WestParkerComedy: Welcome to The Mid-West: Because You Could Do Better Tour! Who’s ready to
get weird? 😈
HexedHeroine posted a video: Tomorrow night’s a full moon, but remember hot babes do hexed
shit 365 days a year! Stay spooky & read smut 🔮
“I’m sorry, Jo, but the company’s filing for bankruptcy.”
Just like that, I topple without a parachute, straight to rock bottom. I stare at the
piece of broccoli stuck in my boss’s teeth because if I look in her eyes I think I might cry,
And let me tell you something: Jo Daniels doesn’t cry in front of people.
“Since when?” I ask, shifting my focus to the giant engagement ring on her finger.
“This morning.” Annie sighs, acting like she cares.
She’s never fucking cared. The nepo-baby whose dad got her this job because she’s newly
engaged to Boston’s most eligible bachelor and needed something to make her look important,
will never have to worry where her next month’s rent is coming from.
I left my cozy, comfy, six-figure salary at a reputable marketing firm to take a chance
on a company I had once believed in… and Annie fucking Dorset is the one who gets to tell me
I don’t have a job anymore.
“We hate to do this but in order to keep afloat, we’re going to need to reorganize the
assets we do have left, and we’ve decided to keep Heather to run what’s left of the tiny,
itty bitty marketing department.” Heather, my assistant of two years who still can’t tell the
difference between decaf and regular coffee when it’s written on the container… left to run
the billion-dollar client list I built.
I want to laugh, but Annie reaches out and grabs my hand, forcing my gaze up.
I’m pretty sure my snarl says, what the fuck are you touching me for? because Annie pulls
her hand back and opens her mouth a few times like a fish gasping for breath on shore.
“I hope you understand, and please know I’ll always be happy to write a shining
recommendation letter for you.” Annie’s lower lip pops out, and that’s the moment I realize
I’d rather jump from the tenth story window of the building I was just fired from, than sit
here across from her any longer.
“Thanks, Annie. I look forward to hearing about my severance package.” I stand, snatching
my bag off the chair beside me and storm out of her corner office.
The corner office with a gorgeous view of the harbor she doesn’t deserve, by the way!
I work from home three days a week, so I don’t have much at my desk, just a few easy-to-
keep-alive plants and a Kindle I guess can no longer be called my work Kindle.
I fumble with the belongings in my arms after refusing to take a box from the
receptionist who somehow didn’t get fired?
I don’t know. I’m still processing.
I stay quiet on the train ride home, hugging my money tree against my chest until the
train comes to a halt at my stop in Salem.
Yes, I really live in Salem. It’s a whole aesthetic thing—don’t get me started about what
I’ve done for the sake of my image.
I moved out of my apartment in Boston two and a half years ago, and even though the busy
season can be overwhelming, I wouldn’t move back to the city unless I absolutely had to.
The train is currently packed with tourists giggling in their Halloween themed outfits,
excited for their Friday night in Witch City! It’s not October yet, but the entire month of
September grows busier every weekend.
I focus on the fallen leaves littered across the sidewalks and the sound they make
crunching under my Doc Martens instead of the growing doubt in my head until I turn onto my
street. I rent a small two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a multilevel home. My
neighbor, Hilda, waves as I approach the gate, struggling to open it. Okay, Hilda, no, I’m
fine. Just keep fucking waving.
“Josette!” She’s one of the few people I put up with calling me by my full name. “You’re
home early. Did you hit a plant sale?” she asks, eyeing the three I’m juggling.
I should have taken the box.
I’m ready to drop everything on the ground right about now… “Oh no, the exact opposite
actually.” I scoot past her on the porch and kick the door open with the toe of my boot. “I
got let go from my job,” I continue with a laugh that sounds too similar to a sob. “Have a
good night, Hil!” I call as I march up the stairs to the door of my apartment.
Fumbling with my keys, I finally manage to unlock the door, shouldering it open. My work
Kindle goes flying, but I somehow save everything else. I stare up at the ceiling, trying not
to scream.
A break would be really, really nice, Universe!
I manifest one as I put everything away, craving routine in times like these. Instead of
sulking and allowing myself to wallow, I change into a pair of black mid-thigh biker shorts,
the many tattoos I’ve got scattered across my legs on display. I slip into a matching sports
bra but cover the two full sleeves on my arms with a tight fit athletic zip up.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I pull my hair into a messy ponytail, not even
bothering with the shorter blonde strands that never stay put.
My favorite running shoes are in the closet by the front door and my lavender headphones
are on their charger in the living room.
The best thing for me to do is to go about my day like I wasn’t just fired by the company
who convinced me I’d made the greatest decision of my life when I accepted their lowball
offer.
There was a time when I’d been passionate about the work I was doing at Vyce Talents.
When I believed they actually cared about their employees.
I stretch before leaving the apartment, trying to avoid Hilda.
I do love her. She’s my tarot card reading, childless aunt-like figure with a remedy for
everything—a rare local of Salem with some of the coolest stories ever. Last year she decided
to let her hair go gray and stop coloring it black, but she still won’t let me teach her how
to care for her curls and insists on keeping it pulled back in a bun most days. She wears the
loudest, most eccentric outfits, and has been practicing yoga for forty-five years, but
hearing why the stars aren’t aligning in my life and what’s out of whack would send me so far
over the fucking edge…
I can figure that out on Monday.
Blaring a playlist full of 2000s alternative angst, I turn my brain off and run until my
stomach growls loud enough to hear it when I remove my headphones, slowing my pace to check
my watch.
