The Ex Chronicles

“I’m supposed to know.” Hope sighs. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, and you know me. Hanging up now—don’t want you to miss the call.”

Precious hangs up. A few moments later her cell rings. It’s Shades HR. Precious has the job. She starts at nine on Monday. Her first stop is human resources to fill out some paperwork. Then she’ll go to editorial.

Precious sits looking out the window and stroking Demon, wondering if she’s done the right thing. Her schedule is no longer her own. No more afternoons spent in the park or in Barnes & Noble with a giant coffee, reading a stack of magazines she had no intention of buying. No more sleeping late, and making her own work schedule, or choosing whom she wants to deal with and when.

That’s all gone; she’s now a member of the working establishment, packed into the train at rush hour, and then packed in again going home. Her hours, days, and routine are now set in stone, her days spent encased in a hermetically sealed conduit of reconstituted viruses moving from one vent to another. Precious starts to feel ill already, and wonders if she can call in sick on Monday.

Breathe, breathe. Her heart is beating wildly and her throat is constricted. She’s afraid she’s having a panic attack. She breathes deeply, trying to focus on a regular paycheck, medical and dental benefits, and a clothing stipend, which she’s definitely going to need. After having spent the last several years tucked away in her own bubble, she’s going to have to get out and mix it up with people she isn’t quite sure she even likes.

“Thanks. I know it’s for the best; I’ve seen the future and I can’t afford it. So I do appreciate the hookup—at least I think so.”

“I can get you in the door, but you’ve got to sell it. If not, they’ll fire you just like anybody else.”

“Well, stop thinking. That’s all over now that you’re a corporate drone. Just show up and do what you’re told.”

“Just kidding—that’s precisely why I want you here. You’re not a drone; you have a mind of your own and you’re not a kiss-ass. I’m looking forward to someone telling me what they really think and not ass-kissing or scheming on me. Speaking of which, you’ll meet Jackie, the managing editor, on Monday. Just watch your back; she already knows I recommended you.” Hope says something away from the phone.

Scratching Demon behind the ear, Precious looks out the window, still not sure if she’s done the right thing.

Bella is elbowing her way down Prince Street to Mercer, where she turns north. Crossing Houston, she stops in front of the stairs of Madame X. When the doorman hurries over to open the velvet ropes, she stubs out her cigarette and slips in past him.

As Bella navigates the crowded bar, her head is buzzing from the coke she’s been doing all afternoon. Although she’s feeling pretty nice from the two bottles of wine, she’s not drunk. Luckily she can navigate Madame X in her sleep. Julius has had a gig here for over a year. Bella’s on his list, so she breezes in. She makes her way to the front banquette, reserved for guests of the band. She slips into a seat and puts her phone on vibrate.

She’s as high as the Hubble, and the cramped, dark interior of the lounge is a little stifling. Her hands are clammy and shaking, and she can’t stop tapping her foot. Even though she’s just finished a cigarette, she wants another one—more for something to do with her hands than any real need. She shakes her bangs out of her eyes and adjusts her top. Julius made a comment a few weeks ago about her weight. Since then she’s lost about ten pounds, due to her diet of cocaine and alcohol, and thinks she looks better than she has in ages.

Julius brings a drink over to her table: Belvedere and tonic, her favorite. Surprised, she gives him a big smile and tries to kiss him, but he pulls away.

She gives him a weak smile. “Sorry, I forgot.” She nervously brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Thanks for the drink and the invitation.” She smiles again. “I haven’t been to one of your gigs in ages.”

“I see.” Bella’s heart sinks. She’s confused; the talent usually gets free drinks, so she’s not sure why she’d have to pay him for a comp drink.

When he sees her frown Julius runs a finger down her arm. “Don’t be sad. Aren’t you glad to be here?”

“Good,” he murmurs, his face close to hers. “So just relax and have a good time.” When he slips into the booth next to her, she thinks he’s going to kiss her; instead he whispers in her ear, “Did you bring the stuff, Sugar?”

Nodding, she reaches into her bag and passes him a glassine envelope. He smiles, takes it, and slips out of the booth. “Thanks, baby. I’ll get the rest from you later.”

When he walks away Bella feels all alone in the crowd. She wishes Precious or Hope were with her, even Zenobia. But she can’t invite them to one of Julius’s gigs. As if she’s conjured her up, her phone buzzes and it’s Zenobia. Bella looks at the phone, wishing she could pick it up. Sighing, she turns it off, reaches for her glass, and drains it. Before it hits the table she’s waved the waiter over for another one.