That Is What A Creep Does
2006 Words
The Diamond Life is an upscale bar in Belltown, with dark wood accents, minimalist bamboo and cane furniture, recessed LED lights, and polished terrazzo counters. Large potted palms thrive in corners. Barely audible electropop music is playing discreetly.
I am spotting Callie and Jake in the best place, the huge table in the middle of the room.
I walk up to them. I am greeting my friends, Julia, Hassan, and Cierra.
“I’m glad to see you all,” I say, and I mean it.
They have already ordered our drinks. I spot a glass of orange juice in front of Hassan; he does not touch alcohol. That is what they should have ordered for me. I am no big fan of alcoholic drinks. Until now, neither were my friends, but today they are drinking. Probably this is why they are so loud and cheerful, I ponder as I observe them. They are having too much fun.
“Sennia, you’re doing fine with your newsletter these days,” Jake Logan praises me.
“Thank you,” I nod. For some reason, he is nice to me now.
“I told you,” he says, looking at Callie. “She doesn’t need your help. You shouldn’t waste your time with that blog.”
An awkward pause.
“Callie loves Gen Z Online,” Cierra says.
“And it’s good,” Julia adds. “Better than good. I love their articles.”
Jake’s blue eyes are hard.
“A waste of time. You should tell your father to invest in my crypto company. That’s where you could make money. A blog? Seriously. You’re an adult.” She looks at us, sneering. “She thinks someday she’ll be famous and rich. Through the blog. Yeah, very realistic. Hey, wake up. You’re not ten years old.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” Hassan intervenes. “She’s a fine influencer. Sennia, too. We all love what they do. And the readers, too.” He is soft-spoken, dignified. Hassan's grandparents came from Egypt, and he was raised by his single Mom, an English professor; he is the gentlest, most generous, most cheerful person in the world. He is a big fan of cats, he and Mom rescue stray cats from the streets. He cannot stand when a man is rude to a woman. He thinks he should step up. Mom raised him well.
Our friends nod, they quietly murmur that Hassan is right.
“It’s okay,” Callie smiles at Hassan. He smiles back, but he still looks at Jake suspiciously.
I am observing Jake. His confident smile looks like a sneer.
Now I know why Callie stayed away for the last few days. Jake has undermined her confidence.
Anger pierces me like a needle.
I lean closer to Callie.
“You shouldn’t quit,” I tell her. “You’re gifted. Our readers count on you. They’re asking me where you’ve been. Tomorrow you should come over, and we should talk about the next article.”
#
The next morning, a few minutes after eight, Callie shows up in my home. I am excited and delighted.
She looks great as always; my extravagant, luminous friend is attractive. I observe her with secret worry. Her glossy caramel curls give her a vibrant look. Deep dark, golden brown complexion, wide-set, almond-shaped eyes, fluttering nervously. Once her full lips often curled into a smile, but now she looks weary. She wears an oversized black tee and Barbie-pink cargo pants.
At least she looks like her usual cheerful, put-together, confident self. More or less.
She could have found any good guy. Not someone who disapproves of her plans, her success.
I do not ask her how she is doing. I do not dare. She may think I am prying or meddling. She does not look happy. Probably, she is tired of the role of a happy romantic girl.
I am saying something about our newsletter and our favorite readers; some of them have been following us for years, we remember their stories, family, hobbies. They are our online friends. The polite elderly veteran from South Carolina, the cat lady from New York, the friendly nurse from Texas, the college girl from California.
Callie cheers up as we talk about Gen Z Online.
Grandma appears in the hall.
“Good morning, Aunt Liz.” Callie’s face lights up, she likes Grandma.
Grandma looks like a Black queen. Sharp, expressive, dark eyes, tall forehead, a prominent nose, a strong jawline. She is tiny and round but ramrod-straight. And she is a legend in the local Black community. She is smart, a hard worker, and she believes in the respectability policy. When I was a kid, whenever I met a Black woman, or a white woman, at Grandma’s age, they smiled at me and said, “Back in the day, in the seventies, your grandma and I were fellow fighters. We wanted to make a difference. She was our leader. What a fine woman, old Liz Parker.”
“Hi, Callie.” Grandma nods. “Nice to see you. We’ve missed you lately. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. She will be there at the jazz concert in the Music Hall tomorrow. She and Dad hope that they’ll see you there.”
Grandma smiles a bit. These families, lifelong friends, stick together.
“Sure, they will. I hear you have a boyfriend.”
Callie grins like a teen.
“We’re just dating. We have a good time together.”
Grandma smiles and shakes her head. She is not into gossip, she has never minded others’ business. But she minds her friends’ families, their future, and their well-being.
“Wait a minute. I’ve seen your i********: photos. Nice photos!” Grandma’s deep brown eyes are intuitive and serious. “And I hear that he wants you to give up your business and spend your father’s money on his. What an idea. ” She waves a hand. “There’s a reason why a guy is generous with a woman, he takes you to the best restaurants, the best trips, he tries to rush things. He wants something in return.”
