Home > Hard Code(5)

Hard Code(5)
Author: Misha Bell

Ignoring her, the Impaler turns on his heel and strides out of the room.

“Do you need any help?” Britney shouts at his back. “I can code review if—”

The door slams behind him.

The room takes a collective relieved breath—everyone except Britney, that is. She looks like someone has just shaved her beloved pet tarantula.

The conference bridge phone beeps, notifying us that the Impaler has just rejoined the meeting as his usual ghostly presence.

One of the project managers takes over the meeting, but I can’t follow what he or anyone says due to all the adrenaline coursing through my system.

This project is mega important.

I can’t mess it up.

To soothe myself, I take out Precious.

Pretending like I’m glancing at an important memo, I bring up my app and use it on my coworkers.

Sandra’s cartoon doppelgänger turns out to be Dory from Finding Nemo. Britney gets Maleficent—no surprise there. Someone in sales reminds the app of Sylvester J. Pussycat, a woman in accounting is Pepe Le Pew, while two guys from the development department match Beavis and Butt-Head.

Seeing most of my fellow employees like this makes me realize something: The ratio of women to men in the development department, and the company overall, is much higher than for the software industry at large. This is especially interesting in light of said ratio in the educational system. When I was taking computer science courses at Brooklyn College, I was often the only female in my class.

Is the Impaler behind this, or the HR department? If it’s the Impaler, color me impressed—with his vampiric lifespan, he might’ve grown up when the glass ceiling was two inches above the floor.

Well, whoever’s behind it, it’s one less thing to worry about when it comes to moving to the dev department.

Speaking of which, I feel more determined to do that now than ever. In fact, I think I should make my request ASAP. At first, I was waiting for the completion of the Belka project, but thanks to this meeting, I’ve earned some visibility and there probably won’t be a better time.

For the rest of the meeting, I play out different versions of my “move” pitch in my mind.

When it’s over, I wait for everyone to leave before I deal with the suitcase again.

Sylvester J. Pussycat and Pepe Le Pew are among the last to leave, with Beavis and Butt-Head on their tails.

Only Sandra is left now, and she’s clearly stayed back on purpose.

Whatever her reason, I decide to seize the moment before I chicken out. “Hi, Sandra. There’s something important I wanted to talk to you about.”

She pales. I bet she thinks I’m about to flake on the testing project.

Before she can have a heart attack, I hit her with my real agenda, and as she listens, some color returns to her cheeks.

“Do you have any experience coding?” she asks when I’m done making my case. “This is the first thing they’ll ask me when I bring this up.”

I tell her about my app and offer to share a link to the source control database, so she can pass it on to whoever wants to see what I’m capable of.

“Please,” she says. “I’ll get that over to everyone on the development team, along with a glowing recommendation from me.”

I beam at her. “I’m sorry to leave your team. Testing isn’t—”

She waves this off. “It will be a shame to lose you, but you have to think about your career first and foremost.” She darts a furtive glance at the door and unplugs the conference room phone. “I wanted to talk to you about something as well. I know you always do a great job, but please do your best when it comes to the Belka project. I’m worried that if something were to go wrong, both our jobs would be on the line.”

Great.

I’ll either get the position I want, or lose my job altogether.

“I got it,” I say with a confidence I wish I felt. “Leave it to me.”

Sandra plugs the phone back in. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I’ll do that.” I smile and hope she’ll leave.

She stands there.

“Bye,” I say.

She frowns. “You’re not leaving yet?”

“Have to check on an email,” I lie.

Though she’s in the loop on the sex toy testing, I still don’t want her to see the suitcase.

“Good luck,” she says and finally leaves.

I wait another minute for everyone to disperse to their cubicles, then snatch the sex toy carry-on from under the table and sprint out of the meeting room—and nearly tackle Britney, who’s lurking in the corridor on the way to the elevators.

“Fanny.” Her voice is laced with poisoned honey. “I’m glad I bumped into you.”

She is? Is hell experiencing climate change?

“I wanted to ask you about the Belka project,” she says.

Ah. There it is.

“Please direct all your inquiries to Mr. Chortsky,” I say politely.

I can see she’s unhappy with that answer, so I clutch the suitcase and step forward, hoping to quickly get past her.

She doesn’t move.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. “I’m late for a meeting.” With that, I forcefully squeeze myself between her and the wall and rush into the elevator as if I were being chased by an evil fairy.

Once outside the building, I speed-walk all the way to the DHL office on Church Street.

Wiping the sweat from my brow—it really is warm outside—I scan the paperwork involved.

This day gets better and better. The customs form has an item list on it.

This should be fun.

I locate the nearest bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and open the suitcase.

Fuck me. This is a lot of toys.

A dildo in a clear plastic box. Something that looks like a buttplug. A cock ring. A vibrator. And lots of items I don’t even recognize.

Luckily, there is a type of menu here, written by the same female hand as the auxiliary testing cases sheet. In fact, the inside of the suitcase also smells like that same perfume.

I wonder if she’s the Impaler’s lover. That might explain why he’s giving this such a high priority.

Kill her, the green monster of jealousy shouts inside my head.

I don’t know who she is, I reply. You’ve got to chill.

Find out and rip her hair out.

You’re nuts.

I’m you.

Silencing the green monster, I pocket the list, close the suitcase, and get back into the main DHL office.

Has anyone blushed this much filling out a customs form before? My face is so hot I worry my hair will catch on fire.

When the form is done, I get into the line and wait.

And wait.

Growing bored, I take out my phone.

Hmm. An email from Dominika.

When I read the subject, my heart rate speeds up.

I’m sorry.

No.

Can’t be.

I open the email, scan it, and nearly drop Precious.

It’s my worst nightmare come true.

Dominika won’t be my tester.

 

 

Chapter Four

 

 

The car ride home happens in a confused haze.

Dominika’s email almost seems like a cruel joke.

Apparently, she’s joining a convent tomorrow. She, the woman who pretended to seduce—and then creatively violate—all the orifices of “nuns” at a strip club.

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