Page 42 of Cuffed to my Roomies
I kissed them both good night and went to bed. They were scheduled to work that weekend, which was good because I needed some time to sort out exactly what I was feeling. I knew that this thing with them wasn’t just fun anymore. I was catching real feelings for both of them.
The next day, Celia called me to go to Liz Markham’s office. I was excited to hear her feedback, knowing that my inclusion of ‘taboo fantasies’ was sure to keep her from renewing criticism that I’d played it safe in my writing. It would take a lot of courage and curiosity to interview women about the fantasies they kept secret, to do that kind of research. I strode into her office, more confident than I’d been before. I had addressed her suggestions and had chosen topics I would normally have shied away from. I’d have to tell the guys later that they’d given me a confidence boost, made me feel more aware of my sexuality, and that it was helping me at work.
I took the seat she indicated. I crossed my ankles and kept my head high. My hands weren’t as sweaty as they had been the last time. Maybe I was beginning to think of myself as a real writer, as someone of value to Envy. I waited for her to begin instead of eagerly asking what she thought. I had to show poise, professionalism.
“Lynette,” she said, removing her glasses, “I reviewed your short list of topics with the intent of selecting one to develop into an article with you. To be honest, I had hoped for more from you. I think from the quality of your research that you have a good brain and some promise as a writer, but it’s possible that you’re not ready for such a step. I believe at this point, due to the underwhelming nature of your subjects, you’d be best assigned to the research division working on source gathering for topics already approved.”
“But, Liz,” I said boldly, “I even included an idea on sexual fantasies.”
“Yes, and if you were trying to write for a teen magazine, that might be considered daring. Your subjects were far tamer than anything we would feature in a newsstand issue. And our online readers are accustomed to more provocative content than what goes to print. When I told you to push your boundaries, I suppose I misjudged where your boundaries lie. I would never ask an intern or employee to do something that made him or her truly uncomfortable or that violated their beliefs. That being said, it would seem that your talent will lie elsewhere.”
“Please don’t dismiss me. Don’t stick me in research. I’ll do research if that’s all you think I’m capable of, but with all respect, you’d be wrong. If the ideas were too tame, I’ll generate wilder ones. Give me the weekend to improve on this. I want very much to write for Envy.”
“That’s both flattering and somewhat surprising, since you chose topics as if you’d never read the magazine.”
“I’ve read every issue since I was eighteen!” I protested.
“Then you should have a better eye for what makes it into the magazine, Lynette. Look at our archives some more, make sure you’re not editing out ideas based on what your family will think of them.”
I dropped my gaze. Maybe I had been worried about what my dad would think the first time he saw my name on an article about condoms or nipple piercings. He’d be ashamed of me. He’d say he should’ve made me go to church more.
“I’ll give that some thought. I appreciate your willingness to give me another chance. I can do better.”
“I hope so,” Liz said, standing to indicate I was dismissed.
I was so disappointed. I went straight to the ladies room and sat in a stall. I was sick to my stomach and thoroughly upset. How could I have thought that editor extraordinaire Liz Markham would think my sex fantasy idea was edgy enough to put in the magazine? I knew better. I knew this audience and this magazine. I just had to quit acting uptight about it. God knows I wasn’t acting uptight in my private life.
I sniffed and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stop the tears. I was not going to be one of those women who couldn’t take criticism. If I was going to be a writer, a successful one, I’d have to develop a thicker skin. I’d have to put up with dissatisfied editors, revisions, Internet trolls. So whimpering in a bathroom stall wasn’t going to become a habit. Just as soon as I finished crying. Because my ultimate icon had told me I was too tame and a disappointment. A girl doesn’t just bounce right back from that.
I fumbled with my phone, texted Derek and Brett. “Liz hates my ideas, too tame. Hiding in bathroom stall crying.”
