667 Ways to F*ck Up My Life

by Lucy Woodhull

  “Are those good noises?”

  I began to laugh. “Yes! Yes. Losing my job broke my heart. To know that people are saying nice things…well, it makes me feel like I wasn’t as huge a drip as previously thought.”

  “A drip? Does a drip get a new job over a five-minute coffee?” She stood and handed me her card. As she packed up her things, she said, “If you want to be an editor for Hysterical, give your notice to coffeeland here and give me a call. Hand me research on comps for the fashionable women book when you walk in on your first day, as well as a few other ideas about subjects you feel passionate about. Oh, and I think a sequel to Khandye Kardashian’s book is in order—her sales have been steady. My sources tell me she’s in talks with your former publisher, so we need to swoop in with a better offer. She might not realize it, but she needs you. We should just go ahead and credit you as co-author this time. That blog you have no idea about is hilarious.”

  I gaped like a guppy and fought valiantly to stop the tears springing to my eyes. Marlene didn’t wait for a reply, for she was a queen who must tend to her court. The rest of her court, because I’d just joined it!

  After she left, I jumped to my feet and yelled, “Yes!”

  Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes holy shit yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes OMG yes yes yes yes yes!

  I turned to Hunter and beamed. “I quit!”

  “What? Lacey is out sick today.”

  “Then I’ll stay for another week!”

  397. A week’s notice wasn’t exactly proper, but I was a fuck-up, not the director of the C.I.A.

  Once in the back room, I threw my apron on and called Mel.

  She picked up, saying, “We making plans for Deep Throat Part Two, Even Deepier Throating?”

  I snorted. “Hell, yes, but I have news. You are talking to the new editor at Hysterical Books!”

  “What? Holy shitnuts!”

  I jumped up and down while we squealed together, and I knew she was leaping like a frog, too, because I’m psychic. And also because she’d dropped her phone and stomped on it.

  Once she dusted off her footprint, she said, “Dag, that’s amazing! How? How?”

  My head spun, but for a good reason, finally. “I have to go make a thousand cups of coffee, but I’ll dish about everything tonight. I get out at seven, and I’ll come over then. Cool?”

  “Dagmar rides again!”

  “And I totally have fucking up to thank!”

  We hung up, and I spent the rest of the day in a delirious haze. A teenager shoved an entire large tea at me because she said the chai was too chai-ey. A dad with three daughters under the age of six screamed misogynist obscenities at me until he broke into a sweat because we’d accidentally toasted his bagel. The guy after him, however, had left me a ten-dollar tip just to spite the asshole. And a lady had tried to play the switching-change grift on me, but I’d demanded a count of the register to prove myself, and the woman had beat feet out of there.

  But in the end— Who cared? I’d gotten an amazing new job! I swear, me telling Marlene that I’d hit on Hunter had helped her remember me, ask about me. And I’d have to send a basket of muffins to Carmichael’s department thanking all of them for talking me up so I got the new job. Maybe I’d send strawberry ones. Carmichael is allergic to strawberries.

  That should piss him the hell off—no mistake about that.

  Yet I wondered… How to explain the change to Yash? My schedule would be much more nine-to-six now. Eh, I squished that thought down to be dealt with another day. Because today was made of magic. I gave everyone extra whipped cream and chose the largest pastries from the case. I sang aloud to the muzak wailing from the sound system. My mood infected everyone around me, even Hunter, who said he was sad to see me go after teaching me only half of the Coffee Code.

  He’d also heavily implied that once I was no longer his employee, he’d love to see that pleather dress again. Heh heh. I let him down easy.

  398. But yes! I had made him want me!

  399. Respectful sluttiness works every time

  400. Take note, classy bitches

  My shift flew by, and soon I’d stopped at home to cuddle and feed my fur monster, and to change into an all-black ensemble topped with a trench coat to prepare for our nefarious assignation. When I got to Mel’s, she whipped the door open and said, “A pink trench coat? Very subtle.”

