#SoBasic

by Sara Celi

  Relief coursed through my stomach. It felt so good to say those words, and to admit what had happened. There, it was out. I wasn’t hiding it. It felt good to admit this failure to him.

  “You? Fired?”

  I gave him a mock bow. “Yep. Pretty embarrassing, huh?”

  “Did you do something bad?” He raised an eyebrow, lowered his voice, and moved a little closer to me. “Something really bad?”

  This sounded liked flirting. Felt like it too. And I liked that. No, I almost loved it.

  “Yes,” I said in my deepest, sultriest voice. “I was a very, very, very bad girl.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you the specifics.”

  I tossed him my most disarming grin. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “Advice taken.” He laughed, then wiped the smile from his face. “In all seriousness, though, I’m sorry you lost your job. I don’t see why someone would fire you.”

  I knitted my eyebrows together in mock surprise. “Well, you hardly know me.”

  “Yes, but”—James frowned— “you don’t seem … I just wouldn’t expect it.”

  “It was complicated.” I shrugged, hoping I didn’t look like I’d been completely broken by this unlucky turn of events. You are strong. “They said they had their reasons, but really I think it was a misunderstanding. A … I don’t really want to dwell on it. Just a mistake.”

  “Everyone makes those. Most people don’t get fired for them.”

  “This one was a pretty big one.” I glanced at the rest of the partygoers and found Heather in the crowd. She caught my eye and gave me a small wave. Instead of waving back, I returned my attention to him. “And okay, yes, it hurt. A lot. I hadn’t gone through anything like that.” I shook my head. “But I don’t want to focus on it right now.”

  James clicked his teeth and studied me. “What’s the old saying? Oh, that you haven’t lived until you’ve been fired. So, Margot, welcome to the real world.”

  “Well, if this is the real world, I wish I could leave it. Ever since I was a little girl, I thought I’d be this big-time TV news producer, and eventually work at one of the networks, or a syndicated chat show. My life was going to be like Sex and the City or some other fabulous, binge-worthy TV show. And now, I’m … well, it’s not like that at all. I’m just lost.”

  “You’re not lost. You’re right here.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, and as soon as he did, all I could think about was the touch of his strong hand. This man … “And really—come on, since you were a little girl you wanted to produce the evening news?”

  “What can I say?” I murmured, not entirely sure I wouldn’t fall over. “I wasn’t allowed to watch a lot of TV as a kid, but the news wasn’t off limits. I guess it sort of embedded into my brain, and eventually got into my blood.”

  He smiled again. “That’s one of the oddest things I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s true.” I faltered as my cheeks heated. “Sad, but true.”

  “Maybe not sad, but—”

  “James, darling, how are you?” a woman behind him asked.

  He dropped his hand off my shoulder, gave her an answer, then turned back to me. “She’s one of our clients,” he murmured, and his eyes searched my face. “Listen, what are you doing tomorrow? Anything?”

  “No,” I breathed. “Nothing at all.”

  Please ask me out, please ask me out …

  “Let’s have dinner tomorrow, away from all this. The gallery is closed on Sundays, so I’m free. What do you think?”

  “Yes,” I replied, unable to believe what he’d just said. Dinner? Absolutely. No question. I would have said yes to getting gasoline with this man. Something about him made sure that I couldn’t look away. I’d only spied him a few times in the last few months. But he’d always given off that cool, easygoing vibe, and I’d been intrigued—okay, lusting after him—ever since. And now, knowing he wasn’t only hot but also a decent man? Sigh. “What time?”

  “Seven? I’ll meet you outside the apartment building, and we can continue this conversation then.”

  “Perfect.”

  In a flash, James was gone, sucked into the party itself and the adoring crowd who wanted to congratulate him on the resurgence of the gallery. I kept my gaze on him until I saw Heather approach me. Something about him made me unable to look away.

  “Don’t say it,” I told her as she arrived at my side. “Don’t jinx it.”

  “What? I’m not jinxing it. Just observing. And it looks like that went well. I could tell that from across the room.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be cagey. Like I said earlier, he’s hot, Margot. Totally undeniable.”

  “You think so?”

  “And he’s running the trendiest gallery in town.” She nudged me. “You better jump on that. Don’t let him get away.”

  I grinned. “He did ask me to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Her eyes widened. “Like a date?” She clapped her hands together before I could reply. “Ohmigod this is great. Thinks are looking up, right? Who cares about what happened earlier this week with your job? That was then.”

  I laughed. “Cheers to funemplyoment.”

  She nodded. “I have a feeling about his guy. He’s one of the good ones.”

  I hoped to God she was right.

  Thank God for Pinterest. Unlike Heather, I didn’t go out on many dates and didn’t have a lot of clothes to choose from. I also didn’t know where we were going. But this was James. Honestly? I felt so out of my league.

  But he did ask me out. And wants to continue our conversation.

  I opened my phoned and pulled up the secret Pinterest board I’d saved for these kinds of emergencies. A myriad of pinned posts about perfect boots, how to tie scarves, and outfit combinations featuring skinny jeans, chunky sweaters, and long necklaces stared back at me. Hmm. I could do this.

