Forgetting Charlotte

The other email

Chapter twenty-two: The other email

"Did I not tell everyone that the skirt would fuck us?"

"I don't really see why everyone is so mad at her, I mean..."

"Shut up wanker, you're not entitled to an opinion."

Michael glared at Jolene from the couch, where he sat massaging my feet.

It had been weeks now since the Lucky article, and while I had suddenly blown up into an uncomfortable mass, the magazine had just blown up.

None of us could believe that Alicia would be foolish enough to take on a beloved city icon like Lucky's, there was almost a kamikaze feel to the article, as if she wanted to destroy the restaurant in any way possible. The story had unidentified sources seeping from every paragraph, and the accusations were enough to burn any other business to the ground.

Alicia had accused old Thomas Lucky of bribing multiple city officials in order to get a passable rating from the health inspector. She claimed that he had multiple complaints from his waitresses about sexual harassment. She claimed the restaurant had made somebody sick which they covered up with an undisclosed settlement.

It was Time magazine worthy investigative reporting, if it had been true.

Alicia had underestimated the loyalty the public had for the decades old diner, and people jumped to action immediately. Retired staff, current staff, diner neighbors, family of Mr. Lucky all came forward, on television, to adamantly deny all the claims. The most damaging were the television interviews with the multiple charitable organizations that Mr. Lucky had discreetly funded since the diner became profitable. The neighborhood leaders would stand on television, children and people united around them, building more public outrage for the magazine every time it aired.

Then came the hate mail, in large burlap bags, all addressed to the missing in action Alicia. Mail addressed 'to the liar at local magazine' or 'get your facts straight Alicia'. Then the hate mail began to include the other staff's name, questioning our validity in even our most basic articles.

I could see Phillip's mind consistently revert back to that day in his office. He had tried in the beginning to post a small apology on the editor's notes, claiming it was just a features article and not to be taken seriously, but Alicia's original claim did not bode as well with the public as it had with him. He then posted a retraction hoping it would ease the readers anger, but his badly worded non apology only incurred more public outrage.

After a while Phillip just gave up, avoiding the barrage of inquiries as to Alicia's whereabouts, instead directing the staff to open and readdress every piece of mail that arrived.

Jolene and I would chuckle the first weeks at the constant references to Alicia's smiling staff photo resembling a psychotic chipmunk, until Jolene received a letter addressed to her, informing her that English bastards did not have a right to name their children after American icons. It was like napalm.

"What? What? Can you believe that Charlie? Bullocks that is! Who the hell does this prick think he is? Sitting at home judging my name! What's his? Oh yeah, he didn't include it, the coward! Bet he's got a stupid yank name like Todd, or spring, or..." Jolene snapped her fingers at me as she panted in anger.

"Or Michael?" I giggled.

"Yeah, that's an arse's name!" Jolene stared at me mad eyed before the corners of her mouth curled up and she let out a snort. I knew her tirade had subsided for the moment.

So we worked for weeks, answering letters, fielding threatening calls, and trying to think of ways to save the magazine from the city's wrath while Alicia remained MIA.