ALMA
It had been a while since I'd ever experienced this much confusion. The dilemma was strong, pulling me from side to side. It had been two days since my altercation with Carl. I wouldn't exactly call it that because the argument had been mostly from my side. For him, it was child's play, and I didn't think he even understood the kind of hate I harbored for him.
He saw Velma, met her behind my back, and denied it. I'd been jumpy ever since, and there wasn't a single part of me that didn't think he would do it again. The closer Carl got to Velma, the more he was closer to the truth, and I couldn't let that happen, over my dead body. Now, I was perched against my desk, my pen hitting my lips rhythmically as I contemplated my options.
Meeting Carl and having that interview on TV would be a sure way of clearing the doubts of our shareholders and business partners, but I also couldn't predict Carl's actions, what he might do or say to ultimately ruin this peace I had or was hoping to have. Because of him, I spared no minutes when Velma closed from school. I even specifically told her teacher to keep an eye on her. It was beginning to feel like I was wrapped in a bubble because of this same man! My self-crafted nemesis.
God, I hated him! My office door opened with a slow creak, calling my attention in the process, and I looked up to see Rodney making his way in. I wasn't sure that I was up for a conversation, but it might just be what I needed, and Rodney was great at being rational. Maybe I needed to put my emotions aside.
"Hey," he called out as he strode closer, his hands deep in his pockets. "It has been a minute. How are you holding up?"
How was I holding up? Did I wear my feelings on my sleeve like that? I rolled my eyes and sighed, lazily leaning against the chair. "I don't know." I wanted to say more, trust me, but all those words were just stuck somewhere deep down, and I communicated the rest of it with silence.
I wasn't sure Rodney understood. Who would? He pushed back the chair and sat on it, facing me while his elbows rested on the table. Now those sharp eyes of his were boring into mine and screaming, confess! It felt like a nerfed therapy session.
I blinked repeatedly before looking away, unable to withstand his intense scrutiny. "Oh, don't do that," I said with a small laugh, then pretended to sort out documents on the table. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're asking me to bore my heart out."
Rodney slouched against the chair, thereby giving me a brief moment to breathe. "I'm not asking you to bore your heart out! I just want to know what you've decided to do. A lot of people seem to be anticipating the interview, Alma. I feel like it'd be good for the company."
"I know that," I responded tersely, and my voice came out way colder than I wanted it to be. "I...am sorry about that. I know, Rodney, I know it's good for the company and everyone, but...I don't know if it's good for me, or even Velma. I'm just...struggling with deciding what's right!"
"Are you thinking of it as a businesswoman or as a mother?" he threw the next question, and my office was suddenly dipped in sheer silence. You could hear a pin drop.
He was right. I wasn't even thinking about it like a mother or a businesswoman. "I've been thinking about it like an insecure teenage girl." I tapped the table with my index finger. Stating that didn't make the decision any easier to make.
I was still as stuck as I was a few minutes ago. Before Rodney could say another word, Vanessa asked for permission and walked in with her file. "Ma'am, the reporter asked to confirm if you'd be available for the interview tomorrow. Most of our business partners are, too, so I wanted to know what your decision is. The interview is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
I think I had my answer. This was going to be better for both of us. I nodded slightly, sparing Rodney one last glance. "Yes. I'd be there."
"Alright, ma'am," Vanessa noted and walked out.
I looked at Rodney and caught a mischievous grin on his face. "There you have it, a mother and a businesswoman. You rock!"
"That is so corny!" I hissed, holding back a laugh. "But, thank you. Your talk helped just a little!"
"Just a little?" he frowned, faking a pouty face.
I demonstrated a pinch and emphasized, grinning.."Yes. Just a little."
"Is that little enough for you to come out for dinner with me tonight?"
Was he asking for just us, or was Velma included? Uh- Say no! Say no! "Sure!" I tried to sound excited. "Velma will be so happy about it!"
"Thank you," Rodney responds shyly. "It'd be fun."
*
D-Day
I couldn't believe I got there before them. Did that make me desperate? Jeez! Even though I had just been waiting for five minutes, it seemed like the whole world to me. Carl should be the one to have gotten here before me, considering this interview was his fault in the first place. It hurt my pride.
The set designers were getting the newsroom ready while I went over the script of possible questions that they'd handed to me, though the reporter said it was susceptible to change. And most of these questions would be answered with lies. Lies and more lies. For instance, those pictures were taken by our friends during our courting period. Every fucking thing was scripted, then again, the public gave no room for originality. One of the workers rushed in and announced Carl's arrival, which made me tense up immediately, and I found myself squirming in my seat, struggling with an upset stomach.
