F*ck Marriage(11)

Satcher looks up from what he’s doing. “Billie—”

“Wendy,” I correct.

“Right. Wendy will be in the open office. Do you mind showing her where that is, Pearl?”

Pearl stares at him, her mouth slightly ajar. “Kimberly’s old office?”

Satcher frowns, annoyed. “Yes.”

“I thought we were keeping that office open for the senior content blogger.”

“We were,” says Satcher. “And now the position is filled. So since you’re already here, see Wendy to her new office.”

We turn to go, Pearl rigidly, when Satcher says, “Wendy—?”

“Yeah?”

“If you call me Sasquatch again, you’re fired.”

I wink at him.

Pearl, who refuses to wear pearls of any kind, flashes her giant bauble engagement ring as I trail behind her. I get it; I get the office, but she got the engagement ring. I follow her down the hall and a few heads pop up from their cubicles to look at me. There are only two familiar faces: Loren, who I hired to cover the food and beverage section of the blog, and Dave, the website guy. They both smile at me as I pass. Pearl would have urged Woods to replace some of the people who were loyal to me, and others would have left of their own volition when I sold. She turns a corner and stops in front of a door, blinking at me. Before she opens it, she turns around. Pearl, who is at least half a foot shorter than me, has no problem looking me in the eye. If I were her, I’d be ashamed, but I suppose she had the gumption to sleep with another woman’s husband in the first place…

“I didn’t even know you were back in town. Now Satcher is bringing you coffee, and you’re in the corner office.”

It takes me a moment to catch onto what she’s insinuating. I stare at her, mortified.

“Not everyone has to fuck their way to the top, Pearl,” I say.

“As far as I can see, you haven’t done anything to earn this job.”

That’s when it hits me: Pearl wanted my position. She probably had a pretty good shot at it too before I came along.

“You mean like start this blog, turn a profit, and sell it for enough to live off the money for two years?”

Her dainty nostrils flare as she glares at me. She’s on the verge of shooting some word poison at me, I can tell by the way her whole body is wound up like a little dog defending its territory. Hackles, I think. She has her hackles bared.

“You had no reason to come back,” she says. “There’s nothing left for you here.”

I cock my head to the side. “Isn’t there?”

To my enjoyment, the corners of Pearl’s mouth tuck in her frown, dulling her eyes.

“You look a lot older,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Divorce took a toll on you.” And then she marches off before I can say anything else.

Older and wiser, Pearl, I think as I let myself into my new office. Older, wiser, and meaner.



There’s a lot to be said for spiteful pettiness. It’s underrated by those moral do-gooders who jive to the beat of karma. I make a show of hanging my new nameplate next to the door, and then for good measure, I buy everyone in the office lunch even though my bank account is dwindling dangerously low. She’ll get hers, they told me. But when I look at Pearl, who is trying her best to pretend I don’t exist, I decide that she definitely did not “get hers” as everyone told me she would. Calling the shots in the company I started, riding Woods’ giant dick every night. I figure karma must be a cool bitch, but she’s too busy for me. In which case, I’ve decided to be karma.



Satcher comes to see how I’m settling in and offers to give my furniture back.

“I’ve been trying to unload that green chair on someone for two years,” he says.

“Stop it. That chair is beautiful and it cost me a thousand bucks.”

He grins like he knows it.

“It looks good in your office,” I say. “I’ll start with a clean slate if you don’t mind.”

He sets down a bottle of Champagne and two glasses on the windowsill.

“How was Pearl?” Even as he asks, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work on assembling my new desk.

“Flustered.”

“You know, Billie, you could just move on. Forget about this vendetta you have against both of them. I can set you up with some of New York’s most eligible men.”

“It’s Wendy,” I say. “And what vendetta? New York is as much my home as it is theirs.”

“I’m not arguing that,” says Satcher. “But if you think I don’t recognize that look in your eyes, you’re mistaken.”

I place a hand over my heart, and fluttering my eyes innocently, I say, “Satcher Gable. You always think the worst of me.”

He grins from where he’s sitting on the ground sorting planks and screws into organized piles.

“By the way, I saw those three monitors in your office. How much have you taken on exactly? I mean, it’s no secret that you’re a workaholic, but, Satch…”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I don’t have a family. I have to keep myself busy, and I might as well keep busy making money.”

“True that,” I say.

“Why don’t you pop the bubbly? I like to drink while I work.”