A Devil's Day Job?

I stare at the mahogany door, my arms and legs crossed. The rest of the office, bathed in this angelic light beckoning to stay, bustles with the chattering of printers and the click-clacking of laptops. It reeks of coffee and sweat, and I sigh deeply.

Maybe I should’ve listened to my parents. Then, I wouldn’t be at this pathway made of shattered glass, stretching for as far as I can see. I jiggle my foot, brow furrowed until a hand clutches my shoulder.

“Just rip the band-aid off,” Erin says, a pillow in hand. “You have to get it done at some point. Might as well do it now.”

“Easy for you to say,” I scoff. 

They pat my back sympathetically but rush off a second later, their deadline a much bigger problem than their co-worker in despair. Gnawing on my lower lip, I continue to burn holes in that one mahogany door.

Come on, Maya.

You got this.

Pushing myself up, I grab my audio recorder and laptop even though my heart remains glued to the swiveling office chair. Step by step, each heel meeting with each toe, I inch towards the topic of my next article. A paper slip and wonderful numbers scribbled on a straight line; with that image in mind, I twist the doorknob and stride in.

“Ugh, finally,” a voice whines. “I’ve been waiting for, like, ever.”

Clearing my throat, I sit across from Marty Posert, the most wonderful reality star, his vanilla perfume choking the air. He runs a hand through his scarlett locks, needles for nails tucking a lock behind his ear and the sleeve of his mink shifting up the slightest bit. An ocean of fur swallows Marty as well as the zombie-like manager next to him. We exchange glances, her heavy eye bags sparking a kind of kinship inside me.

“So.” I smile at Marty. He responds with an expression I always thought was reserved for sassy teenagers. “Would you mind telling me what happened that day?”

“Well,” he preens, “we were at The Palatine. It’s this super bougie place for, like, parties and stuff. You probably don’t know about it. But anyways, I was recording a video for my followers; the usual. Tiffany was standing, like, right in front of the champagne fountain. Ugh, she’s so bad at dancing. It’s only because she’s got a big-”

“Please stay on topic.” I clasp my hands, feeling my smile slowly falling.

“Alright, alright. So, like I said, I was recording a video for my followers; the usual. Then, my mom started ringing a glass as if she were, like, the Queen of England or something. After that the cake was rolled out. It was unbearably ugly. Like, if a unicorn could barf-”

“Marty, please.”

He groans, his eyes shifting upwards to reveal violent, red veins against an expanse of white.

“Fine. So my very pregnant sister went up there and pulled out the cake topper. You know, I think there was supposed to be fireworks. But, like, something didn’t work because the damn thing exploded with whatever chemicals were inside.”

“That’s how the fire started?” I raise my eyebrows. “A malfunctioning cake?”

He sighs.

“Well, you know how it is. My mom loves her gender reveal parties. I mean, I still have the pictures of mine, pink streamers and all.”

Sighing, I thank Marty and as he leaves, somebody unexpected barges in.

“Hey!” I turn and there’s a middle aged woman, bedazzled in the newest designer brands. She glitters as she plops into the seat opposite of mine and I gnaw on the inside of my cheek in the silence.

“You’re the reporter, right?” She finally asks.

“Yes. And, who are you?”

Flipping a highlighted bob of hair, a ginormous diamond gleaming as she does, she hits a striking resemblance to Marty.

“I’m Margaret Posert.”

“Oh.” I open my laptop once more. “Did you have something you wanted to add?”

“Yes.” She sniffs. “For the record, I don’t know what my daughter told you, but we’ve always done gender-reveal parties. This was just an unfortunate accident.”

I suck on my teeth, annoyed.

“You burnt down an entire club. Somebody died.”

“Yes, yes,” she sighs wearily, “somebody died. Let me go cry a river.”

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t my fault. Okay? When I checked with the waiters, everything was perfectly fine. The mechanics were fine. I even looked at it myself.”

She leans forward.

“You know what I think? I bet Mary had something to do with it. She’s always been a little trouble maker. You know, I saw her hovering around the kitchen before-”

“He.”

I can’t take it anymore.

“What?”

I cross my arms, closing the distance between us. She falters the tiniest bit.

“I believe you’re talking about your son, Marty?”

“It’s just a phase,” she retorts pathetically. “She’ll grow out of it. I mean, I was the one who threw her party. Pink balloons, pink frosting, pink candles; how could she just reject all the work I did to announce to the entire world that I was going to have a daughter?”

“Does the rest of your family feel this way?”

She stiffens.

“Of course.”

My senses get tingly and this time, I don’t have to fake a smile. I feel a better story, a story more than a party gone wrong beckoning.

“We’ll see about that.”

“We golf here every week.” Harold Posert grins, leaning onto a golf club. His buddies, other CEOs of other successful companies glance at us wearily while I nod at him, squinting in the sunlight. “We like to catch up with each other and just have some time for the men.”

“Well, may I ask what your thoughts are on the party your wife recently threw?”

One of the larger men whisper to another, a nervous gleam in his eye. It’s the kind a kid has when they’re cheating on a test.

“You know, usually we just have a celebration for just close family. But, when she started inviting everybody, even those people on social media, I had a feeling that this party was different from the others.”

He wipes his sweat, the flesh of his face drooping downwards.

“I believe she was trying to make a point to Marty. She wanted to let him know that she would never accept his decision. Girls are girls and boys are boys."

I nod my head and grin.

“Thank you, Mr. Posert.”

“She’s not seeing anybody at this time.” A firm nurse repeats as I try to push my way in once more. 

“Please,” I grunt, wondering where all the muscle on this rock came from. “I just need to ask her a couple questions.”

“Visiting hours are over. Please make an appointment-”

“Let her in, Lily,” a voice rasps. 

The nurse still hesitates.

“Are you sure, miss?”

I hear a struggling laughter then a fit of coughing and finally, a deep breath.

“Yes.”

Ignoring Lily’s dirty glare, I poke my head into the hospital room and blink once just to make sure I didn’t inhale any second-hand druggie smoke. She looks fine, completely fine. Her skin is smooth and her face unmangled.

“Tess?”

The woman on the bed raises her hand.

“Yes, that’s me.”

The shock finally receding, I rush towards the chair beside her bed and plop onto the rough plastic.

“How are you?” 

“Fine, as you can see. My mother had the best surgeons work on my ASAP. This face you see? Mostly plastic.”

Laughing slightly, I fidget with the fabric of my pants.

“So, Tess. I just wanted to check something with you.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve interviewed most of your family about the fire. May I ask for your rendition of that night?”

“No need for that.” Tess chuckles. “I’ll give you the answer you’re really looking for.”

Her hazel eyes meet mine.

Bingo.

Breaking news! Tess Posert, daughter of billionaire Harold Posert, admits to arson and attempted murder of her own family. 

Breaking news! Harold Posert, CEO of leading AI company, is accused of insider trading.

Breaking news! Margaret Posert, philanthropist and human rights activist, transphobic?

Breaking news! Marty Posert, popular influencer and vlogger, is suspected of drug abuse.

Sipping on my tea, I watch the news flicker by with a triumphant smile on my face. Erica bends forward, her horns skimming my cheek. 

“What do you think?” I ask, my tail twisting.

“I think that when you get promoted, you better treat me to some human hearts.”