Carried Away - P. Dangelico Page 0,3

very successful charities––”

“He was an abuser.”

“And he paid for that.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“Carrie––“

“Ben…” I plead in my most pathetic voice. “Ben, please…” Desperation is setting in. When Ben sets his mind to something, he can rarely be convinced to abandon his position. One of the reasons he’s so good at his job. “You can’t fire me for this. I was on my personal Twitter account on my own time.”

“Carrie, not only can I––check your contract––but I have to.” He points to the ceiling. “Order came from up above.”

“God wants me fired?”

A fleeting smirk replaces his blank expression, then he shrugs. “In a sense.”

After that, an awkward silence falls in which I’m not sure if I want to cry or commit workplace violence. Ben continues to stare back, trying to give nothing away, but it’s all in his eyes. The distance makes my stomach roil. He’s not coming to my rescue. He’s really cutting me loose.

His chair slowly swivels right. Then left. And for the first time since I walked into his office four years ago for my interview and nearly swooned at the mere sight of him, I want to rearrange his face to look less pretty.

I’ve taken one or ten for the team, forgone an actual life in pursuit of the story while Ben claimed all the credit. And for what? To be canceled at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m getting death threats,” I tell him. And that’s the truth. People are crazy about their sports heroes.

Sinking deeper in his office chair, he runs his fingers through his salted brown hair. “Yes, that’s…unfortunate.”

It doesn’t look like he means it. In fact, it looks like he doesn’t give two turds either way.

“Look”––he sighs tiredly. Like I’m an inconvenience he wants to be rid of as quickly as possible––“lay low for a while. We can revisit in a few months. Say…after the storm dies down.”

This is what loyalty gets me. Discarded over a tweet, thrown away like yesterday’s news for reporting the truth. My Nan always said never trust a good-looking man.

Ben picks up his Starbuck’s take-out cup and brings it to his lips, lips that have covered mine, lips I used to fantasize about…lips I want to punch at the moment. It’s then I recall––Ben’s left handed.

Chapter 2

“Get out of the car…Get out of the car right now and get in there. Prostrate yourself at the altar of sisterly good will, and you won’t have to set up house on skid row,” I tell myself.

There are times in life where one must accept his or her fate. This is not one of those times.

I pause the banging of my forehead on the steering wheel of my ancient Jetta to glance at my sister’s shiny new custom-built house. I don’t have many options, but going back to New York with my tail tucked will definitely not be one of them. Which is why I find myself in Pacific Palisades, parked in my sister’s hand-crafted cobblestone driveway for the last twenty minutes, psyching myself up to go inside.

The two week eviction notice I found in my mailbox this morning said it’s long past time I paid her a visit. I’ve been out of work for a month and have officially run out of money. Time to flex my ovaries and get in there, throw myself at her perfectly pedicured feet, and beg her to let me stay in her she-shed for an undetermined amount of time.

There’s no other option, and I’ve contemplated all of them. Unemployment barely covers my rent, and most of my friends are either married or in long term relationships. Asking them to let me stay for a week is one thing, but I can’t be sure how long my situation is going to last. And let’s be real, if one is to abuse someone’s hospitality it ought to be family.

This is going to take a lot of swallowed pride––thus the apprehension.

Jackie is one of those people that does everything right. She’s overachieved at everything she’s ever set her mind to. Life for her is a straight line at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. No wobble in her trajectory. Not even a slight pause, let alone a stumble. She’s the perfect daughter, a blue-ribbon show pony. While I’m…not.

That’s not a bad thing though. Because I’ve essentially been left alone to screw up with impunity. And I have…case in point.

“What are you doing?”

The familiar male voice startles me into an audible screech. “Jesus…Charlie!”

My brother-in-law bends down to peer into the open driver’s