and I would have to get emergency surgery in an ugly fucking toga. Nobody wanted that.
Candace said, “Jane, these shoes are beautiful . . . but by the time the wedding comes around I’ll be as big as a horse. I won’t be able to wear heels at all.” Thank god Candace got knocked up.
Jane made a face. “Fine, we can ask the salesperson for flat shoes. I want you two to match.”
Just when I was ready to celebrate this shoe triumph, Candace said, “Mel, it’s your turn. What’s going on with you these days?” She sipped her nonalcoholic mint lemonade as I let out a heavy sigh.
“Where do I start?” I told them about my parents unexpectedly coming to town, the ongoing troll warfare, and the GameCon Northwest conference. I expected them to be bored when I rattled off my life events, but they leaned in, wide-eyed and nodding along.
“And there’s this guy at work—”
They leaned closer. Jane asked, “Ooooh, are you hooking up with someone at the office?”
My entire body flushed with heat. “Oh god, no, he’s the CEO’s nephew. And he’s an intern.”
“Huh, I never figured you as the robbing-the-cradle type, but I’m impressed. What is he, like twenty?” Jane asked.
“He’s an MBA intern, and I was just going to say that his parents are crazy, too, so it’s nice that someone else has to deal with that, not just me. He’s the guy Asher was calling my ‘boy toy’ at your engagement dinner, but we’re just friends. Can we change the subject, please?” I took a sip of my ice water to cool down my flushed face. “Maybe we can talk about the fact that I’m still getting death threats at work on a minute-by-minute basis?”
“Still? Do you need an employment lawyer, by the way?” Jane asked. “Based on everything I’ve read about other women victimized in the tech or gaming fields, they got pushed out or fired from their positions. They blamed the women, not the pervasive sexist culture around them.”
Candace frowned. “Melody didn’t do anything to cause this, other than being a woman, and being Asian. It’s so unfair. She needs a bodyguard, not a lawyer. How bad are the harassing comments now?”
“Bad. They’d almost be comically bad, with all the over-the-top shit that people write, hiding behind fake social media accounts and bogus usernames—if it weren’t happening to a real person, it’d almost seem like a parody of trolling.”
Candace put her hand on my arm. “Mel, why don’t you quit? You say you’re fine, but I know you. In some cases, maybe even this case, quitting is different than giving up. You need to take care of yourself, there’s no shame in that.”
I’d thought about finding a new job and hoping all the trolling craziness would go away. But I was doing great at work now and managing all the timelines and juggling things well as they came up. I’d earned the respect of people just by sticking with what I started. And in the past few months I’d met so many female gamers who played games like mine, who aced any shooter game that came their way. More women were gaming than ever before, in casual games, but also in role-playing games and first-person shooters, too. This growing group of women needed more game variety to hold their interest. They needed more games like mine. Well, not exactly like mine (because how may games with male strippers fighting for survival could the market realistically bear?).
“I want to stay, to show all those assholes I can do it, holding it all together when the entire world thinks I’ll fall apart. I want to make a difference.”
Candace held up her lemonade. “Okay then. To making a difference!”
We clinked glasses, and I gulped down the rest of my vodka soda and scooted my chair back. “Who wants to come with me to go recruit some strippers? Ian actually gave me petty cash to go to some strip clubs to ‘scout talent,’ no joke.”
Candace and Jane stood up in a hurry, almost knocking down their seats.
“We volunteer! Jane, the baby, and me!” Candace giggled and locked her arm in mine. Jane looked up the best strip clubs in the area on her phone and was ready to roll. I loved that Candace and Jane stood by my side as I fought my uphill battles. And yeah, I understood the irony of going to a strip club to fight for my dream.
JANE CALLED A car, and we