  I sashayed inside and did a turn for her. “It’s the only trench I own, and this is its inaugural appearance. I bought it three or four years ago, but then decided it was too flashy, so it’s been hidden.”

  She shook her head at me, even as she cracked a half smile. “Dag, I always knew there was a pink trench coat hidden inside you. For better or worse, honey, I’m happy you’ve let her out. Now!” She clapped her hands. “I’ve got pizza on the way. We shall discuss your new job and then our plan. We do have a plan?”

  I shrugged.

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Over pepperoni and extra cheese in Mel’s living room, I told her about the goddess Marlene Hodgkins. Mel knew her by reputation, of course, and we scoured the Hysterical website for their latest news and staffing info. They put out about one hundred books a year in a variety of genres. The common ground was that Hysterical emphasized women’s and minority voices.

  After the sexist barf bag that had been Carmichael’s group, my new home sounded like heaven.

  “Should I call her tonight?” I asked.

  Mel said, “It’s already eight. Send her an email tomorrow that you’re very interested and set up a formal time to talk. Have you discussed salary or anything?”

  “No. Hopefully she doesn’t realize the peanuts she’d need to pay me to jump the coffee express.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t lead with desperation.”

  We munched and sighed over the website for a while longer, then we got down to the task at hand. With our ‘serious business’ faces on, we made a plan.

  I said, “I wish we had a car. We could shine the lights bright against a wall and stand in the dark to talk to her.”

  “She’ll think she’s getting kidnapped. We’ll just stay in the shadows.”

  “Or…” I rooted around in the supplies I’d brought with me and pulled one of them over my head.

  Mel spit out her soda and fell across her couch.

  “What’s wrong?” I demanded through the rubbery confines of my white unicorn mask. The thing covered my entire head and neck, and I yanked it off quickly.

  “Why do you own that abomination?”

  “Don’t talk that way about my unicorn, Xanadu! She was my costume last Halloween. I wore her with a pink prom dress I got at Goodwill.” I reached into my satchel. “This one is yours.”

  She whipped it from my hands and peered at the empty rubber face. “I get the horse? But I want to be the unicorn.”

  “Then you should have bought the unicorn. Don’t worry, I de-Bladed the horse before I brought it.”

  “Good thing. No telling what ick that guy had.”

  I shot her a baleful look. “I got tested. If he has a dread disease, he didn’t pass it to me.”

  “I hope he has one all the same, though.”

  “Like dick rot.”

  “Or scrotum scabies.”

  Now it was my turn to spit my drink. We were too witty for her light-colored carpet.

  “Maybe she’ll be too afraid to talk to us in these masks?” I pondered.

  Mel pshawed. “Nah. I’d definitely talk to a vengeful unicorn in a pink coat. That’s just good manners, honey.”

  I yanked her in for a hug, and we polished off another slice of pizza. While we waited to go, nerves jangling as if we’d fed them coffee, we Googled DirtyLinens.com’s history of not revealing their sources. They definitely went to bat to protect them, even fighting in court and settling lawsuits rather than
expose anyone. Gossip about the rich and powerful was their bread and butter.

  I pulled my legs under me and flopped back against the couch. “Say the worst case happens, and the cops find me. He roofied himself, basically. All I did was go through his computer.”

  Mel nodded. “True. I think you could get a deal with the cops in exchange for cooperation.”

  “Me too. If not, I’d take my case to the public and be a heroine for the ages!”

  “Uh-huh. You and Norma Rae.”

  It was still hours before we were to meet Abby, so we settled in to watch a silly movie and have a cocktail.

  401. Because why undertake a spy mission unless you’re a little buzzed?

  402. It was medicinal

  And, boy, it made me feel a lot more confident about all these stupid decisions. Besides, I had a new job to celebrate.

  My brain barely kept track of the movie plot, so jazzed was it to have a new literary adventure to mull over. I’d be working at a much smaller press, but one that was likely a better fit for me. And I knew that I’d never get passed over for promotion—or fired, for fuck’s sake—because Marlene got horny.

