2023-08-15
It was the night of her 22nd birthday when Helen got the email on her iPhone 3GS. She was out with her friend Judith at the Blue Room, a cocktail lounge that might well have just been a social club for the coworking space she spent 60 hours a week working in, because it was all the same men she was accustomed to seeing every day. Except now, disinhibited by alcohol, they were hitting on her with a voracity she wasn't accustomed to.
The Blue Room, ironically named, because the lighting was a dim crimson, and it was more of a creaky old house than a room. It smelled like a combination of fermenting urine and stale beer. This wasn't her scene; Helen preferred to drink alone, but Judith demanded action tonight—and Helen suspected it was the kind of tech boy action that would later make her roll her eyes when she had to hear a sob story about broken hearts or office drama or any other kind of fucking mess it would inevitably devolve towards.
Helen's cynicism was interrupted by the sound of a push notification on her new phone.
"Offer terms," was the subject line, and for a moment everything slowed down.
Had Wes really come through? Wes had been talking a big game about AmericaServe for awhile now, but it wouldn't have been the first time he had led Helen and her colleagues on a goose chase.
"Nah," said Helen. Judith looked at her quizzically. "Wes is full of shit."
Helen tapped into the notification so she could show Judith the sort of idiocy she had to endure day after day. But as she started reading the email out loud her tone changed.
"Holy shit," exclaimed Judith, "you did it!"
Helen took another sip of her Maker's double. She wasn't sure exactly what she had done, but it sounded like her life was about to change.