Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (16 page)

"Send me a photo, a good one this time." Mr. Brown excitedly demands over the site's messaging board. I do as commanded and send another picture.

"Oh, come on, you have already sent me this one, send a different one." Again I do as I'm commanded.

"Oh baby I love you." Mr. Brown screams jumping up and down in his chair.

"Why? Because I look like one of your students?" I accuse.

"Maybe, oh that's so hot!" Mr. Brown coos.

"You have a problem" I say bluntly.

"Shut up you little slut and send me another porno picture." I log out. This is a new low. Impersonating Sara, granted she probably deserves it, but still. What you don't know about Sara is she flaunts her success constantly. The clothes, the car, that hair, the photos and everything else. She has everything. I'm here in some sort of demented reality where the hard working get screwed while the self proclaimed instagram whore reigns.

I'm so glad Sara has a master suite as big as the whole apartment. Well not really, but she likes cats so at least my cats are comfortable living here. My bed is lumpy. Ok people. This is it. I'm not saying this is the last time I will log on, but I am getting close to quitting. Oh and pot smoker Ruby even got a boy friend and moved out. She probably is living in a mansion and being treated like a queen.
But I don't care. I'm happy for her. Lies, all of them. Her room is now a photo studio for
Sara. Because apparently she has an online sugar daddy. He lives in Detroit and never plans to meet her. He just sends her money in exchange for video chats and photos. Why does everyone have it so easy and I have it so hard.

"It's easy Mar." Screams the voice inside my head. "Just do it like a dude. You tried that emotional stuff, hell you were married for six miserable years." But they weren't miserable, I reply. I enjoyed every minute up until out 6th anniversary. "Lies! You worked a dead end job to support your greedy husband who spend every night at the bar picking up whores to screw in the car you bought him." No, he didn't! I cry. How can you know that? "I'm your subconscious; I'm the little voice in your head that tells you what's really going on. You pushed me out of your mind so many times it's laughable." The voice taunts. I love him I cry again. "Love, you don't love. You don't want him, you don't even want yourself." How can you say these things, I love me. "No you don't. You love being a miserable push over, always a welcome mat for men to stomp on." That's not true, I plead. "You're just a blank canvas, letting any man with five seconds of boredom draw all over you." She's right, I mean, I'm right. I don't want to be this damsel in distress, I want to win.

So I scan the site. Message about 50 people. Hey, I'm desperate right? However, my roommate will claim that I'm not desperate enough. I think I should have her take my photos. I wonder if that will help. Maybe she could edit my face to look nice. Maybe that would help. I should have someone write my profile. If I have a whole team working on my side, how can I lose? Everyone seems to have really nice photos. Too bad all of them claim to be millionaires who proceed to ask for money. Don't hate the player, hate the game, right? Well I'm about to play. I got my game face on. That's right isn't it? Yeah, what I said makes total sense.

So my boss from Gossip Magazine (the boss) asked to interview me about the trial. You know the month long trial that only took a week because the man was so clearly guilty it did not need to be dragged out for a whole month. I don't want to do it, but refusing could anger my boss and cause me to get fired. Although I hate my job, I do need it in order to at least try to keep my head above the slowly rising water. I think back to when I was held under water unable to breath. That was a dark time, it gives me chills. I'm soon called by Mrs. Gossip's sectary and I enter Mrs. Gossip's large office. Her office is larger than my entire apartment with a large glass window located behind Mrs. Gossip's desk.

"So what was it like serving on the jury of the renowned Judge Right and legendary prosecutor Henry?" She asks, leaning back in her leather bound swirly chair. I know the oval office is supposed to be the best office, but I wonder what our president would say about Mrs. Gossip's use of space.

"It was fine." I lie, stuffing my feet under the table. Mrs. Gossip is not sitting behind her desk, but has located herself in front of a glass table dominating the middle of the room. I am sitting on a super soft white leather couch.

"So tell me, what did you find most interesting about the case?" Mrs. Gossip asked as she took a big sip of Gossip brand soda. Almost everything Gossip makes is in this room. A Gossip rug, Gossip magazine, Gossip soda, Gossip makeup and she is wearing Gossip glasses that are in a style similar to her Gossip purse. It's a little intimidating talking to the woman who has successfully branded her name to everything.

