Made in America Read Online Free PDF Page A

as much. Publicly. Can’t you just admit that you shouldn’t have posted it online for all the world to see? We’re both human beings, right?”
    That raises her ire. “I’m not so sure about that. People like you are far removed from the human race. You just walk through life thinking you can do whatever you want to people and not suffer the consequences.”
    “People like me?”
    “Rich people,” she shouts. “You think your money can just buy you whatever you want, and you don’t care who you have to step on to get it. Well I’m not that person. I don’t care about your money, or your position in life. I care about being treated with the proper amount of respect any human being deserves, regardless of whether they have tattoos, or money, or whatever.”
    Raven holds up her arms to emphasize the point, and I look at her ink.
    “These don’t make me who I am, okay? It’s what’s in here that matters,” she points to her heart. “You can have all the money in the world—like you do—but still be just as shallow as a puddle, and I think you’ve proven that already, so yes, I would like a personal apology from you so I can get the fuck out of here and go about my day, because believe it or not I do have somewhere else to be.”
    She stands there. Chest heaving, face flush. I stare deep into her eyes, soaking in her words. I’ve heard them all before, of course, from women with more power than she could possibly imagine, but for whatever reason when she says them they begin to resonate with me, and I take them to heart.
    As much as my heart will allow me to take them in, anyway.
    “Look,” I say softly, “I’m sorry, okay. I really am. Alan shouldn’t have said what he said, and I shouldn’t have written what I did. You’re right, okay? You’re a person, not a thing, and I’m sorry, Raven. I truly am.”
    Her features soften for a moment as she drops her arms to her side. Relaxing. She blows up a puff of air from her inflated lungs that moves delicately over her bangs. Her eyes are moist, and—
    Is she crying?
    “Are you crying?”
    She plops down into the seat I offered when she first arrived and shakes her head. “No, I’m not crying. It’s just, you’re not the only one who’s had a bad week, okay? I’ve had people calling me 24/7 wanting interviews and statements. I had to chase off a photographer on the way over here, for crying out loud. That’s not me. That’s not the kind of life I want to lead.”
    “Welcome to my world.”
    “Yeah, well, your world can sod off for all I care.”
    “That’s what you get for posting that picture online,” I say, but I add a twinge of humor to it. A playful I told you so , followed by a genuine grin that manages to coax a smile out of her.
    “I didn’t even want to post it, you know. Tito gave me my phone and before I knew what I was doing I—”
    “Tito?” I question.
    “My roommate. Well, ex-roommate. He got engaged to his boyfriend and now he’s moving out. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do without him. I have to find a new place to live. Probably a cubby hole somewhere under a set of stairs. That’s where I’m headed, to check out apartments.”
    I furrow my brow. “So you mean to tell me that this whole thing wasn’t even your fault?”
    “No,” she admits, “it was totally my fault. I’m the one who posted the picture, right? Tito just sort of egged me along, but I’m a big girl. I take responsibility for my own actions, so yes, I am sorry it happened, okay?”
    “Thank you,” I say.
    “You’re welcome,” she huffs.
    The entire atmosphere in my office has shifted from confrontational to something a little more casual, and I take a moment to seat myself behind my desk across from her. She leans forward and snatches a tissue from the box I keep handy, and swipes at her eyes.
    The thought of her having to find a new place to live concerns me more than it has any right to. I shouldn’t care what happens to