Blogger Girl (25 page)

My heart skipped a beat. “She’s not his new woman!”

Hannah shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe yes. Maybe no.”

I sighed loudly, threw my mini laptop in my bag and followed Hannah outside into the spring air. From behind her, I called out, “What dirt?”

Hannah kept walking straight ahead, motioning with her hand for me to keep walking.

“What dirt?” I repeated.

I followed her into Ryan’s Daughter where we found two empty seats at the bar. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming.
Or living in a Seinfeldian Bizarro World.
Bridget would die when I told her. First she would kill me for having a drink with Hannah and then she would die. But before I was murdered, I needed to know something. I turned to Hannah. “The Shitter?”

Facing forward, Hannah gave me the hand. Showing more courtesy to the attractive male bartender, she smiled and said, “Two dirty vodka martinis please. Extra olives.”

Since Hannah refused to speak to me until the bartender poured our drinks, I sat there silently trying to figure out what Daneen had done to be nicknamed “The Shitter” by Hannah. Based on my own experience with Hannah, it was more likely Daneen didn’t actually do anything and Hannah had simply made up a story to humiliate her. If that was the case, I’d have to empathize with Daneen and that was the last thing I wanted. I hoped no one I knew would walk in while we were together. I’d never live it down. And I had a feeling Hannah probably felt the same way.

At last we had drinks in hand and Hannah finally spun her bar stool around to face me. “Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced!” I took a long gulp of my martini, involuntarily snarling from the strength of the alcohol.

Hannah let a small smile escape. “Okay. Daneen lived in my dorm freshman year. We lived in the SAE dorm and Daneen was a little…” She paused for a second as if trying to find the right word. “Let’s say ‘eager’ to make an impression. One night she got in a bit over her head and did some drugs with the guys…”

I interrupted, “Drugs? You mean pot?” I took another sip of my drink.

Hannah shook her head. “No. I mean real drugs. Coke.” She took a small sip of her martini, her lips barely touching the glass.

My mouth opened in surprise. “Daneen? Holy shit!”

“I haven’t even gotten to the shit part of the story!” Hannah laughed and took another sip of her drink.

“Okay, this I’ve gotta hear.” I giggled and then realizing I was having fun with the enemy, sipped my martini and adopted a serious expression. “Go on.”

“Anyway, as the story goes, Daneen went back to this guy Evan’s room, lost control of her bowels and took a shit while having sex with him.” Hannah stopped speaking and looked at me for a reaction.

“No way.”
No fucking way.

Hannah nodded. “Yes way. Hence the nickname. She transferred out of school because of it!”

I downed the rest of my martini and raised my voice. “No fucking way!” And that little bitch had the nerve to call
my
college a party school? As far as I knew, no one had ever shit in her pants while having sex at Syracuse University. Unless she became a Mormon and transferred to Brigham Young, she had no right to talk.

“Yeah. Crazy right?” Looking off in the distance, she said, “I should use that story in my next book.” Then she motioned for the bartender to pour two more drinks.

“Classic.”

“Next time Daneen gets in your face, subtly bring up her crapping in her pants and I guarantee she’ll back down.”

Smirking, I said, “
Subtly
bring it up? Sure!” As Hannah raised the martini glass to her mouth again, I noticed that her lipstick was completely intact. The girl had skills.

Hannah shrugged. “Best advice I can give you.”

Feeling tipsy, I looked over at Hannah and thought to myself that this was probably the first time I had actually enjoyed myself while in her company “I appreciate the advice, Hannah.” It was true. The idea of Daneen and Nicholas together didn’t seem quite as bad now that I knew she had shit in her pants. I took a final gulp of my drink, noting how much better the vodka tasted after hearing about Daneen’s fecal incontinence.

“Yeah, well, I hate to see another woman cry,” Hannah said impassively.

I pressed a fist against my lips to contain my laughter as Hannah motioned for the bartender. Leaning her chest over the bar, she said, “Can we have the check, please?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “And one more olive too?”

The bartender’s eyes flicked from Hannah’s low-cut blouse back to her face. Then he reached into the container of olives and dropped two more in her glass. “No extra charge.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said.

While the two of them made googly eyes at each other, I grabbed my wallet from inside my bag and threw a twenty on the bar. Not removing her gaze from the bartender, Hannah pushed the twenty back towards me and said, “I’ve got this. You should save your money.”

I didn’t have time to be insulted before Hannah gave the bartender a wad of bills, said, “Keep it” and stood up. To me, she said, “Ready?”

I glanced at the bartender who looked disappointed. “Sure.”

As we walked towards the exit, I whispered, “He liked you.”

Flipping her hair, Hannah said, “
Yeah,
he did. But he’s a bartender, Long.”

Same old Hannah.

Drinking inside during the day always messed me up and when we exited the bar, the glare of the sun surprised me and I momentarily shielded my eyes with my hands to regain my bearings. I thought of something as we began walking towards Second Avenue. “Hannah?”

She stopped walking. “Yeah?”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I said, “This ‘shitter’ thing. It really happened, right? You’re not just making it up?” I really had to pee and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

A wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows, Hannah asked, “Why would I make it up?”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Hannah opened her eyes in surprise but then raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I save my creativity for my books these days.” Smiling, she said, “And besides, when was the last time I went out of my way to make
you
feel better, Long?”

I laughed. “Good point.”

“Exactly. Get over yourself.” Motioning to an oncoming cab, she said, “I’m out of here. Try not to be so annoying.”

“Only if you’ll try not to be such a bitch!”

Hannah opened the cab door, turned to me and said, “Where’s the fun in that?” Then she got in the car and closed the door behind her.

I shook my head and as the cab drove away, I practically ran back to my apartment.