"It is a draw between the judge thinking the trial would last a month and the prosecutor actually thinking he had a chance in hell of winning." I scoff, looking behind me. I thought I had heard something.

"Henry is a top prosecutor; I have heard his methods are unorthodox but extremely effective. Can you explain?"She asked, Gossip pen in hand.

"Explain why he referred to me as the 'fat' juror or how he kept hitting on juror number seven though out the murder trial." She pursued her lips together. The interview is not going well.

"I heard you tried to weasel your way out of serving." She snaps. I hear a crack that appears to have come from right behind Mrs. Gossip.

"I had a conflict of interest." I say now intent on finding where the sound came from.

"Can you explain?" she asks as she crosses her long model legs. She was actually never a model, that is just what she tells people. She was really a high school dropout who married Mr. Gossip and latched herself on to his gravy train. He rose and she was right by his side. Too bad he died on that hunting trip. Since we don't have woods here, one was simulated complete
with deer, dik dik and drones. All done for Mr.
Gossip's benefit. Or so he thought. It was rumored that Mrs. Gossip had a private programmer program one of the drone deer to attack and kill her husband-ripping him to shreds so she could in inherit the whole shebang
. But lucky for her it was ruled as a
glitch. The drone simply malfunctioned; it was ruled as a tragic accident. Pretty lucky break for her if you ask me.

"I think you know." I said through grinded teeth.

"For the record please." She leaned in and her large diamond Gossip necklaces dropped in her soda. She didn't appear to even notice.

"Not only did the judge preside over my divorce, but I was married to the prosecutor." I say just now noticing a small crack in the large glass window behind Mrs. Gossip.

"And how did that turn out?" Mrs. Gossip asked with a creepy smile.

"We got a divorce." I say blatantly. The crack is now rapidly spreading throughout the entire window.

"Do you feel your judgment was blinded by disgust for the prosecutor?" Mrs. Gossip says, finally removing her necklace from the soda.

"No." I say transfixed on the window.

"Wasn't that the reason you gave the judge for dismissing you? That you hate the prosecutor and would automatically vote against him?" She accuses.

"Yes, but that was when I was trying to get off the jury." I say directing my full attention to the words that Mrs. Gossip spits out of her mouth.

"Do you think your unfound hatred of your poor ex-husband forced you to vote guilty? Having voted based nothing on the facts!" Mrs. Gossip exclaims, motioning with her hand, which hits the soda causing it to spill all over the rug.

"The trial was sound, and so was the jury's verdict." I hiss.

"Did you know that they are filing an appeal?" Mrs. Gossip coos regaining her composure.

"I did not." I say, surprised.

"One of the main reasons is that they say you voted wrong just to get back at Henry." She hisses.

"That's not true." I say shocked by the information.

"That you voted wrong or that you wanted to get back at Henry?" Mrs. Gossip exclaims.

"That man is guilty! He murdered that poor girl!" I exclaim, getting to my feet.

"What man, your husband?" Mrs. Gossip yells leaning over the table.

"What are you doing?" I sit laughing a little. I mean really, she has gone off the deep end. Henry is my ex husband. As far as I know, he did not murder the victim from the trial, although that would be an interesting development.

"I'm doing an article to find out the truth." Mrs. Gossip says taken aback.

"He is guilty." I say coldly.

"Of what exactly? Picking your ex to represent him?" Mrs. Gossip accuses once again gaining control in the interview.

"That too!" I yell, unable to control my emotions.

"Let's go off the record shall we. When the verdict gets over turned, and I know it will. I'm going to release your address to every criminal in a fifty mile radius. You still live at 125 Cherry Lane, don't you?" Mrs. Gossip asks. It was then that the window crashed down behind her. I jumped out of my chair, every hair on my body standing on edge. She doesn't look back, she doesn't even flinch. As if she knew it was going to happen. As if she is an actor starring in her own mini move and I'm forced to watch.

"Yes." I lied. I don't live there, but Henry does. Her eyes go from light green to bitch black. How on earth did her eyes turn black? She can't do that, can she? Turn her eyes back to their original color. That is imposable.