  Ten minutes later, I felt confident in my dark skinny jeans, an off-the-shoulder black silk top, made super fun with two-inch leopard-print pumps. Thanks to the night before, my hair still held a few curls, so that was easy.

  When the knock came at my door, I took a few deep breaths and allowed about thirty seconds to tick by on my phone stopwatch.

  “Hello,” I said as I pulled open the door. I added my largest smile, thanking myself on the inside for the last-minute teeth-whitening treatment I’d found in the back of my medicine cabinet. Any advantage in this case, any at all. “How are—?”

  What in the world?

  Sweatpants, loafers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a … is that a mustard stain on the edge? And a torn collar? Umm … Did I get this all wrong? “Um, so, are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” James said. “And you look amazing.”

  “Thank you.” I made no effort to cross the threshold of my apartment. I was still trying to process his attire, which didn’t seem to fit the scenario I’d run a few hundred times in my mind. Who wore a stained shirt on a date? Was this some kind of ironic hipster trend I didn’t know about? “Um, so, do you still want to have dinner?”

  “Of course, if you do.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was thinking we’d head over to Oakley Chili.”

  Oakley Chili? A diner? Instead of—

  My thoughts raced through a thousand scenarios before coming to one conclusion. This isn’t a date, is it?

  “Oakley Chili?” I managed to repeat.

  “Yep. I figured it’s a good place to get some food, and—”

  “Wonderful. That sounds great.” I steeled my expression, willing myself to not let on how disappointed the suggestion made me. “I was craving that myself.”

  Nope, not at all. No way. Never. I only said it to be agreeable. And because it sounded like the right reply.

  Truth was, I hadn’t ever craved that heinous stuff—a mix of cinnamon, meat sauce, meat, salt, and other unknown ingredients that made up something people in the area had the gall to call “chili.” I’d had it once at one of the n
umerous diners and parlors that dotted the city, and I’d vowed I’d never eat it again. Nothing could be more disgusting than that sad excuse for meat sauce.

  James led me to his truck then drove us to the restaurant, which hardly qualified as one. It was a 1950s-themed greasy establishment made up of booths and a central bar that wrapped around an exposed kitchen. From almost every angle in the place, patrons watched the staff prepare a variety of chili dishes, all named things like “Coney,” “three-way,” and “five-way.”

  Disgusting.

  But if it meant I’d learn more about my mysterious neighbor, I’d eat that horrible food.

  We ordered soft drinks. He asked the server for a three-way, which featured a spaghetti base, chili, and a mountain of cheese. He also wanted hot sauce, oyster crackers, and a side of extra grated cheese. I ordered a cheese Coney—which consisted of a hot dog bun, hot dog, spread of chili, and cheese. When the server asked me if I wanted anything more, I declined. I couldn’t be sure I’d be able to even the smallest cheese Coney in the place.

  “I thought you were hungry,” James said once we were alone again at our table. “That you were craving this.”

  “Oh, you know … I’m … I’m w-watching what I eat.”

  There I went again. Giving another answer that felt like the right one, even if it wasn’t necessarily true.

  “As opposed to twenty minutes ago, when you weren’t?” James asked.

  “Yes. I just remembered.” I nodded at the menus, which sat in a holder behind a thick stack of napkins. “And these aren’t on the diet. I really shouldn’t cheat. I’m in the first few weeks of the program. Very strict.”

  “I see.” He patted his stomach. “I try not to think about how bad these are for you when I’m eating them. I just concentrate on the cheesy goodness.”

  “Easy to focus on.” I paused and willed my stomach to settle down. I was going to have to eat some of this, wasn’t I?

  I coughed once. “So, um … did … did you grow up around here?”

  He shook his head. “Not totally. I’m from outside of Dayton, and my parents moved to Canton right after I graduated high school. But I like Cincinnati. What about you?”

  “No, I’m not. I only came here for the job at WCIN. I’m originally from Tarrytown.”

  A blank look crossed his face. He’d never heard of it. Not a shock.

  “Right outside of New York City,” I supplied. “It’s a village in Westchester County, which is basically a short commute to Manhattan. Almost everyone there works in the city. And their parents worked in the city, and so on.”

  “Cool.”

  “I guess.” I waved a hand. “People say it reminds them of a postcard. All kind of clapboard houses, white fences, and historical markers.”

  “Like a Norman Rockwell painting, huh?”

  I exhaled. At least I knew that name. “Yes, like that. Anyway, I went to Amherst for undergrad then NYU. And after grad school, I worked at a tiny TV station in Eastern Kentucky before I moved here as soon as I could.”

  “NYU to eastern Kentucky is an interesting career path.”

  I snorted. “Not in that business. You go wherever the job is, to whatever place will hire you to get started. I applied at like twenty TV stations and that was the first one to call back. So, I went.”

  “And it was all going great until you got fired, right?”

  “Great? Nope.” I laughed without humor. “I wouldn’t say that in the least.”

  I didn’t want to discuss much more about the firing because I wasn’t sure what he’d think about the justification for it—the micro-aggression. Lucky for me, the server arrived with our plates of food.

