’t a millionaire, and on and on.
Then… We spotted it. Right on the desktop—a folder simply named Sluts. With a look to Mel and a deep breath, I clicked it open. Trophy pictures of women. In his bed. Very graphic activities. During which the women were sleeping.
Grind grind grind. I might file my teeth clean off tonight. “I’m copying all of these. If we recognize anyone, maybe we can tell her.”
“Or not!” Mel hung her head. “Maybe they’re happier not knowing. He’s not dating anyone now—hopefully they’re never coming back.”
“What if he’s posted them online?” A nasty, sick heat crawled over every inch of my body. To know that I would have ended up in his Slut file of horrors if I hadn’t been actively watching for it… Those poor women.
A giant snort-snore from the other room made us jump and scream, but he was still, blessedly, knocked out cold.
We had more than enough screen grabs to embarrass him into the next millennium, and I copied every single photo in that horrendous file with the offensive name. I erased the previous hour’s worth of browser history, the temporary folders, and removed the flash drive.
Mel bounced with agitation, looking as if she’d peel off her skin if we stayed there any longer. But halfway to the door, I stopped.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Nothing. It’s just…” I set my purse down right in front of the door and started for the bedroom. “He has to think he got laid, right? I don’t want him really putting it together that my face equals email leak.”
I hurried back into the bedroom and turned on the light. He didn’t twitch. He wasn’t even snoring anymore. I untied his two ankles and wrist and began peeling off his clothes.
168. This might be the grossest fuck-up of them all
“I can’t look,” Mel chirped from the doorway, sounding as if she’d rather watch Jabba the Hut take a shower.
“I’ll take one for the team.” With my eyes ninety percent closed, I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed him to and fro until it could be discarded on the floor. Then, wishing I had taken a shot of some liquor with paint-peeling capabilities, I yanked off his pants. I left the boxer briefs on, because I’m only human, and my gag reflex already twitched. Touching this gross excuse for a human being—who’d been pampered and paid for all his life, who drugged women and, yeah, raped them—made my skin want to flee and assemble into another life form far away from this planet.
Finally, I messed up the covers and pulled down a towel or two in the bathroom to make it seem like someone else had spent time there. I left a scrawled note from ‘Amanda’ about what a good time she’d had.
When it was done, and he lay sprawled across the bed, I didn’t feel like tying him up again. Rage tinged my vision red and I swayed as I stood there, staring at his pathetic ass. So what if we got him off Mel’s back, or fired? He’d buy into another job, better than I’d ever have, in a trice. And no doubt his disgusting perv habits would continue unabated. I mean, sure, I’d tried to seduce my almost boss, but when he’d said no, I’d respected it.
But what could we do? If we emailed the files on his computer to the police, we’d admit to the B & E. Well, kind of. He’d let me into
the apartment, but I didn’t know the murky legal ramifications of rummaging around on his computer. They were probably not in my favor.
Mel touched my shoulder gently and I jumped. “You okay?”
“I’m enraged at this piece of crap.”
“Me too.” She chewed on her lip, seemingly as at odds with herself as I was.
“Is your boss Charlie—his uncle, right?—is he a good guy?”
“Oh, yeah. The total opposite of this asshole.”
The gears clicked in my brain. We didn’t need to send any of this to the cops if we could at least send it to Charlie. Then his current job would be gone, the pipeline to another would be damaged—at least through Charlie—and people would know how he was a scumbag.
Then I got the most amazingest idea to have ever idea’d. I whispered to Mel, “We need to send these files to his mother.”
She rocked backward. She put her hand to her heart. “Dag. Giselle. Whoever. I think you may have been taken over by the angry spirit of a vengeful Amazon warrior goddess, for this is the most amazingest idea to have ever idea’d.”
169. Told you
We dived back into his email and, sure enough, we found his mom. She seemed like a sweet lady who sent him recipes, restaurant reviews, and…a maid over to do his laundry once a week.
