Page 1 of Pictures in Blue
CHAPTER ONE
AVERY
“This is honestly absolute shit.”
My editor’s words echo in my ear, an annoying buzzing sound ever present like gnats on a hot summer day. I risk a sympathetic glance at Charlotte and meet her hazel eyes. We speak with subtle eye movements and wait for James to continue with his critiques.
I know what it’s like to be reamed by our editor. Even though Charlotte is the newest employee, she’s already used to these meetings spent picking apart our work, bit by bit until there’s nothing left but a page covered in red ink.
Her eyes shift downward to her blue Converse, but she doesn’t let them linger there. She lifts her chin, folds her arms over her bright pink sweater and crosses her legs that are wrapped in yellow leggings. Quiet is one thing my friend is not and her wardrobe reflects that.
“Absolute shit,” he repeats, slamming the copy of Charlotte’s article down on the conference table. The staff around the table flinch. They’ve all been exactly where Charlotte is now. We all know how it goes when James isn’t happy. It’s like he wishes for all of us to be just as moody as he is.
Most of the staff believes he needs to get laid. I just think he’s a jerk. No excuses needed. He’s a jerk and he likes to treat others around him like they don’t matter. He thinks he’s better than everyone else because he’s the editor of the paper. The “boss man” as he reminds us time and time again. I’m not kidding.“I’m the boss man, you have to listen to me when I give out assignments”is something we hear all the time. It’s the worst kind of ego.
“Honestly, Cheryl,” of course he doesn’t know her name. “You’ve been here long enough. I expect more from you.”
Apparently, “long enough” means barely three months.
When Charlotte first started here back in February, she had just graduated with her master’s degree in Journalism and I suspect at this point, she may be regretting her career choice. She wouldn’t be the only one, considering I am in the same boat, oar in hand, navigating the rapids right alongside her.
“You were brought on for the potential you showed,” James continues in a tone that practically drips with pompousness, the words trickling from his lips. “There’s none in this article and I expected better. I expect your best every time and this certainly isn’t it. Tim,” the short, balding man next to me stands at attention. The class brownnoser. If James asked him to swim in the ocean, Tim would ask how far and wouldn’t even question it when he told him to the other side of the world. He’d buy a cap, goggles, and god forbid, a speedo and jump in the ocean right away. “Take this article over from here. Rewrite, edit, do whatever you need to do to get it ready for tonight’s copy.”
James starts gathering his notes, signaling the end of this horrid meeting. I don’t even remember the last time we had a staff meeting that didn’t end with him calling someone out for “shit” writing that usually isn’t even that bad.
In fact, I don’t think I have ever heard a word out of his mouth that wasn’t criticism pointed at someone in the office. Or some negative comment about how they could be better. It was the same way when we were together for an unfortunate period of time. Two years of my life I wish I could steal back, smuggle them in the dead of night when he isn’t looking and stash them at the end of my timeline.
You could do better, Avery.
Avery, you know I like you but…
You’re so beautiful when you put in the effort.
I like when you dress up for once.
And here I am, still working under him a year after we broke up. Well, notunderhim, under him. Under him in the professional sense. The professional sense that is in a completely platonic way. You get it.
He pulls out his phone and starts walking toward the door when he looks up and realizes we are all still sitting. He zeros in on me, “Avery, will you tell me why everyone is still sitting down?” At least he got my name right. He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he motions to the door, “Well? Let’s go. Don’t you have shit to report? Get to work.”
He sighs in frustration and walks out. The rest of the staff starts gathering pens and reporter’s notebooks, empty coffee mugs and uneaten scones, heading to their desks for yet another fantastic day of news writing.
I grab my empty coffee mug with a bear on the side hugging a shiny, red heart withHave a Beary Good Daythat Charlotte gave me last Christmas. When I met her two years ago, she didn’t hesitate to start gifting me punny mugs right away. She gave me another for my birthday that featured a dancing waffle, a smile spread across it with the words,Don’t be a Twat Wafflesurrounding it. If I could bring that one to work and drink coffee from it right in front of James, I would. But I don’t have that kind of backbone. I walk around the table to where Charlotte is still sitting and take a blueberry scone, sliding it her way as I sit in the chair next to her.
“Here,” I say in a soft tone. I hate watching people being talked down to. I’ve dealt with it throughout my whole existence and I let James’ words affect me more than I care to admit, in more ways than I want to remember. My mother was never the nicest person either when it came to talking to her kid. Or about her kid. Or anything to do with her kid really. If condescension were an Olympic sport, she’d be the Michael Phelps of that event. And the runner-up would be James, standing proudly on the podium, chest puffed out in arrogance.
“Thanks,” she takes the scone and holds it for a second before she brings it to her lips and takes a large bite.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “James is an asshole. And he only has this job because of his asshole father who also doesn’t know what he is talking about.”
“Honestly, fuck him. That article was good. And it was good becauseIwrote it.” She starts to pick at the scone, blueberry by blueberry, staining the tips of her fingers a faded purple.
“You’re right,” I agree. “They don’t get to make you feel like this. You are good enough. And your writing is good enough. They just like to make people feel small. No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
She cracks a small smile. “Did you just quote the Princess Diaries to me?”
“Damn right I did. Listen to Joe’s wisdom and put what dickhead James said behind you. You’re good at what you do. You wouldn’t have landed this job if you weren’t. Believe in yourself. I do.”
“Dickhead James?” she asks.
