“Us? Together?” I can’t stop smiling. I knew it was a long shot coming into this market that I’d get to sit at the desk, but it’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing, and for it to happen this soon is truly remarkable.
“Amanda is fucking pissed,” he says under his breath. “She’s been vying for a seat at that desk for almost a year, but look at her.” He taps and rolls his fingers on the desk. “She’s just not cut out for the desk, Lindsay. She meddles, her work is subpar, and she’s a complete bitch to everyone. You came in here, kept your nose down, produced some amazing stories, and killed it with your live report the other night. Rob has taken notice; hell, viewers have taken notice. Have you seen the social media feed on the station’s home page? Hashtag Lindsay Christianson is hot.” Mike’s smile is big, genuine, infectious.
“Yeah, that hashtag is from a subset of two seemingly lonely male viewers.” I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Lonely or not, Amanda doesn’t have a fucking hashtag and it’s eating her alive,” he smirks. “Submit the story, Lindsay. We’re going to lunch to celebrate.” Mike stands up and waits for me just outside of my cubicle.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes. I need to use the ladies’ room and return an email.”
I pull my purse from my desk drawer, walking out of my way to use the restroom as I always do—just to avoid the devil in the flesh, Amanda. I push open the bathroom door and am greeted by bright lights and mirrors everywhere. Full-length mirrors line every wall, and aside from the bathrooms in the back, there are four seating areas where we can sit to do hair and make-up before going on air. Even in a market the size of Phoenix, we don’t have the luxury of hair and make-up professionals. It’s “do it yourself” around here.
I pause, finding myself scrutinizing every inch of my body. From hair, to face, to chest, to hips, all the way down to my calves. My taupe pencil skirt hangs loose around the waist and makes me feel sloppy. My long curls hang, dry and heavy, and my once crisply pressed white blouse is wrinkled. “Get it together, Christianson,” I mumble to myself. A trip to the mall is in order to get some smaller clothes that fit.
I unzip my tan purse and pull out a pill, tossing it into my mouth. I watch the muscles flex in my throat as I swallow, and while it will take nearly a half hour for the effects of my magic pill to begin working, I immediately feel better, more confident—yet inside, I continue to feel the shame of using drugs to numb what I’m really feeling.#p#分页标题#e#
I turn to the wall lined with sinks and turn on the water. I wet my fingers and begin fixing my hair, twisting the ends in hopes that my damp fingers will help bring some life back to the dry curls. I pull my lip gloss from my purse and dab some on my lips, noting that the nude color I chose works well with this outfit.
A toilet flushes and a bathroom stall opens as I’m finishing up and washing my hands. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Little Miss Sunshine.” Amanda’s voice seeps out agitation. I don’t respond. I continue lathering the soap and rinsing as quickly as I can. Running my hand in front of the paper towel dispenser to trigger an automatic towel, I wait anxiously. Nothing happens.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. Instead of walking past Amanda to the other dispenser, I opt to wipe my wet hands on my skirt.
“Classy,” she drawls with a little snark in her tone.
“Fuck off, Amanda.” I pull my purse from the counter and quickly open the door that leads to my escape. I can hear her laughing in the bathroom as the door shuts behind me. Why do I let her get to me? I never let people like this get under my skin. For good measure, I open my purse and dig out another pill. I can tell one just isn’t going to cut it today. I take a deep breath and leave quickly to meet Mike in the lobby.
I settle into a little two-person table tucked away in the corner of the sandwich shop while Mike purchases our lunches. I take these few minutes to check messages and emails on my phone and am surprised to have a voice message from my friend Jessica. Jessica and I interned at WXZI in Wilmington almost two summers ago. She’s one of the few friends that I have that I know I’ll always keep in touch with. I hit play on the voice message and press the phone to my ear.
“Linds!” Her voice is shrill—excited. “I’m coming to Phoenix this weekend. Please tell me you’ll be there and I can stay with you? Gabe is meeting some buddies from U of A and I don’t want to be holed up at a resort all weekend by myself while he’s playing golf and reliving the glory of his football days. Call me, please. I miss you.”