It didn't take up to a minute for him to appear through the door, and the entire aura of the room did his bidding, melting into his style like he controlled even the air. It only made me dislike him more. I hated how good he looked in the one-piece suit from his favorite designer brown- the fact that it was all black made it even worse. Carl looked like he had stepped out of a fucking book.
If I had that book, I'd burn it and prosecute the author for sculpting such a character and giving them the attitude of a monkey, or worse- a bear. Ew. His appearance wasn't even what I hated the most. It was my reaction to it that made it worse for me to handle. My throat suddenly went dry. And as he stepped forward, another figure appeared behind him, and my heart lurched.
My awe was replaced by deep resentment as Linda waddled after him, and my headshot to the reporter next to me. "She's here too?"
"Yes. Wasn't the change communicated with you?"
Ah. I see. "No," I shook my head. But it was okay; even though half the time I was going to picture what her headless body might look like, I could still do the interview. Linda was the smallest of my worries; her only effect was driving me to disgust.
Now, they both approached me, and I gladly took pride in scanning the script over and over again. Anything to not have a conversation with him, not her. I couldn't care less about Linda. She eyed me as she slipped by and met the reporter while Carl stood before me like terracotta.
"You came..."
I didn't lift my head up. "Yes, Shakespeare. Now go away."
"Right," he puffed his cheeks. "Right. Uhm- I couldn't inform you about Linda's--"
Oh, an explanation. I didn't need that. I didn't care what she did as long as it didn't affect me in any way.
"What part of 'go away' is so hard to comprehend?" I finally lifted my head to meet his eyes. Instantly, I was sucked into those formidable forest greens. "Do I have to say it in Spanish or French?" I snapped. "GO AWAY."
He backed away slowly, nodding. I act like I didn't see how much guilt was etched behind those eyeballs. It wasn't mine to recognize, and I was done with that. After this time, I didn't want anything to do with either of them anymore. It was difficult to understand how this city could be so big, yet so small, that we had to keep crossing paths like this.
"Carl, love! Come here!" She yelled, and her voice flew over my head. Stupid voice. Stupid name! Stupid interview! Argh!
I watched him stow away to where Linda stood, and for some reason, my heart sank. Rather than butterflies, it felt like horse races in my stomach, and I headed into the restroom to talk some sense into myself.
I mean, someone had to do it.
The sound of the water streaming into the sink and the cold feel of it against my palm helped to calm me. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror and told her. 'You've done this before. You can do it again!"
I chanted it like a mantra till it filled my mind until a voice that wasn't mine broke through the air. "Nice pep talk," she slurred, and the toilet door slammed.
Linda. I huffed and dried my hand, paying her existence no attention. This was the perfect place to beat her up and possibly shove her down the stairs just as she'd done me, but I wouldn't stoop that low.
I tried to slip by her, but I should have known peace or nonviolence wasn't a language Linda was fluent in. I got pulled back by her greasy hand. "Did you not see me, you crazy bitch!"
I jerked away from her grip, trying to tone down my annoyance. "I only see what's important."
"You bitch!"
"Say that again and-" I pulled toward her, till she stepped back and was trapped against the wall. Even the feeling of being this close to her was something I disliked. "- I might make you explain what water from that sink tastes like."
"You're trying to sound scary!"
"Try me," I probed. She had no idea how many times I'd imagined fisting her hair and making her drink from the toilet. Every single time she faced me, my thoughts took a dark turn, and resentment clouded my heart. "Move your carcass out of the way."
She scoffed, unyielding. "Big word for someone who begged for an interview. If there's any carcass in here, then it's you! You are so worthless, so shameless that you're still willing to use Carl like this? After how much you preach being a changed person!?"
It didn't take much for me to realize what the misunderstanding was and as usual. Linda was too daft to see.
I burst into a peal of laughter that echoed through the bathroom walls. "Is that what he told you, little Linda? I guess the love of your miserable life doesn't mind blatantly lying to you. That's...not so fairytale, is it?"
Her eyes darkened, and with creased brows, she asked. "What are you talking about?"
I shrugged, wearing a mocking smirk. She was hurt? Perfect. She should feel it a hundred times over. "I don't know if I have to explain to you that your dearest husband was the one who wanted this interview or if I want you to ask him for yourself. Then again, I guess I already did."
"No, that's not true! You begged him!"
It was pointless. This child was hopeless. I sighed, heading for the door. "You're so pathetic and dumb. I almost feel sad for you. Almost."
Linda stopped me before I could reach for the door. Her lips quivered, and the terror shone brightly in her eyes. "That child...Is she Carl's?"