  “So, what comes next after this misunderstanding?” James picked up his fork and dove into the large pile of Oakley Chili goodness—a scary-looking cheese-coated monstrosity—while I tried desperately not to gag.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll get another job at another TV station, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure I want to work in that industry again. It’s not what I thought it would be.”

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “For one thing, I thought I’d be doing real journalism, and producing shows full of stories that made an impact. Investigations that helped the little people. Reports that kept the powerful in check. Call me an idealist.”

  “All right, idealist.”

  I chuckled. “Instead of doing all that, it was about filling time and entertaining an audience. We weren’t doing stories because it was meaningful, or it would help people. We blew things out of proportion to make money.”

  “I have to admit, I don’t watch the news enough to know.”

  I cringed inside. That was the other dirty secret of business. We were bleeding viewers, and we knew it, but nobody had a decent idea about how to stop it.

  “Last month for example, we had a teenager go missing in the Mt. Airy Forest,” I replied. “Scott, our news director, actually had the production team make up a whole set of graphics about the search.”

  “I think I saw something about that. Probably on Facebook.”

  I nodded. “It was everywhere, but did you see how it ended? That he’d gone drinking with his friends and wasn’t in the forest at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “Exactly. And when it comes to the website, we focus on stuff for shock value and the website is all about clicks—that’s it. The managers track page views every month.” I sipped some soda through the straw in my glass. “It’s a grind.”

  “Maybe that’s just WCIN. They are the number-one station, right? They’re always on in the bar down the street from our apartment. Seems like they just want to keep up the edge.”

  “No.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “That’s how every station is, even the one I worked for in Kentucky. We were the only station in that whole media market, and our viewership was tiny. People turned to us not because they liked us, but because were the only team to watch. The bosses could have afforded to do real news, but that never mattered to them. They wanted the cheapest and fastest product they could get. If they could do two jobs with one person, they did it.”

  James ate some more of this three-way, his brow still furrowed. “Interesting,” he said after he swallowed his bite. “And a little shocking. I never knew the business was like that.”

  You’re not the only one, Mr. Newhouse.

  “It’s all about the bottom line, and not about the facts. We don’t issue retractions anymore for stories we screw up. We just act like we never made the error in the first place.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” I swallowed some of my anger. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, especially this week.”

  “I can see that.”

  “In fact, I’m starting to think if I go anywhere else, I’m going to encounter the same problems. A bigger city won’t fix it.” I laughed to myself. Leave it to a job loss to give me clarity about my life’s path. “So maybe I need to try something new. Maybe that’s what life is telling me right now.”

  “And what else is life telling you?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? A lot of things, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” He pointed at my Coney. “I noticed you haven’t taken a bite of your meal.”

  I regarded the food, which now had melted cheese atop it, instead of a mound of grated. I swallowed back some bile. “I guess I was distracted.”

  He motioned at me with his fork. “Eat. Fatty goodness awaits.”

  I gulped again. The inevitable was here. I was going to have to eat this disgusting stuff. My mouth went dry. Just the thought the chili sliding down my throat, heading to my stomach, made me want to puke. Still, I didn’t want to be rude, and if I concentrated on the cheese, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Maybe.

  I lifted the Coney and put the end of it to my lips. Steeling myself, I forced a bite into my mouth. It tasted like s
alt, meat, and mush.

  But through a grimace, I choked it down anyway.

  A loud chuckle escape James’s lips. “You don’t like Cincinnati-style chili, do you?”

  “Now, I …” I gulped down what remained of the taste. “I like it. I do.”

  He cocked his head. “Nope, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be eating your meal so slowly. You’d have dug right in, like I did.” He leaned across the greasy table, his gaze fixated on mine. “Don’t lie to me, Margot.”

  “I’m not lying. I just misspoke.”

  He studied me. “Is that something you do often?”

  I took a deep breath. He’d called me out. No denying it.

  “Well, I—” I faltered, no sure which question of his I wanted to answer. “I mean …”

  “It’s not a shock that you don’t like Cincinnati chili.” He laughed to himself. “It’s okay. You’re not from here. It’s sort of expected.”

  “You caught me.” I smiled to soften the blow and felt a little bit of relief pulse though me. Maybe I wouldn’t have to answer the question about lying. Besides, if this somehow turned into a date, I didn’t want this to be the moment things went from having potential to having none. “I don’t like it. In fact, I sort of hate it. It reminds me of processed sausage, and no matter what people say, it’s not chili. It might be food, but it’s not chili. Real chili has beans, tomatoes, southwestern seasoning, and chili peppers.”

  “Some people would call those fighting words.” A smile pulled at his lips.

  I pushed the Coney away, across the table. It didn’t do much to stop my stomach from churning. “Honestly, I can’t eat another bite. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for—except maybe the fact that you didn’t admit your disgust for this place until you were under duress.” He ate another large bite of his meal. “You never answered my other question.” James fixed his eyes on me. “Do you lie a lot?”

  “No.” I shrugged my left shoulder. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t call it lying.”

  “Why not, isn’t that what it is?”