Page 40 of Cuts like a Knife
They’re ignoring what’s happening on the dais blatantly, from the front. It’s rude148.
People have no idea that Kelsang didn’t go to J-School either149. But he’s no better than me. He had no real experience when he was hired at Flash (again, same as me). He came from the wilds of Advertising. His previous job was similar to Drew’s, as far as I know, but unlike me, and unlike Drew, and unlike everyone he works with, Kelsang didn’t even finish high school.
And I’m not a snob about such things, but it’s not like he dropped out because of unfair class circumstances or a family tragedy or anything. He dropped out because he was a trust fund baby who just felt like spending his senior year surfing in Thailand instead of finishing high school. Then he got hired at Time Out London when he was just nineteen. And then, somehow, he made his way to the EIC position at Flash.
Makes sense.
I make one mistake and land at the bottom of the barrel that is Citidaze. Kelsang, like all men, fails up.
None of this is a secret. I know more about him than most because like I said, we used to be friends, but Kelsang’s proud of his background. He didn’t keep any of it under wraps.
He’s a white South-African former rich kid whose hippie-leaning mum named him Kelsang because according to her, it meant “peace and good fortune” in Tibet. (I’ve Googled it and this is debatable.) What the connection to Tibet was, he never explained.He dropped out high school because felt like spending a year surfing, and could afford to because, again, he was a spoiled rich kid. And then some connection with his father got him the job at Time Out, because that’s how the world works for rich people. They don’t have to try. They don’t have to worry. Up up up they go, no matter what.
And most importantly, he’s a bro. Look at him now, cuddled up next to Owen.
Owen Gottfried is the son of Paul Gottfried, owner of not one, but two major sports teams. I won’t say which ones. He’s well-educated, as billionaire babies tend to be. He went to college and everything. Not like Kelsang. Not sure how that qualifies him to be a publisher but when you’re that rich, you don’t need qualifications. You just need money. And to be a bro150.
Adele, in contrast to the bros, looks focussed on the dais and network folk. She’s taking furious notes and, like me, has her phone sitting at the top of her clipboard, probably recording. Again, just like me. She’s clearly working.
But I don’t feel remotely forgiving, watching her. Just like with Kelsang, I once thought Adele to be a friend, but there’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women, to quote Taylor Swift quoting former Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright.
And there’s an even more special place for people like Adele, who not only failed to help me, but actively undermined and stole from me151.
But forget all of them. Forget the bros and the fake friends, because next to Adele is someone I really hate. Next to her is Rian.
Rian McDougal, my former direct boss, news editor, and the person I despise most in the world, when I think about him at all152.
The mirrored shades are gone and his familiar watery, slightly-hooded eyes are looking right at me.
Right. At. Me.
As we make eye contact, I immediately drop my gaze, as if I’ve been burned. The look on Rian’s face is so … malevolent. Superior. Imperious.
The bastard. The utter bastard.
What he did to me was unconscionable, but he’s never going to pay for it. Never ever ever. I need to come to terms with that.
I make a conscious effort to slow my breathing.
It’s all over. It’s in the past. I need to let it go.
Unless … could Rian be the emailer? It doesn’t make sense153, but the way he’s looking at me. It’s like he hates me even more than I hate him, which is rich. Wow.
The truth is that everything that happened to me at Flash is Rian’s fault. He didn’t just throw me under the bus, he lied. And no one knows it.
Everyone blamed me. Everyone over there thinks I’m a fraud, and it’s all his fault.
That f—er ruined my life.
How dare he stare at me?
And ugh. I looked away like a scared little girl. How pathetic.
No. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I raise my eyes and look right back at him, and yup, he’s still staring. The creep. Men pull this intimidation crap all the time. And they get away with it. They get away with everything. But I’m not going to let him. Not this time.
As he sees me rally, clearly noticing that I’ve regained my equilibrium and maybe even a tiny touch of my confidence, Rian smirks.
