She is the cub who took over a beat other quit because it
was too much for them, she speaking two languages filling in the gaps, though
she had learned her craft writing food reviews for free for some on-line place
in New York, dragging behind her a string of degrees that made the rest of us
look foolish and music awards from a five-year career she feels ashamed of, yet
still hopes to broker into something she can be, enduring a jealous husband and
his cheating long enough to settle upstate where she could start over.
“I never cheated,” she says with a straight face, a notorious
flirt to whom men and women flock, not all of them fucking her, but those out
the outs wishing they were, her way of surviving in a world full of users and
abusers, claiming she no longer uses cocaine, but I don’t believe her.
She claims everybody at the office ignores here except for
me, which is just fine with her since it lets her do what she wants to do, with
me coming onto her radar because of my sudden anti-management tirades and the
fact I lent her some books to help ease her into the job – she suddenly being
my cub and I her mentor – something we both knew couldn’t last.
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