  The awesome older ladies fashion book also made my heart race with glee. Women of all creeds, colors, nationalities with fabulous fashion in common, living dynamic lives no matter their ages. What an inspiration! It could feature stories about fashion and life lessons intertwining.

  Midnight rolled around, and Mel elbowed me out of my reverie. I’d begun a blog about getting a new job in publishing, but I hadn’t pushed it live yet. I needed time to collect my jumbled thoughts, but first:

  403. Operation Even Deepier Throating

  We dressed in trench coats. Mel’s was plaid. Whatever—we were fashion-savvy undercover operatives. We threw our masks into cross-body bags and topped our heads with scarves. I tucked away sunglasses just in case, as well as a few other items we might need.

  With a quick prayer to the gods of Lady Justice, we set off on foot to the parking garage. We strolled right in via the pedestrian entrance, our scarves pulled tight over the bulk of our faces. Few cars were in evidence. We stuck to the walls, circling down to the darkest part. Security cameras monitored us from high on the ceiling, but we kept our scarves over our mouths and heads, like chilly Jawas.

  Mel and I found a corner and sat down on the cleanest-looking and least-uriney-smelling place. “We’re so early,” she said. “I hope the security guards don’t roust us out.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t consider that. There aren’t any cars in this part. Maybe they think we’re just banging or something.”

  “They’ll get mad when we don’t.”

  I laughed. It echoed everywhere in the giant concrete box. I clapped my hand over my mouth as Mel shot me a dirty look.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “Maybe you should put your unicorn head on.”

  “My horn of shame.”

  She giggled this time, and it echoed, which made me laugh. We’d be easy for Abby to find at least.

  “Here—” I said, pulling a flask from my bag. “We need to chill. I feel like I’m going to barf everywhere.”

  I took a pull of vodka and handed it to her. She swigged as well. Was ‘swigged’ a word?

  404. Shouldn’t an editor know that?

  405. The kind of editor who helped concoct names for dildo salads could make up any cromulent word she wanted

  See Mel and Dagmar. See Mel swig. See Dagmar swig. Swig swig swig. She swigged and she swigged. They swig-swagged together.

  See Mel stand. See Mel laugh and fall over. Uh-oh!

  See Dagmar stand. See Dagmar grab onto Mel. See them both swiggety swaggety sway.

  “Shit,” I said. “We vodka’d too much.”

  “Swuggety schwing,” she agreed.

  Footsteps echoed through the chamber.

  “Shh shhh shhhhhh,” we swig-slurred. We did manage to yank on our masks just as Abby turned the corner to our floor.

  “I can hear you,” she said. “You’re not very good at this clandestine thing.”

  I said, “This is Operation Even Deepier Throating, thank you very much.”

  She cracked up and came closer. “Am I… Am I talking to a unicorn?”

  “Yo.”

  “Okay.”

  “Want a drink? We don’t have diseases.”

  “Yeah,” Mel agreed. “We didn’t sleep with the roofie asshole.”

  Wow, being pleasantly buzzed was making this meeting easy! We were brilliant at this. We wore masks and everything.

  Abby stopped about ten feet from us. “A unicorn and a horse. How on earth did the two of you get those pictures? They’re seriously gross.”

  “Yeah,” said the unicorn. “He’s a piece of shit. Are you recording this meeting? Because we don’t consent to that.”

  She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out her phone. She showed us the audio recorder and switched it off.

  “Great, thanks,” said the horse with a graceful burp. “So, if, theoretically, we may have done a slightly dodgy thing to get them, what then?”

  She began to take notes the old-fashioned way. “Well, it seems to me that you were in imminent fear of this man, a rapist, right?”

  “Yes!” said the horse and the unicorn.

  “And is he aware that the pictures have been…shared?”

  “Nope.” Geez, this mask stifled my face. I now remembered that I’d only kept it on for about ninety seconds at the Halloween party.

  Abby continued, “And are you two the only ones besides himself who possibly had access to them? As in, will he put A and B together and get Kooky Animal Chicks?”

  We laughed, hard, which made steam inside my mask.

