Page 6 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“Rules are rules,” the security guy replied, standing right in the doorway, with his arms folded, blocking Mr. Gold from entering. “You’re not getting in. Not tonight.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Gold snapped and went to walk forward, but another guard appeared beside the first and asked, “Do we have a problem here?”

The first guard thumbed at Mr. Gold, while I stood to the side and willed the ground to open up and swallow me whole. “He thinks he’s getting in. I told him to do one.”

The second guard nodded, like he knew what this was all about, and turned to face Mr. Gold. “You heard him. Fuck off.”

I knew Mr. Gold wasn’t liked in the office, but he was still the editor of a newspaper. He held a position of power in our community, something which meant fuck all, apparently, to the people at The Void. Hearing how they were talking to him made me feel totally and utterly embarrassed. I hung my head, trying to avoid eye contact with the people around us.

“This is his doing, isn’t it? He’s being an asshole, showing me up in front of everyone out here,” Mr. Gold seethed.

I had no idea who the ‘he’ was that Mr. Gold was referring to, but I was guessing my night wasn’t going to be as fruitful as I’d hoped. I felt shame standing here, listening to this exchange, wishing I wasn’t a part of it.

Security just barked back, “I’m not at liberty to disclose who blacklisted you, but the facts remain, you are blacklisted, and you’re not welcome here.” Then the guard manoeuvred himself to block Mr. Gold’s presence as he ushered in the next couple that were waiting in line.

Mr. Gold threw his head back and let out a defeatist sigh as he spun around and took a step away from the entrance. I was surprised he seemed to be giving up so easily.

He pulled his phone out of his jacket and stated, “I’m ringing the mayor. This is complete insanity.”

He wasn’t giving up.

It wasn’t a defeatist sigh at all.

Mr. Gold turned back around, shook his phone in the guard’s face, and added, “Once I get off this call, you’ll be out of a job.”

“I highly doubt that,” the guard replied. “But knock yourself out, mate.”

Mr. Gold began pacing the street, muttering on the phone, but I couldn’t really hear what he was saying. The guard gestured for me to move aside so he could unhook the velvet rope and let another couple into the gallery. They both looked down their noses at me as they sauntered past and headed inside. I felt like a bloody fool standing here, shivering in the cold.

Then, a chubby hand thrust a card in front of me, and I turned to find a ruddy-faced Mr. Gold gritting his teeth and holding out what looked like an invitation to the exhibition.

“I won’t be able to attend this event tonight,” he stuttered, then righting himself, he added. “I have another more pressing engagement. You’ll need to go in on your own, Emma. Get the interviews, take some photos, and do the work you’re employed to do.”

I was speechless. What the hell was happening here? Not to mention, he’d actually got my name right.

“But I don’t have a camera,” I stated, beginning to feel a little out of my depth. “I thought I was here to assist you.”

Mr. Gold leaned closer to me, his hot breath kissing my face, making me recoil as he spoke.

“You’ll do what you’re fucking told to do. Use your phone to take photos and make notes. Unless you want to join the unemployment queue on Monday.”

I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

I could look at this in one of two ways.

I could get pissed off. Feel angry that my Friday night plans had been ruined and lament the fact that my boss was an absolute twat and treated me like garbage.

Or I could see this as an opportunity. Go into the gallery on my own, without my sweaty boss breathing down my neck. Take the photos, get the quotes, and do the job I’d always dreamed of doing. Tonight, I could be Emma Belmont, Reporter. Instead of Emma Belmont, lackey and general dogsbody to Mr. Gold. I knew which one I preferred. I also knew I’d do it better on my own.

Without another word, I plucked the card from his hand and turned to face the guards. I fully expected them to tell me to get to the back of the line, but they didn’t.

Instead, they stood back to let me enter.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, walking forward, then I turned to face Mr. Gold, but he wasn’t there anymore. He was already heading towards the limo, waiting at the kerb.

“Don’t worry, Miss,” the first guard said with the slightest hint of a smirk. “We’ll take good care of you tonight.”

And my stomach rolled.