Page 19 of Reptile Dysfunction

11

CHARLOTTE

“It’s like the words I’m speaking aren’t getting through to you somehow!” Eddie’s voice is all business. Too bad for him, because I’m business, too. I don’t have time to get to the bottom of things, plus slow down to explain my motivations in the same breath.

What happens if he wins this election? I don’t want to acknowledge the thought. But don’t I have to? Voting day is soon. Too soon.

“I’m trying to make Curiosity a better place. The people deserve a better mayor than this Wendall character.” I don’t bother to look the fawn in the eye, knowing he just isn’t getting it. Wendall is too smooth, too masculine, too perfect in every possible way. Anyone who can make a heart race with just a look the way he can has surely learned how to use that power for evil, especially when they’re a politician.

“You are so lucky you’re good.” I notice Eddie’s hairy arms are crossed and choose not to be offended. He’s just doing his job as the editor. But so am I.

Every award-winning journalist has had to go through this. A good story sounds crazy until it doesn’t.

“I’m sorry?” I tap my fingers against the desk, finally looking away from my computer search to meet his glare.

“You heard me.” He’s leaning against the desk now, drumming his manicured claws next to the keyboard, dangerously close to my own rhythm.

“Yes, but did you?” I minimize my browser.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means my finished piece is going to be worth it. You said it yourself.”

I stand and push my chair in. Maybe I can get to a coffee shop and do more research on my phone. I probably should have done that in the first place.

“Okay, see? This is what I’m talking about.” Eddie rubs his temples as if what I just said is hard to comprehend somehow. I’m speaking perfectly good English, dripping with logic and everything.

I keep my first thought to myself – that Eddie’s small-town vibes are clouding his judgment – and study the ceiling. How do you say ‘you’re just too close to this guy’ in a nice way, Charlotte? How do you tell a guy that he doesn’t understand the games that handsome men like Wendall like to play?

“Did you even hear what I just said?” Eddie’s voice draws my attention away from the slight crack in one of the ceiling fan blades.

“Listen,” I begin, not wanting to admit that, no, no I was not listening. “I really think –”

“No, you listen,” Eddie snaps. “I’m glad you’re up from your desk because I’m taking this until you prove to me you can use it.”

“My desk?” Am I being fired right now? No, he said until. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and raise both my brows instead.

“Your autonomy,” Eddie corrected. “This is your last chance to prove you want this job. You could do some great things here if you wanted to.”

Five minutes later, I’m in the car with Fred. His singing throws me off but not as much as the music choice.

“It’s my nephew’s garage band, Freedom To Sound.” Fred turns up the cacophony of clacks and whistles he calls music. I wonder quietly if he means his nephew’s garbage band, Freedom To Sound Like a Clown Car Exploded on the Highway.

“How are the music programs here?” I ask politely over what I’m guessing is a crying ghost tripping over a broken theremin.

“You tell me.” He gestures to the stereo, bobbing his head as I scan the pedestrians outside the window. Nobody was seeing this? Nobody was hearing it?

“We’re going to interview him now,” Fred yells.

I turn the music off, but not before pointing to the stereo with one hand while giving my still-dancing colleague a generous thumbs up.

“I knew you’d dig it,” he replied. “I kept saying to myself, ‘Self,’ maybe Charlotte just needs the right fluff piece.”

“Great thinking and great… sharing.” I’m just spitballing here. I’m not sure how to get out of this situation so I can save my career. This really is literally the last chance I might ever have to show the world what’s really going on. To do that, I need to start by showing the town of Curiosity.

“What if I told you instead of interviewing your nephew, we could do some real work that will have him wanting to interview us?” I try to look excited, giving him my most eager-looking grin.

“What? Why would a musician want to interview a reporter?”