Page 4 of Infamous Heart

She waived me toward the counter. “I don’t want to sound desperate, but are you serious about signing up for the class?”

“I went to school for art. Life forced me into the design field. But,” Not good enough, the thought hovered just inside the shadows of my mind. Despite my best efforts, I think I believed it. How could so many people be wrong? But art wasn’t always about being good. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

Lacking modesty, she performed a victory dance.

“You just made my day,” she sang.

I paid and slid the paints and brushes into my messenger bag alongside the comic.

The dark cloud hanging over my head returned as I left the art store. None of these tiny victories could push back the sense of dread as I headed to a job reminding me every day that I’d never be good enough. A job that preached to the choir.

2

The secret lives of heroes.In a large bold font, it spanned the length of the room, just above the glass partitioned rooms used for the larger staff meetings. Since the writers had been given their assignments, the designers were left to take their ideas and collaborate with the photographers. Our mission was to create a magazine that jumped off newsstands and stood out on websites. I was one of those designers.

The Beacon occupied a three-story brownstone building on the edge of the Ward. Once upon a time, it had served as the office of a tech-start up, which made sense why my floor looked like a cubicle farm. The lowly designers and column writers occupied the same space as the distribution and sales folks. It made for an eclectic group of people in the break room.

It was easy to spot the designers from the salespeople. Known as the grotto, our cubicles were a smattering of interesting magazines and weird artwork we stumbled upon outside the Beacon. They were good folks to work with, and if I only had to deal with them, I’d be a happy employee.

The song piping into my earbuds ended. With nothing to do until the infamous Vincent approved my designs, I tried to look busy. I failed miserably, but at least I got to catch up on my podcasts and check out new music.

The bass riff started, and I spun about in my chair to see if any of my coworkers were about. Things were about to get incredibly weird in the design grotto. The tempo picked up, and it was impossible not to do a little head bob while mouthing the lyrics.

As the drums roll in, red pens transform into sticks. It starts with a light tapping sure to drive my neighbors nuts, but sometimes you just need to let the music take you. With a fast spin in my office chair, the beat pushes onward, building. The coffee cup serves as the snare while I tap my foot with vigor.

It’s coming, the moment where the singer takes the stage. The earbuds go silent and I’m pretty sure Bob in sales is swearing. Sorry Bob, consider yourself lucky to have a front seat to the Griffin Smith extravaganza.

The singer takes to the stage, belting at the top of his lungs. Grabbing last month’s issue, I roll it up, ready to make my debut. The chair can’t contain this spectacle. Hopping to my feet, the chair rolled into the aisle. There’s no doubt my co-workers believe I’ve lost my mind, and they wouldn’t be too far off.

My dance moves are epic, and not in a good way. Far too many nights are spent watching music videos, and in the sanctity of my home, I unleash my inner freak. If I had hair, it’d be whipping side to side and there’s a good chance I’d knock Janet’s Troll doll collection from the cubicle wall.

Whoever thought gay men were born with grace and elegance had never seen this train wreck. But if I was going to sit through another day of having Vincent talk down at me, I was going to have fun in-between the tongue lashings.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when something touched my shoulder. My right earbud fell out as Janet pushed my chair into my cubicle.

“I meant to tell you, villain sighting this morning. I was in a taxi and this smoky woman showed up. It was intense. She was preparing to hurl my bus when Lady Liberty and Team Justice showed up.”

“Lady Liberty, really? I still haven’t gotten a photo of her.”

I continued to shake my hips from side to side.

“Too late, I’m a level above you now.”

I gave her a bump with my butt. “I’ll catch up, just wait.”

“While I enjoy,” she waived a hand up and down my body, “whatever this is, I’m about to ruin your good day.” Nice try, Janet. My day started off ruined; nothing you could say could pull the rug out from under me.

“Give it your best shot, Lady Trollsalot.”

“I’d choke you with my mouse cord, but I’m sure you’re into that.” Hostile, I expected nothing less. Our banter might continue for the next ten minutes as we attempted to one-up the other. Human Resources was at the other end of the room behind a closed door, and we took advantage of the distance.

“The spread you did,” her voice softened, almost to a whisper. This was going to be worse than bad. I dropped down in search of my earbud as she continued her story. “I was upstairs meeting with Carlos, that super-hot photographer we’ve been sending to do the home shoots. The guy is a genius, I really think with him in charge of the photography, the magazine will move to the top shelf. It doesn’t hurt that he’s— “

“You’re killing me! Get to the end.”

“I listen to you rattle on about men all the time. Suck it up.”

She had a valid point. “Fine, go on.”

---