I stand on the other side of the table from him and place the megaphone to my mouth.
He doesn't notice. He's too involved in his rant, his hands matching the emphasis of his words with each gesticulation ending in a palm slap on the table. "I had to borrow cash off mynanto pay for the last lot. It's, like, totally undermining of my right to express myself as an alpha male."
The person on the other end grunts sympathetically.
"I'm flush now though, so I don't have to worry."
I wait three seconds for dramatic effect, then empty my lungs into a single, "Shhh!"
Jason jumps so violently, he almost falls out of his chair. "What the fuck?"
With a jab of my finger I disconnect the phone call and walk back to my chair.
I place the megaphone back down beside me, settle my features into an expression of smug self-righteousness, and open the book again to read.
Chapter eleven
Ed
"Didyouanonymouslycommentthat Bess sells feminist art?" is the first thing I say to Mistral once she has logged on to her work computer and opened the library management system.
According to Bess, the gallery’s online shop has suddenly experienced unprecedented traffic and accompanying sales.
Due to Mistral being like one of the interfering, shit-stirring, fairy folk,coupled with the fangirl status she acquired after Bess' first foray into library vigilante-ismandher self-professed TikTok addiction, all empirical evidence...arguably...points her way.
Mistral flicks her hair over her shoulder as she rotates on her chair to face me, wearing a smirk that confirms my suspicion. "In a roundabout way." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I doxxed her."
My reaction to her words is complex – self-satisfaction at having picked it, anger at her having gambled on Bess' privacy, gratitude that she did, and utter bafflement at terminology only people younger than twenty-five are privy to hearing and understanding. "Youwhat-ed her?"
"You know," she says completely redundantly, because clearly I don't know. "Doxxing is when you publish someone's personal info, like their address, online. Most people do it from a place of wanting to cause harm."
My organs are weighted with a sudden cold, like they have been snap frozen. "You didn't publish her personal info. Did you?"
"No. Just stuff about the gallery. It was a soft dox."
"A soft dox.That sounds no less alarming than a regular dox."
"Look. Basically, I figured someone should monopolise on her new-found fame if she doesn't. Everyone who has stuff in the gallery stands to benefit. I mean, Lutek could do with some help."
"Lutek, huh?" I feel like I should have seen that coming, but apparently, unlike me, Mistral is much better at hiding her feelings for someone else.
I swivel around to face my computer. Then swivel back again. "I don't know whether to be worried about you introducing the risk of toxic fandom for Bess, angry at you for acting on her behalf without seeking permission, or glad you did, because it seems to be working. Online sales are up and she's already sold one of her own paintings."
Mistral's face lights up. "Has she? Ooh, well done me. Bess deserves recognition for the artistic statements she makes." She turns back to her computer and types some stuff into it. "Honestly, I can't believe it's taken several viral videos and the leaking of what she actually does for a living for it to happen."
I watch her for a full and very long minute, undecided about whether to share more with her. Sharing would be a calculated move to invite more meddling. Hopefully of the constructive sort she's already done.
I pivot back to my computer. Read an email. Then reread it, because I haven't absorbed any of the information.
"Can you stop that?" asks Mistral.
"Stop what?"
"Your foot drum solo."
I look down. My knee is bouncing rapidly and my heel is tapping on the chair support.
I do stop it.
