Page 4 of Her Dirty Rival
Once the public hears what’s going on, I will have played a part in starting the tiniest snowball which hopefully will turn into the avalanche that crushes Alexander Industries for good. I’m also counting on the fact that we live in a world where a fifteen-second soundbite can echo on ad infinitum, with a twenty-four-hour news cycle on TV, social media and onlinechannels.
I get off the train at Penn Station and head east on Thirty-Fourth Street for the three-block walk. It’s a beautiful day to be outdoors around the holidays. It’s bright, the air is crisp, and I’m walking on sunshine. Pulling my long, wavy red hair out of my face, I find a hair band and put it into a ponytail. If Malcolm ends up seeing this demonstration in person or on TV, I want him to recognize me. I want him to lose sleep trying to figure out what I may have done to him, and what I’m likelytodo.
Within five minutes of making it to our rendezvous point, Steve and Jeanie show up. They take their positions about fifty feet away from me as we wait. I’m impressed. Steve hasn’tchickenedout.
Yet.
I start to feel an unsettling sensation in the pit of mystomach.
The closer I get to the building, the heavier this bullhorn in my backpack gets. Standing a few feet from Alexander Industries, I look up at the gleaming, imposing structure. Glass and metal loom up in front of us, seeming to stand out from the rest of the neighboring skyscrapers. Perhaps that’s just my inner awareness because of what itrepresents.
“I’m just gonna ask you again,” Steve begins to say to me. Does he realize he has left his post and is now jeopardizing everything we’veplanned?
I act like I don’t know him, but the novice puts a hand on myelbow.
“We’re not supposed to communicate here,” Iremindhim.
“I understand that. I’m just asking if the information you have is one hundred percent accurate. Like, we’re not committing libel against them,right?”
“You mean slander,” I correct him. I’m the freaking law school student with a specialization in environmental law and a minor in journalism, for crying out loud. I’m also scripted today, to make sure I don’t go off half-cocked in front of the media. “Libel relates to the printed word. Slander pertains to what we say. And believe me, I have the evidence. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t go throughwiththis.”
That seems to satisfy Steve again. He’s been so twitchy all day. And what’s worse is, because I slept with him that one time, he seems to think we have a thing. It’s almost as though he believes he can influence me. I don’t have the heart to tell him that for me, fucking is fucking and nothing more. I’m not the kind of girl that gets all emotional after I sleep with a guy. It’s an activity, a damn pleasurable one, right up there with skydiving, zip lining and hiking the GrandCanyon.
At least it was until I let Malcolm touch me. His skin was hot to the touch, and everywhere we made contact felt like he burned his invisible mark into me. Just like last night, I dismiss the ridiculous thought. I felt something because it’s personal, because I despise him.Nothingmore.
Shaking my head physically to snap out of it, I tell Steve to get back to his station at the smoothie stand. While he and Jeannie orders for the three of us, I find a free table close to where we’ll kick off the action. Jeannie sits a few tables away, and Steve walks past me to drop off my drink before joining her again. Except he doesn’t join her. No, he sitswithme.
“Would you please do your best to go according to plan?” I murmur out of the side of my mouth. “Stay at your post until I give the signal. And try to look a little more relaxed.” I nod over at Jeannie, who is pulling off the ruse pretty well. She giggled into her phone, pretending she’s in the middle of a lighthearted conversation when in reality, she’s checking in with Trevor so that we time our movementsprecisely.
“Sorry,” Steve says. “This is new to me. I’m not an old pro like you. I just care about the environment.” He takes a sip of his smoothie and remainsseated.
“Who said that I’m an old pro?” I ask. “This is my firstprotesttoo.”
Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. I should have let him keep thinking I have experience putting these protest events together. With that single statement, the concern he expressed before turns toterror.
“Are you serious? You’ve neverdonethis?”
“Jesus Christ, Steve. We’re not bombing the place,” I hiss under my breath. “We’re standing out front. It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it outtobe.”
Trevor arrives, and sits three tables over in the opposite direction, book in hand. He is a damned good actor, completely natural. Slowly, the rest of the group trickles in. I check the time. Almost ten minutes has passed. No one seems to pay us any mind. The guards inside the front door are easy to see from here. They’re not even lookingourway.
Trevor glances at me from over the top of his book, and I nod. He exaggerates slapping the book shut, which is the signal for the others to get themselvesready.
I get to my feet. Everything moves quickly from thatpointon.
The twelve of us rush toward the build entrance. Before the security guards know what’s happening, Steve threads a thick, heavy duty chain through the handles of the doors, and secures it with a padlock. Trevor moves through the revolving door. He places a wedge opposite to its turning direction to stop it. Jeannie uses the black spray paint to write the word ‘murder’ across the glass in large capitalletters.
The security guards inside fight against the chain and the blocked revolving door, but of course, the doors won’t budge. One of them grabs his radio, which tells me we need to work fast. There must be guards at the other exits. They’ll be here soonenough.
I give Steve the nod and he pulls out the longer chain, he tucks it in the through the other locked chain at the door, and loops it through each of our waist harnesses. He locks it down tight and I smile. We’re even positioned in the right order so every other person has a placard with our prewritten messaging. The guy at Kinkos will be happy to see he did a good job with these, even if he did think I was nuts when I put in the printorder.
Each poster is also written on a full color background, each with oversized images of the sort of environmental destruction that Alexander Industries has been perpetrating for years. Animals covered in oil. Once-lush forests reduced to paths for pipelines. Sandy beaches studded with massive tar balls. Post-frackingwastelands.
Pulling the megaphone from my backpack, I clear my throat, and begin to speak. I deliver my fifteen-second soundbite, pause for thirty second, and repeat. An afternoon crowd starts to assemble. Many are carrying gift-wrapped boxes and colorful shopping bags. They probably work in the area and took an extended lunch to do some last minute Christmas shopping. We’re just in time for the crews that get deployed to find content for the sixo’clocknews.
“Alexander Industries has been fined hundreds of millions of dollars for their environmentally irresponsible behavior, and they won’t stop. We have a message for this polluting giant. Stop sacrificing the natural landscape and wildlife in the name of greed. Citizens of the planet, help us preserve what we can for our great grandchildren. Give your future generations a Merry Christmas. Stop AlexanderIndustries!”
Uniformed security guards come running over to us from both sides of thebuilding.