“Nice of you to care, Aunt Liz. You’re amazing.”
I can tell she means it, she is touched.
Grandma smiles at her.
“I hope you’ll come to your senses,” she murmured.
“Aunt Liz, the world has changed. Young people don’t take things so seriously. . .”
“I’ve been around long enough to know that some things never change,” Grandma says thoughtfully. “Be careful with this guy, Callie.”
For a few seconds, Callie looks serious.
“Thank you,” she says in a whispery voice, very different from her usual, light-hearted tone.
We walk into my room.
Callie greets Cleo and Tim, petting their heads; the cats purr in return. Tim rubs his face against her palm.
I have already logged into my newsletter. Whenever I am awake and at home, my HP Elite Dragonfly is on, humming quietly.
“Come on, respond to some comments. Tom and Lily are asking where you’ve been.” They are our veteran and our Cali college girl.
Callie smiles, sits down at my desk, opens comments, and types responses with fast hands.
Then we discuss upcoming topics. Affordable green living. Hair care for Black girls. 1990s trends. Home decor for tiny apartments. Callie is lively and interested. The newsletter needs this energy. She types outlines and drafts, her hands flying over the keyboard.
Around noon, we have curry chickpeas for lunch. Then we snack on almonds and dried fruit.
“How’s your journal?” I am asking her. “I’d love to hear your latest stories.”
In the evenings, whenever she has time, Callie writes funny fictional stories in her journal. She has unique characters and surprising ideas.
She looks uneasy.
“What’s that, Callie?”
“I quit writing them,” she says quietly.
“Have you gone crazy? Why? They’re good stories!” She loved to write them. She read it out to us, Julia, Cierra, Hassan, and me. We all enjoyed them, we were rolling with laughter. I cannot believe that I will not hear about those familiar, beloved characters ever again. Their stories just ended abruptly. “What the hell happened?”
“Jake read them, and he’s mocking them. I don’t want to write about them.”
Anger flares up.
“You read them to him, and he started mocking them?”
She does not respond, she looks at the bowl of almonds and fruits.
“What?”
“I didn’t read it out. I assumed he wouldn’t like them. He found them in my journal. He goes through my journal.”
“Without your permission? Some perfect boyfriend.” I am baffled. “Do not let him!”
“He insists.”
A pause.
“He reads my emails, too,” she adds. “He knows my password. And my phone’s password, too.”
My funny feeling about him. This time, I tell it aloud, my voice is strangely low.
“There’s something wrong with this guy.”
She smiles a bit.
“You sound like Hassan. He says the same. He called me last night, he said I should break up with Jake, he’s rude and toxic.”
“He’s totally right.”
“You know that he always gets in trouble with girls for being overprotective. Like he’s our big brother. It’s a Muslim thing. He thinks he must protect us.”
“He’s being nice. And this time, he totally gets it right. Jake is a creep!”
“Cierra said the same,” she says.
“A guy goes through your emails and sneaks into your phone? It’s a red flag, Callie. In bright neon.”
My friend, usually confident and happy, looks small and lost.
“Change your passwords,” I tell her firmly. I point at my Dragonfly. “Do it right now.”
She looks at me.
“That’s not how it works. We fight. . . ”
I shake my head.
“Do you know his passwords?”
“No. He won’t tell them. Not that I’m very interested. I don’t want to look into his emails.”
“By the way, what’s this idiocy that he wants you to quit the newsletter? He should be glad that you love your job. It’s a business, our business, we split the money. I didn't want to bring this up, but still. And we can’t disappoint our readers! Tom, the veteran? He’s old and lonely. He says our articles brighten his days. And Carissa? She wouldn’t have gone to college if she hadn’t read us. We can make a difference! What would I tell them if you suddenly quit? We’d lose half of our subscribers! Gen Z Online is not the same without you!” I am raising my voice. Probably Grandma or Mom will hear me.
Now I think of what Grandma said only a few minutes earlier. My hands are slightly shivering, I hope Callie cannot see it.
“Please tell me you don’t support him with your money,” I ask her calmly.
“He never asked me to support him!”
“He wanted you to invest in his crypto company.”
“That’s different. Jake bought these shares, too, it’s a great opportunity. His business is very successful . . .”
“That’s what he says.”
That is how con men talk.
I can sense that I cannot do much right now. I could not even convince her to change her passwords.
I already have a vague idea of what to do. Grandma has friends and connections everywhere, not only in Seattle and other big cities where her newspaper, Seattle Noir, is published. She has friends across America: attorneys, law enforcement, entrepreneurs. I will prod her to ask around, to find out whether Jake Logan is a generous, wealthy, successful entrepreneur.
- Writer
