A first draft: An interview with revenge

A writing prompt and a night lying awake thinking of how I would craft this short story propelled me to wake up early one Sunday morning and put fingers to keyboard. It’s a first draft, but would love to dive deeper or even explore the character further.

An Interview with Revenge

"Confirming our 10 am appointment."

"I'll be a little late. Bad decisions were made last night. Bad decisions always keep me up past midnight." I punctuate the text with a smiling devil emoji. 

"Oh! Hope everything is OK. I'll be at Coffee Central if you can make it."

"I'm on my way."

I laugh as I bend over to pull my heels on. I wad the teeny gold sequin dress into my purse and throw on an extra large t-shirt I find in the closet of ... 

"Hey, you," I nudge the dark-haired soccer player who is still asleep. He groans and looks up at me, recognition coming to him slowly. "What's your name again?"

"Rafee."

"I'm taking one of your shirts, Rafee. You'll probably never get it back, but thank you."

"I think I love you. You've ruined me." He rolls over and puts his hand on the side of his head. The cover slips down to reveal the beautifully toned chest I had the pleasure of being smashed against all night. 

"It was fun. Go back to sleep." I kiss him on top of his head, and he falls back into a deep slumber. 

I do ruin men, but it's my nature. 

Coffee Central is a bustling trendy place on the corner of downtown Miami. It's already quite full by the time I make it in. I wave my hand to the barista behind the counter and she winks at me. Skipping the long line, I pick up my coffee and put a fiver in the tip jar. The man placing his order glares at me with jealousy. 

A young woman in a smart blouse and a ponytail stands up in the corner so I can see her--as if I didn't know where she was. 

"Hi, I'm Marie. It's so good to finally meet you," she says, hand outstretched. I pull my sunglasses off my face and give her a grin. 

"Lovely to meet you, too. This is exciting. So, you're going to be writing a profile on me for the Miami Sun?" 

"I hope so! When I learned about your work through a colleague, I just had to meet you," she gushed. 

"Well, let's get started. I have another appointment at noon." 

"Of course!" She brings out her tape recorder and notebook and places them on the table beside her latte. "First, can you give me your name and spelling?"

"Nemesis," I say, spelling out each letter. "The goddess of revenge."

"And what does that mean, goddess of revenge?"

"It means I'm the Greek goddess of revenge. All of the gods used to be worshipped, but as humans turned to other deities, many of them lost their powers. Poor Zeus, his whole family is now a Marvel series."

"But you still have your powers?"

"Oh, yes. The only ones who've been able to come out of the last 2,000 years more powerful are me and Eros, you know, the god of love," I explain. There's no use in believing this human had any knowledge about our history. "People still believe in revenge and love--and the Moirai. They've also retained a lot of their powers, but they seldom meddle in the lives of humans."

She leans in, gobbling up every word I'm saying. Humans are so predictable. 

"So, tell me an example of how you've used your powers as the goddess of revenge." She continues scribbling in her notebook.

"Well, I just got back from an incredible night with Raffee Montez--"

"The Miami Ballers forward?! Oh my god, he's such a player."

"Yes,  he was," I say mysteriously. "He's left a lot of broken hearts around the world in his short time on Earth. When Eros asked me for a favor, I was happy to oblige. You'll probably see that he will change his ways soon."

"What did you do?" she whispers. I love that she's hanging on every word I say. 

"I've ruined him. Twelve hours with me, and he will never find any woman who can compare in beauty, wit or sexual prowess."

"Revenge. You played the player." Her admiration fills me with power. Yes, she's a definite believer. 

"I've left men at the alter after they've cheated on their fiancees. I've made billionaires the laughingstock of the financial world. I've brought down Junior League presidents, PTO presidents, U.S. presidents. They're all the same."

We continue to talk for another 45 minutes. She especially loves the stories of people who "get theirs," she says. It's not unusual, but her appetite for hearing all the details of people's misfortunes tells me a lot about her. She's quite thorough in her questions. 

"This is all great information, but I'm going to need more proof for my editor. He's never going to believe me." She gives an uncomfortable laugh. "Is there anything you can give me?"

"Turn on your video. I'll give you a few examples." She eagerly picks up her phone and turns the video feature on. She doesn't know where to point it, so she points it at my face.

"Hello, I'm Nemesis," I say in a cute and sexy voice. My blond bedhead hair frames my face. I turn toward the coffee line. After a second or two of awkward silence, two young women in expensive leisure suits and matching ponytails come in, giggling with each other and unaware of the long line of customers. They approach the next person in line and we can hear one of them say, "I'm so sorry, we are in a rush and just need two vanilla cappuccinos to go. Is it OK if I cutsy?"

"Oh my god..." I can hear Marie get excited behind me. Everyone in the shop pulls out their phones and begins recording the two women. 

The barista looks annoyed, but the man who was in the middle of his order nods at them and offers them his place at the counter. After a long and complicated order, they leave a $20 bill on the counter. "Can you please hurry? We have a shoot coming up, in like, 15 minutes!"

The barista places two steaming cups of milk and coffee on the counter. The women eagerly grab at them and start toward the exit. As the door opens, a group of teenagers comes barreling in and runs straight into the two women. The hot drinks are crushed into their perfect outfits, spilling liquid on everyone within a two-foot radius and covering the floor. 

"What the --- Watch where you're going, you little miscreants!" one of them screams. 

"Ahhh, revenge," I hear Marie whisper next to me. The entire episode caught on a dozen devices, which will be shared virally on a dozen different social media channels. 

"You think that's it? What do you take me for, a small-timer?" I turn back and tell Marie. 

The woman is still screaming while one of the teenagers tries to apologize. "You ruined my outfit and probably were trying to steal my purse. You don't even belong here, you're probably illegal anyway."

The shop got instantly silent. The woman froze, realizing that she said out loud what she had been thinking. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry," she said to the people filming her, not to the teen who still had foam all over his shirt. 

I turn back around to Marie. "You get that? I'm sure everyone did. By the end of the day, her sponsors will pull back their contracts, she'll lose her reality series, and she'll be blasted on social media."

Marie turned off the video and lowered her phone, eyes wide. I knew I had a believer when she didn't say anything. 

"Well, I have to run to my next appointment. It's been a blast!" I pick up my coffee and purse, wave at the barista, and make my exit. 

Marie waits after filing her story, along with the video of today's incident. She imagines an expose, a follow-up, and possibly even an award for investigative journalism. She's already dreaming up her acceptance speech when her editor's voice booms out over the newsroom. 

"Marie, what the hell is this crap? Get in here, now!"

She jumps up and races inside Marty's office. 

"What the hell is this? A profile on a Greek goddess? Is this satire?" Marie cringes as she watches the spit coming out of his mouth onto his desk. "This is what I've been waiting for? We have a front-page hole that I don't know what we're going to use now, because it's not going to be this garbage!"

"But it's real! I have the video proof. She really is the goddess of revenge!"

"Have you lost your ever-loving mind? I'm throwing this in the trash. Take the rest of the day off to collect yourself. You're obviously going through something. Come back tomorrow, and if you utter another word about this garbage, you're fired!"

Marie, devastated, leaves and picks up her things from her desk and slowly exits the newsroom, knowing that every one of her colleagues is watching her departure. With all eyes on Marie, no one notices the reporter in the corner with a smile on her face. 

"Finally, she gets what she deserves. Always stealing my story ideas," Yasmine says. "Good riddance. Karma's a bitch, Marie."

"That I am," Nemesis says, placing a fresh cup of coffee on Yasmine's desk. "Good luck filling that front-page hole, Yasmine. I'm sure Marty would love to read your piece on City Hall now."