Archive for the ‘Post 9.4’ Category

Saturday, March 31, 9:29 a.m.

Jack says, “What are you doing here?”

Leo says, “The same thing you’re doing here, idiot!”

Jack says, “This does not go on your pathetic blog. None of this, you hear me?”

Leo says, “You can’t suppress the press, man.”

Jack says, “You’re not the press. You’re barely literate.”

Leo says, “Says the guy who hasn’t written an article in a decade!”

Jack says, “You aggregated my piece on the Lake Washington murder. You’re a car thief and a plagiarist, you little bastard!”

Leo says, “So, you read my blog after all! You’re a freakin’ hypocrite!”

Jack shouts, “You’re not a journalist!”

Leo shouts, “You’re an a-hole!”

I interject, “Guys! Can we just calm down for a minute here?”

Leo and Jack turn on me.

Leo says, “Wanna talk car thieves? Right there: she stole your car last night!”

Jack says, “Yeah, real classy, Katherine. And what the hell did you do with my cell phone?”

Leo says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you work at some lame print monthly? You’re barely better than a blogger!”

Jack says, “You only care about that book you’re supposedly writing.”

Leo says, “Want to talk about bad writers? Look in the mirror, baby! Have you even heard of the inverted pyramid?”

Jack says, “You are the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met!”

I say, “Yeah?”

Jack glares at me. Leo sneers at me.

I shriek, “Way to gang up on me! I thought you two hate each other. But no, as soon as you get a chance to lay into a woman, off come the goddamned gloves and suddenly you’re on the same team, aren’t you, frat brothers? To hell with you both!”

I think I actually twang, “Ta hell with the botha youse!” in an unintentional imitation of James Cagney. What I really want to do is slap both of them in an intentional imitation of James Cagney.

Instead, I snatch up my purse and march myself to the motel room door. If either of them grabs my arm to detain me, I will go all Cagney on them and it won’t legally be considered assault on my part.

Neither of them lifts a finger to stop me. I grab the door handle, yank it, and stalk out into the hall. They let me go without a word.

I stomp down the hall to the elevator. They don’t come after me. At the end of the hall, I realize the elevator is located in the opposite direction. I turn around and walk less and less assuredly as I approach the closed door to Jack’s room. It doesn’t open as I pass by. I reach the elevator and push the down button. I glance back at the empty hall.

I started off deeply offended. Now I’m deeply hurt. How can they gang up on me, then not come after me to apologize?

I get on the elevator and meanly take solace in the possibility that they’re too busy beating the shit out of each other to bother with me.

 

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