She's made no secret of her dislike for me and my "lifestyle". The whole world knows about it. What the whole world doesn't know, however, is what goes on when the cameras stop rolling, and when we're alone together...
Being hated never felt so good...
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"Nicki? Hey, how was Vegas?" The showrunner Harry's chirpy voice the following morning only added to my bad mood. He hadn't had to put up with Beyonce's bullying for two years -- it was easy for him to be chirpy. She treated her bosses with respect, just not her coworkers.
I'd managed to catch him on his phone, something I didn't do often. This situation, I felt, called for it.
"I can't work with Beyonce anymore," I said, my voice tough and adamant. "Either she goes or I do."
Act III
I hated Beyonce Knowles.
In the past I'd only ever managed to slightly dislike her, and even that wasn't enough to keep me up at night. For two years she had made my life uncomfortable, but I usually gave as good as I got.
This was different. This time she'd gone too far.
For the first time in the history of the show, I had enough of her bullshit.
Two days after I flew back to Philadelphia, Harry called me into his office. I stormed into the studio, vexed and vengeful, saying grumpy hellos to some of the staff. I knew what this was: he was going to try to talk me round, try and get me to reconsider. I wanted out. I was ready to walk. It would all come down to who was the bigger draw for the show -- loveable lesbian, best known for daytime soaps and straight-to-DVD romantic comedies, or the badass action flick babe, once voted sexiest woman alive. I didn't like my odds. It didn't matter who had signed on first.
I didn't knock before I entered his office, because his receptionist told me he was expecting me. It seemed, in my anger, I'd picked up a bit of an attitude. I gave no fucks.
"Ah, Nicki, glad you could make it." Harry stood up when I opened the door, his smile nervous. Immediately I knew why. Sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk was Beyonce, the object of my hatred.
She turned to look at me, but I had already looked away, refocusing my attention on Harry. I couldn't look at her without wanting to jump on her and scratch her eyes out.