  Mel said, “Nope, tons of women in that apartment. Computer not password protected. And we got rid of any fingerprints.”

  “Besides,” I said, “I was invited in.”

  Abby grinned. “This is all very good. And the answer is no, DirtyLinens will never, ever give you up. My editor is practically drooling over this story. We’ll go to bat for you. Not that I have any idea who you are.”

  The unicorn and the horse clapped their hooves in glee. Then the unicorn got down to business with the story we’d decided on. “I was at a bar with Horsey here.”

  “Whinney,” said Horsey.

  Abby’s eyebrows drew together.

  406. We were not the most reliable witnesses at the moment

  “She’s just enthusiastic,” I said, wishing I had a strong cup of JaVaVaVoom. I put my thinking cap over my mask. “Anyway, this guy, Taylor, started hitting on me. He offered to buy me a drink and I said yes. I told him I’d have what he was having, the reason being I always switch drinks with any guy I don’t know in case they try to roofie me.”

  Abby’s jaw dropped. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah. You can also insist they have the same drink as you. Feel free to steal it. So we got the drinks, I distracted him and switched the cocktails. Sure enough, not ten minutes later, this asshole starts acting loopy. I enlisted her”—I pointed at Mel—”to help get him home. We went up to his apartment, and, even in his drugged state, he got really forceful with me. He seemed to be confused as to why I wasn’t falling into bed with him. So we decided to go into his computer to inform his mother of his behavior.”

  “Ha! I’ve heard of ladies calling Mom, I get it. So that’s when you found the photos?”

  “Yes. A folder right on his desktop called ‘sluts’.”

  “Ew.”

  “Whinney,” agreed Horsey.

  I clutched my fluttering stomach. The booze was starting to war with my nerves. “That’s when we Googled him, discovered his identity, and decided to out him. We copied the photos to a thumb drive and left him there to stew in his, er, juices.”

  “Ew,” said Abby, again, saying it all. “Okay, wow. I can run with this. Those photos don’t lie, and to know they came from one of the almost-victims is fantastic. I
don’t suppose you kept any of the tainted drink or anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “Yeah, that was too much to dream of. I don’t know that any actual charges will come of this. His family will threaten us to take the piece down, but once it’s up, the Internet will take over. Our plan is to redact the faces of the women, but to ask them to contact us if they recognize themselves. The stories should come rolling in then. Hopefully, he won’t be able to buy a drink for a woman in this town for the rest of his life. Oh, do you mind if I print that tip about ordering the same drink?”

  “Of course not. Let’s stop these scumbags.”

  She examined us one more time and laughed again. “Well, I couldn’t ID the two of you if my life depended on it, so I think you’re safe there. Thanks for the story, ladies, and watch your email in case I have more questions.” With that, she started making the trek out of the parking garage.

  We hung back and, once a few minutes had passed, we followed her direction of travel. A quick peek around a corner told us she wasn’t in the building anymore.

  A security guard, however, was. “Hey!” he called. “Get outta here, you freaks!”

  Hear Mel whinny. Hear Dag whinny. See Mel and Dag run away from the yelling security guard. Run, freaks, run!

  There was one item in my arsenal I hadn’t gotten to use, so I grabbed it now. I yanked the object from my bag, pulled the wire, and deployed it.

  “Oh, my God!” yelled Mel as all three of us were engulfed in bright blue smoke.

  I took her arm and pulled her up the ramp toward the early morning air. The security guard hollered to save the band, but our escape was shrouded in blue haze, so we got away clean. Once outside, we kept running in the masks.

  Nobody on the sidewalk gave a hoot.

  We actually ran past Mel’s building. Around the corner from it, we pulled off our sweaty headgear. The night air kissed my head, and it seemed that I’d never felt anything so refreshing, like being engulfed in an Icelandic lake.

  Mel pointed at me. “You are a disgusting mess!”

  “You too!” We hugged, despite being gross. “We did it! Hopefully, enough women will see that DirtyLinens post that none of them will ever give that scumbag the time of day again.”