When I got home, I dropped my bags at my front door and bolted to the bathroom, exhaling a sigh of relief that I made it on time. I liked to blame my small frame for my lack of alcohol tolerance but I was beginning to wonder if the aging process was causing my diminished drinking stamina. My body wasn’t any bigger back in college but I sure could hold my alcohol better.

Fully dressed, I threw myself on my bed and stared at the slightly spinning ceiling, thinking about the “dirt” Hannah had dished on Daneen. I hoped I
would
find a subtle way to mention shit in front of Daneen and I also hoped she would recoil in embarrassment and maybe even resign from the firm the way she had transferred schools. Of course, I knew that was unlikely but a girl was entitled to her dreams. For the first time in my life, I actually felt indebted to Hannah. Maybe Writer Chick wasn’t that bad after all. As I thought of Hannah, a fuzzy admonition zipped across my mind but I passed out before I could make sense of it.

I WOKE UP WITH A JOLT
and checked the time on my alarm clock. 5:56.
Holy Mother of God.
My scathing post on the evils of Hannah was scheduled to post in four minutes!

Dragging all of the blankets with me, I vaulted out of the bed, immediately tripping on the sneaker that was lying in the middle of my floor. Kicking the shoe out of my way, I muttered, “Fuck!” and raced to my computer. My head was pounding and my tongue felt like I had gargled with cotton balls. This was why vodka was not my drink of choice.

Although most people wouldn’t be up early enough to read the article the second it posted, I had hundreds of subscribers to my blog and if it went live as scheduled, they would all get an email directing them to it. If even one person read the piece and forwarded it to someone else, it could go viral in minutes. Most of what I had written was true but I couldn’t go through with it, especially after what had gone down the night before. Not to mention how unprofessional I would look.
What had I been thinking?

My pulse racing, I pressed the power button.
5:58.
I tapped my foot impatiently waiting for the login screen. After I entered my password, I kept one eye on the time which was reflected on the bottom right of the screen until all of the various icons on my desktop finished loading. Following what felt like an entire gestational period but in actuality was less than a minute, I made my way to the dashboard of my blog and clicked on pending posts. Since
The Truth About Hannah Marshak
was the only one in that folder, I spotted it without difficulty, angled my mouse over the “delete” field and clicked. I confirmed “yes, I want to delete this post” and finally took a much needed breath as I collapsed onto my couch in relief. Thank goodness. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep until 7:30 when my alarm clock sounded.

***

Later that morning at work, I sat back in my desk chair and read the review one last time.

Cut on the Bias follows Jacqueline Milano as she leaves her doting fiancé and her life in New York City behind to move to Paris in the hopes of making it big in the fashion industry. In her most vivid fantasies, Jacqueline will rub elbows, clink champagne glasses and share pain au chocolat with the fashion elite. But even her most stubborn doubts did not hint at the backstabbing and phoniness that, in reality, would derail her goals at every turn. Would the gentle but long distance support of her fiancé back in the States keep her afloat or would the loyalty and understanding she so desperately needed come from a much more surprising source?

Cut on the Bias, the debut novel from Hannah Marshak, is well-written, extremely engaging and, at times, very humorous. The main character, Jacqueline, is remarkably believable, as most women at some point in their lives have embarked on an adventure, whether a new job, living situation, etc. and can relate to the stress involved in meeting unfamiliar people and dealing with different and sometimes hostile personalities. I felt for Jacqueline as she struggled in her strange environment and became torn between the safety she left behind and her desire to succeed in Paris and I hoped for her happy ending. With respect to the romance, I was pretty certain which man would be left standing in the end from the get go, but it was a more scintillating love triangle than most I have read recently! The end left me warm and fuzzy and perfectly fit the story.

The only criticism I can offer is that the supporting characters could have been a bit more fleshed out as I got somewhat confused between Jacqueline’s intern and her seamstress. Also, some scenes were a bit repetitive and could probably have been cut out.

All in all, this was a surprisingly good debut but I’m not all that shocked since the author herself is quite surprising at times. Looking forward to reading more from Hannah Marshak.

Rating: 4 Pink Champagne Flutes.

Happy with my positive yet honest review, I posted it on my blog, Amazon, and Goodreads, and attached the links to my Facebook and Twitter pages. Then I sent an email to Candy Adams letting her know that the review had been posted.

After the post went live, I felt as if the weight of a
Biggest Loser
contestant had been lifted off of my shoulders. The moment I had dreaded had come and gone and I had survived. I decided to pick up a bottle of good wine on my way home and celebrate.

“Hello?”

And just like that, I was knocked out of my “life is good” bubble as I returned Daneen’s annoyed gaze. Nicholas was standing at her side but, as usual, was pretending to read his phone.
He really needs to find more creative ways to ignore me.
I sighed. “Yes?”

“I’ve been standing here for the past ten minutes!” She said, raising her voice.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Ten minutes? Is that right? Uh-huh.”

Shoving a stack of papers in my face, she said, “I hate to pull you away from your little blog, but Rob needs you to scan these to him immediately, copying me, Nicholas and David.”

I gently removed the papers from her hand and stood up. “No problem, Daneen,” I said sweetly. “I was actually in the middle of reading an article about cocaine addiction in college students. Did you know that a side-effect of cocaine is loss of bowel control? Who knew?”

Daneen’s face turned ashen as she opened her eyes wide. “Uh, I…” She glanced over at Nicholas who had stopped staring at his phone to look at me with a confused look on his face.

“Crazy, right? I’ll scan these right away,” I said cheerily. I walked away without another word and as soon as I got a safe distance away, jumped in the air and let out a delighted yelp. “Thank you, Hannah Marshak!”

SHAKING HER HEAD SO FURIOUSLY,
her red curls bounced all over the place, Bridget said, “No way! No fucking way!”