“He doesn’t even pay the maid himself,” I said with an eye roll.
170. My eyes would get stuck staring at my brain if I kept rolling them
Mel took note of his mom’s email address. I’d send her the terrible photos from a dummy account. Some of them had his face in them, his body, his hands on the women…so no doubt about their authenticity.
We took a moment to scan the rooms, to make sure we’d left nothing behind. Mel’s glove-clad hand had just gripped the front doorknob when I said, “Wait.”
“What now?” She gave me a very exasperated pair of eyebrows. “I’ve created a monster!”
“I’ve created a monster! Bwaahahahahaaa!” I threw my head back and did my evil villain laugh again, and my BFF leaned away from me.
171. Yes, be afraid
172. Be very afraid
The laughter ripped from some deep, dank part of me, perhaps building up for years—decades. Was this what happened to a goody two-shoes in the end? Maybe I should adopt a weird hair color, or a villainous costume. Where was my catsuit? Where was my spell book!?
I took off for his bathroom and ran some hot water into a glass he had on the counter. Then I fulfilled a ten-year-old me dream—I put his hand in it. Cool girl Adrienne Johnston had done this to me at my very first sleepover. I’d completely pissed myself, and all the girls had laughed. Even my sister. I hadn’t even known about such a trick, and would never have done it to someone. After that, I became a nerd pariah and Adrienne, the most popular girl in our class. She dubbed me Kostopeelos, and it had stuck.
Well, I wasn’t Kostopeelos anymore. I was Giselle! Or something! “Fuck Adrienne,” I whispered as I kneeled by his bed. In no time at all, it happened. Taylor whizzed all over the bed, and Mel collapsed onto herself on the floor laughing. So did I, spilling the water on his duvet, sheets, and floor. I didn’t care, I plopped down next to her, and we had maybe the best laugh of our lives, even better than the time we’d gotten drunk and gone to see a midnight showing of Twilight.
I had no idea how long we lay there, faces hurting, eyes weeping uncontrollably. My body seemed to float lighter. As if my soul had been injected with helium, like a Mylar balloon with the words ‘I don’t give a fuck’ emblazoned across it in sparkly pink.
Mel squeezed my hand and sniffed a wet-sounding glob of snot. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“Always.”
Our mission accomplished flawlessly—
173. With bonus wee
We left the apartment. Wee left? Heh.
A chilly wind hit my still-grinning face on the way out of the building. I departed first, as if I were leaving after a hook-up. Mel followed five minutes later, just to be all sneaky spy about it. We met a couple of blocks down, both shivering and happier than hell. I was in pain from the laughter…but it had replaced any crying I’d been trying not to do. About Blade, or my job. For better or worse, I was actually calling the shots now.
174. And damn, did it make the blood pound in my lady boner.
“I’m fucking up, and I love it!” I screamed to the street, filled with New Year’s revelers spilling from bars and restaurants.
This gleeful admission was met with scattered applause, and one offer of, “Wanna fuck up with me?”
New Year’s Eve was the perfect fuck-up night. It and me were one. One gorgeous entity dressed in tackiness, filled with frivolity and contemplation both. And covered in sparkles.
We naturally gravitated toward the revelers outside the bars. They had drinks in their hands, even on the sidewalk, but nobody cared. Not tonight. Not at the start of a brand new and shiny year—a happy baby who never exploded into poop.
175. So to speak
176. Of course, many years did, in fact, explode into poop
177. This last year had dumped on me quite a bit
178. Pun intended
Mel grabbed my arm. “It’s only ten minutes to midnight.”
“Then we must acquire cocktails post haste.”
We shook on it and hurried into the nearest bar. The place was a lovely zoo, and while we waited at the bar for literally anything inebriative—
179. Totally a word
—I gave Mel my faux fur so she appeared more festive, and I took her hoodie so I looked less hooker-ey.
