Page 10 of Cuts like a Knife
Also, I’d have to explain to the Madisons why I’m leaving a position that sounds so good and respectable to them, one my mother Erica can brag about. “Alexis is a journalist now, you know,” she is fond of saying.
Then again, maybe they expect it of me? Expect me to quit, I mean. the Madisons have, in the past, criticized me lack of stick-to-it-ness.
Maybe this is fundamentally who I am to them — the Goodbye Girl of gainful employment? The leaver? A quitter? Something like that? So if I did get sacked, I could maybe lie and say I quit. Again. That’s what I did before.
See, they don’t actually know I was fired before. No one knows. Well, Bex knows. Bex is the only person who knows. Every other Madison, every current “friend” (read: Dani), and everyone at Citidaze (Callum, Lars) thinks I quit last time. No one knows the truth, and I need to keep it that way22.
No one can ever know.
So I’m here. And here is where I need to stay. I’m a fake fluff journalist, but at least I’m employed. I’m not nothing.
I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.
Those are the words I’m chanting in my mind when the email arrives, so I can understand why you might be confused. Like, if I hate my job so much, then why wouldn’t the email be a relief?
Here’s the thing: I didn’t just get fired. I got fired for something bad that I did23. One could argue that it wasn’t my fault, that it was an honest mistake, but no matter what, there are always going to be people who believe I did it on purpose. That I’m horrible. That I deserved to be fired. That I deserve to never work again.
Some people already think that now. And if the story were ever to come out in any wide sort of way, I’d be unemployable in media. That’s just the bottom line. I’d be done.
So when I see the email in my inbox, my breath catches in my throat and time seems to grind to a halt.
This is it. The beginning of the end of my career.
Chapter Three
A SHORT AND INCOMPLETE PROFESSIONAL HISTORY FOR ONE ALEXIS MADISON, FRAUD AND FAILURE
A Tale24 In Three Parts
1. Babysitter. Ostensible sitter on babies.
Usually just for my baby bro Gray and his life-long best friend Andrew, neither of whom were babies at the time. I’m not actually that much older than them, but my mother used to pay me and Bex to be in charge when we were all teenagers because she didn’t trust the boys alone, even though they were definitely old enough to take care of themselves.
2. Lifeguard. Guarder of life.
Lifeguard at a condo pool located on the top floor of a downtown high-rise, to be specific. Sweet gig, all in all. I mean, I was guarding lives. When you’re 16 that seems like a fairly lofty and ethical pursuit. The problem was that no one ever swam in the pool. Actually, that’s not true. One guy did. There was a 45-ish year old man whose name I never knew who would inevitably pop in (navy blue Speedo, yellowing-white bathing cap) at 9:55 pm every evening and swim splashy laps for the next half hour while pretending not to hear me as I called “Sir? Sir, we close at ten and I really need you to get out now!” to him from the deck.
3. Communications Coordinator at L—, an “Environmentally Sustainable Builder Focused on Housing Instability For Women of Color in the Greater Downtown Area.”
My first so-called “real job” right out of college, already mentioned. What a scam, but it’s my own fault. I was fresh and completely naïve and in possession of that dang Sociology degree, but knew nothing of the work or the real world when I was hired. I still believed “Environmentally Sustainable” meant something. I thought all buzz words meant something. Turns out it’s just spin. Anyway, thanks to my meteoric rise as a Twitter slag, I quit this gig.
There’s more I could tell you, obviously. You’ll notice the aforementioned journalism job, the “dream” job, my job at Flash, is not on the list, but my cell phone is buzzing again, and at the same time, my desk phone is crackling to life, and I’m still staring at an email that promises to ruin my life.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’re going down
I know what you did. You thought you got away with it, but I know the truth. And I’m going to tell.
Stay tuned, b—-
“There are green, delicious apples in my office right now. Just an announcement. Green. Delicious. Apples.” Lars’ voice25 is coming over the tinny speaker inside every desk phone in the office. It’s his personal PA system.
I click the email closed and drag it to my spam folder. What else am I supposed to do?
“Dani?” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral and normal. “Have you ever had to track an email? Like figure out who an anonymous email was from?”