"We are back on the record." Mrs. Gossip picks up the notebook she had placed on the glass table and leans back in her chair. "Now Mrs. Langerson, is it true that you have begun to whore yourself out, meeting various men online?" Mrs. Gossip smiles.

"I'm afraid I just died and need to make funeral arrangements." I lied. Then I got up and left her oval office making sure my eyes never left hers until the door was securely closed behind me.
Now I'm not sure
, but it looked like a bullet hit the window, logging itself in the glass. I think that is what caused the window to shatter. But why didn't Mrs. gossip jump or call for help? Did she know it was going to happen? Was the bullet meant for her or for me?

I pick up the newspaper Sunday morning hoping to read the comics before the rest of the apartment gets up. Oh, the prosecutor is fighting for an appeal. Good luck Henry, too bad you will never get it. The man clearly killed his victim. He stalked her for months before killing her. It was never determined how they met or if they in fact met. He had no alibi for the time of the killing. He was seen in the area where the victim was killed which is miles from his home. They even found the suspected murder weapon near his house. A rather peculiar case, how did he choose his victim I wonder? I also wonder how Mrs. Gossip knew about the appeal before the paper did? Maybe she is sleeping with Henry along with the rest of the town. I flip past the article about the appeal and find the comics. As I settle into a comfortable position on the couch, Sara burst through the door.

"No, you shut up!" Sara laughs entering the room followed by a rather old man. Old for her yet perfect for me. He follows her with a wide grin into her room and they close the door. I hear a click. She seems to get everyone she wants,
I remark. I
begin reading the comics and when I finish I decide to go for a stroll outside. Hey, maybe I'll meet my prince, you
never know. I step outside, I find myself out
of breath after walking down five flights of stairs. Man, I'm out of shape. There is an elevator, but part of an elevator ride is that it goes up and down. When it does go down, it triggers my fear of falling and I have gone onto a mild panic attack before. So I generally avoid elevators whenever possible.

The apartment complex is fancy in some areas and sappy in others. Take for instance where my apartment is located. It's a well faded white, compared to the building on the left that is freshly painted every year. I have never been in an apartment in another building in the complex but I have looked at them online. They trump mine in style and size. I keep saying my apartment as I gaze at the buildings, but it's not my apartment. It's Sara's, Ruby and I just rent a not so reasonably
priced room.
Well Ruby doesn't rent, she left remember. Hmm, I didn't even know she had a boyfriend to move in with. Believe it or not, I'm on a no rent list or something. Ever since the divorce people avoid me like the plague.

Just hours after losing everything in my infamous divorce with Henry; I started looking for places to live. "Hi, I'm looking for a loft in your complex." I speak into the phone.

"Hi, I'm Ramona the viewing agent for this complex. We have several units available. What is your price range?" I tell her and I can hear the clicks of the keys of the keyboard in the back ground.

"Yes, and would you like to set up a viewing?" Ramona asks. I say I do and I hear more clicking of the keyboard. "And your name please?" she asks. I tell her and there is a pause. No clicking is heard then Ramona suddenly says "I'm sorry, but we no longer have units available." Then she
hangs up. I was l
ucky to find Sara who offered me a room, for a fee of course. She had no idea who my husband was and when she found out she simply shrugs, "the bigger they are the harder they fall." Sara whispered into the air, then smiled to herself.

Sara has decided to take me and Ruby with her to a ski resort for a week. Yes, Ruby is back. She disappeared for a month then just showed up one day wanting back into out apartment.
All I got out of her is he wasn't who he said he was.
Big surprise there. There was a rumor going around that she moved in with Henry, but I don't believe it. Henry has a type and drug addict is not on his list, or at least it didn't used to be. Back to the free vacation, Sara got the cabin from a guy who apparently said she could use it anytime. Again, Sara has everything. She just exists and people give her stuff or do her favors. I have to swallow my contempt for her because this is a free vacation after all. I have never taken a vacation before
. Never. When
I was growing up we could never afford a vacation, sure we went to the Gossip water park for my birthday in the summer but even that was pushing our unstable budget. Going to a ski resort is something millionaires do. We have to take a plane there; I have never ridden in a plane before. I'm told that it is nice but I can't even be in a bloody elevator, so I'm already anxious just thinking about the plane ride.