180. Less hooker-ey because the hundred I’d just been offered was an insult
181. I had an MBA
182. I was a thousand-dollar-an-hour girl
183. At least!
We barely made it into the street before the collective New York voice began counting. Ten, nine, eight—my heart leaped into my throat—seven, six, five—I was a whole new woman this year—four, three, two—
“This is my year!” I screamed.
One!
Everyone whooped, clapped, hugged. Three different men attempted to grope me, so my first acts of the New Year were an instep smash, a hip check, and a low punch to the groin.
184. Fitting
Mel turned to me after helping me get a very drunk and drooling redhead off my hoodie. “I don’t have a boy to kiss,” she said.
“Me neither. But it’s better!” I took her into my arms and squeezed with all my might. Into her ear, I yelled above the din, “Boys might come and go, but my Mel is forever, and I love you!”
I planted a smackeroo right on her mouth. The quick and dirty—
185. Wink wink
—Kiss ended with her laughing at me, which was terribly fitting. I’d been getting rather a lot of that lately.
As one, we downed our cocktails and joined in the impromptu dance party now boogeying into the street. Cabs honked for us to get the hell out of their way, but not a one of us paid attention.
We danced. And danced. And danced. My feet stung with more blisters than in a Violent Femmes song, but this two square feet of dress was surprisingly comfortable. At least the shoes were good for dropping fuckboys trying to grab my whatnots.
By three a.m., Mel had had enough, so we went back to her place and just passed out, grins on our faces and stamps on our hands.
* * * *
186. Hung over
187. So hung over
188. Had I invented hangovers?
189. No
190. Not even I would fuck up that much
191. Giselle probably had
192. Dagmar’s contribution—pleading the fifth
My heaaaaaaaad. My stomaaaaaaach. My haaaaaaaair. Ouch. I rolled over. Ugh, this bed was lumpy.
“Get off me, ass breath,” muttered Mel. “And answer your phone.”
I got off her, as requested. My tummy lurched, but I kept rolling right off the bed so that I wouldn’t barf on he
r with my ass breath. Bam! I landed on my elbow and my face both. “Auuuugh,” I moaned while holding my broken face and flailing on the floor for the phone still screaming in my purse. “What,” I answered with Kathleen Turner’s voice.
“Shut up!” offered my loving friend.
“I’ll breathe on you more,” I threatened. I couldn’t follow through, however. I dropped the phone and crawled to her trash, barely making it before my revelry made its reappearance.
Me and the trashcan had a nice lie down. I’d just worked up the gumption to do something about the acid burning a hole through my esophagus when I remembered my phone. Oh, whoops. Dang it. The phone sat all the way over there.
193. Three whole feet away
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. A weak noise floated to my ears. “Are you okay?” I heard. Aw! Someone cared about Dagmar on my phone!
Roll. Roll. By the third roll, I’d made it to the thing, still lit up with my call. I rolled on top of it so that I faced up. But then it was underneath me.
194. Why was life so haaaaaard
Okay. Time to woman up. I pulled the phone out from under my ass and said, like a human, “Hi.”
“Giselle?”
Someone cared about Giselle.
“Yash. Hi. I’m sorry. My hangover is having hangover babies in my head, and those little brats are playing drums.”
He chuckled in that low way of his and my body tingled with a new feeling. No, not bile, but lust. “I’m sorry. I hope you had fun at least.”
“I did.” Taylor, roofie, B & E, bed piss—his, not mine. “I really, really did.”
“Good. I was going to ask you out to dinner tonight, but perhaps—”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?”
My tummy threw itself into my ribcage by way of protest. “Quiet, you,” I muttered.
“What?” Yash asked.
“Nothing. Uh…Maybe you’re right. But I really want to”—bang you, bang you, bang, bang bang bang—“see you. I mi—”
I clapped my teeth closed. I’d almost said “I miss you,” but that would be disastrous. Both to say…and to admit to myself. Especially after one date!
667 Ways to F*ck Up My Life Page 9