The bagel with cream cheese I’d eaten at 8:00 a.m. was long gone, and I skipped lunch for
the last minute meeting I was fired in.
I cut through a few neighboring alleyways to get home quicker, thanking whatever gods
will listen Hilda isn’t around to hound me as I tuck back inside my apartment for the night.
After a quick shower, I throw on my rattiest T-shirt, holes from years of love eating
away at the now thin cotton, and hold my two-sizes too big sweatpants up by tying the
waistband tight.
Rainbows skitter across my apartment from the magenta glow of the setting sun hitting the
suncatchers in my bay window. I plop down on the couch with leftovers from the fridge,
getting cozy for my weekend of self-loathing.
Reruns of a late-2000s reality show flash across the TV, but I’ve seen every episode at
least a hundred times, so I don’t need to pay attention as I take my first bite of last
night’s veggie stir fry and grab my rolling tray off the coffee table. I take bites of food
in between filling the paper cone with the flower I grinded up earlier this week.
Anxiety’s a bitch, but at least there’s weed.
My fingers work swiftly over the paper, twisting the tip of the joint with expert ease. I
don’t have to leave my couch to light it, because Hilda’s been smoking pot in her apartment
since 1999.
The place smelled like weed before I moved in, and it’ll smell like it long after I move
out.
I take a few hits, getting high enough to take the edge off and rest my sore muscles from
the long run I’d done tonight. I couldn’t move slowly, couldn’t jog around the Salem I love
and take in my favorite time of the year because I was just fired… Let go—my eyes roll into
the back of my head—from the job I took a chance on.
I should have stuck to the plan, but no, I just had to try something different!
No, no, nope. You are not doing that. No sulking. I scold myself and grab my phone from
the coffee table, scrolling my social medias and taking time to respond to some comments
before a text message pops up at the top of my phone.
It’s from none other than Franceska Louise Sullivan, my best friend in the entire world.
Chapter one
Chapter one
I ignored her call while on my run, and judging by that text, she’s about to start
calling until I answer—or knowing her, she might just show up.
I answer on the second ring but don’t get the chance to say anything before Frankie’s
blurting, “I heard what happened. Open the door.” A knock follows.
“Is that you?” I ask.
“Uh-ya, duh!” Click. Frankie hangs up.
I open the door, and she comes barreling in, fully dressed in the most Frankified outfit
of the week. A pink and orange corduroy miniskirt, split in half by the colors with an open
blazer of the same colored material and pattern, just opposite sides. Her pink go-go boots
match perfectly, and her naturally bright copper hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail falling
down her back in pretty waves.
She looks too done up to be coming over just to check on me…
“You got fired?” she asks, putting her purse down and opening the fridge to grab herself
a peach-flavored seltzer.
I keep them stocked for her.
“Who told you?” My brows pull together in the middle. I glance around my kitchen for
hidden cameras.
“Hilda,” we both say at the same time.
“She called me two hours ago, and I’ve been trying to get in touch with you ever since.”
Frankie pops the can’s lid and takes a swig. “Get ready, we’re going out.”
Fucking Hilda. Another thing about Hilda? She doesn’t know how to mind her damn business!
I’ll remember this the next time I get the urge to rearrange my furniture at two in the
morning.
“I don’t want to go out. I want to cuddle up on my couch and finish the enemies to lovers
dark romantasy I’m reading.” I jut my lip out, hoping the pout will work.
It doesn’t. I knew it wouldn’t.
“Aw, too bad.” Frankie smacks my ass, leaving a sting behind. “Now go put on something
sexy, pull your hair out of that ratty bun, and let’s go. The show starts at 7:30.” She
shakes her phone screen in my face. All I catch a glimpse of is the name of a venue in
downtown Boston. “Sam and I are off, again… and I have tickets to go see West Parker.”
Frankie wiggles her shoulders and waggles her hips.
I groan so loudly I know Hilda hears. “There’s no way I’m going to sit through an hour-
long stand-up put on by some washed-up hockey star fuckboy who people only think is funny
cause he’s got dimples and a nice ass.” I don’t know much about the guy, and I don’t care to.
I’ve seen a video or two of his pop up on my For Your Page, and I can appreciate how hot he
is, but that’s where the appreciation ends.
“Okay… that was a lot of descriptors.” Frankie blinks, moving on quickly. “Josette,
please,” she whines, stomping her foot. “Sam told me he needed to take some time to think
about his life and what he wants today. We’re both sad losers, but I don’t wanna be the kind
of sad loser you are.” She points to my outfit and I scoff, turning towards my bedroom. “No
offense, but I want to go out and have pretty boys tell me they’d die for me. Not sit in a
dark room and read about it.”
Frankie could make any man crawl across broken glass for her if she wanted, and yet for
three long years, she’s let Sam from insurance sales call the shots.
I let out the longest sigh of my life. Frankie starts squealing before the words leave my
mouth. “Fine, I’ll go… on two conditions.”
“Anything!” Frankie claps her hands and bounces on the balls of her feet.
“One.” I hold up my pointer finger. “Tell Sam to go fuck himself.” I put up a second
finger. “And two, you’re buying drinks tonight. I’m unemployed.”
Frankie slides her arm over my shoulder and guides me the rest of the way into my
bedroom, bringing her phone up to press Call on Sam’s contact. “Deal.”
Wtf are you doing
hellllooooo??? Answer
me! 😡
Frankie
one
the one without a job
