So Complicated

By Rumki Chowdhury

So Complicated has a captivating plot. You will want to keep re-reading as its more of a companion rather than an acquisition. It is profound without being bombastic and wise without being precocious. Rumki is a gifted story teller, a talent to watch out for!

Sagheer Afzal, Author of The Reluctant Mullah

Can two people who hate each other work together?

Julie Radcliffe is the author of a wildly popular feminist blog called The Independent Woman.

Her competitor, James Chopin of the masculinist Alpha James blog fame, have become rivals in the ultimate battle of the sexes. Now they have the chance to meet face to face, and both are nervous about what the other might do. When they appear on a national talk show together, things spin from civil to out of control in a heartbeat. The ensuing battle instantly transforms their fame into notoriety. Before they know it, their lives become more than a little complicated on both the professional and the personal fronts.

Now, in order to save their sinking careers in the blogosphere, the two combatants are forced to team up. Each must decide which is more important: being right or being employed.

Can Julie and James accept that two heads are better than oneor will they keep butting those heads together to prove a point?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491762486

Rumki Chowdhury

Rumki Chowdhury has an MA in English Literature from the Queen Mary University of London and a BA in English Writing from the William Paterson University of New Jersey. She was an Editorial Assistant at Pearson Education and interned at Simon and Schuster Inc. Now, she is an English teacher and writes for Hayati Magazin, while living with the best husband in the world and their two gorgeous daughters.

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Copyright © 2015 Rumki Chowdhury.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-6251-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-6248-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015905745

iUniverse rev. date: 4/15/2015

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1 He Says, She Says

Chapter 2 Curtain Call

Chapter 3 It’s Showtime

Chapter 4 Two Heads Are Better Than One

Chapter 5 Keep Your Enemies Closer

Chapter 6 The Game Plan

Chapter 7 Plan B

Chapter 8 No Men Allowed

Chapter 9 The Blog Rivalry

Chapter 10 Mission Break Up to Make Up

Chapter 11 Look Who’s Boss

Chapter 12 The Love Triangle

Chapter 13 The Strategy

Chapter 14 The Show Must Go On

Chapter 15 The Verdict

Chapter 16 Caught Red-Handed

Chapter 17 I Do

To the women who nag and the men who leave the toilet seat up.

Just kidding!

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To the women and men who believe in equality, not disparity.

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To my daughters, Amina and Maryam. I pray that you grow up to be influential women.

Acknowledgments

I am ever so grateful to Allah (God) for everything in my life, especially for His having provided me with a strong foundation; my encouraging parents, Sajjad and Rana; and my beacon of inspiration, my brother, Robin. Thank you Jony: you are my better half and my backbone. I would also like to thank Imran Akram of the British Writers Awards for advice and guidance. A great thank-you to my old high-school teachers, Mr. Mossler and Mrs. Nye, who still check my written work and root for my success. Last, but not least, I appreciate my close relatives and friends who always give me their honest opinions and believe in me.

Chapter One

He Says, She Says

The keyboard has replaced the pen as the mightier tool of weaponry against the sword, and who better to take full advantage of that than Julie Radcliffe.

Her fingers galloped away at the keyboard with such passion that the electric sparks could easily have been mistaken for fireworks in a love affair. Of course, this passion thrived because of a personal quest: justice for women.

Julie was a feminist, and her 500,101 Facebook fans who read her blog, Independent Woman, were all too familiar with her mission to abolish the he-man concept of women and sensibility while promoting the indestructible and modern-day power woman.

And like any one of the thousands of bloggers, podcasters, and vloggers in the world, Julie had competition, or rather an archenemy. James Chopin was his name. It did bother Julie that his fan base had jumped from 500,000 to 500,500 in just one night. Yes, 399 followers more! she whispered to herself.

After having minimized the web page consisting of her fan base status, she browsed through some famous mock painting prints that she wanted to purchase and hang up on her bedroom wall. Coming across Edvard Munch’s The Scream made her think.

Oh, how much I’d love to smash that painting against James’s head until he becomes the exact shrieking image of swirls.

An evil smirk lurked at the corners of her lips. At the same time, she had tucked the strands of her brunette hair behind her ears. Her hair was up in a half ponytail, and her glasses reflected the images of the paintings up on her computer monitor. But she could not help clicking on Alpha James, his blog, which often led a little voice inside of her head to scream, On guard! And so she began typing her next blog entry.

Men! She groaned out-loud. "I’m not into guys … well, certain guys, because most of them are just—what’s the word? Complicated! Just because I’ve done women’s studies, men immediately label me as the ‘bra-burning’ feminist. Let me clarify that nowhere in history did any woman burn her bra. It’s a myth. Get over it."

With that comment, she was secretly responding to one of James’s recent blog entries.

Julie had the University Men’s Societies on the Rise article open, spread across the top of her desk. She had given a quote that had been published as part of the article.

She proudly copied the highlighted quote onto her blog: Women are always criticized for wanting to have rights, and men who set up masculinist organizations are just finding another excuse to suppress feminism.

Then, having clicked on James’s blog, she noticed that he had blabbed his way into another topic about dating and consequent ungratefulness for the gentleman.

Her mouth formed an almost precise O.

He’s got nerve!

Her fingers stomped away. This whole statement that men complain about how women don’t want their doors opened for them—let me just say that I appreciate a gentleman opening the door for me. Chivalry is not dead. And if you’re an intelligent man, you’ve figured that out.

She slammed her fist on the desk. Satisfaction! Immediately afterward, Julie gasped upon noticing 2.59 a.m. at the bottom right-hand corner of her computer.

It was time for her to call it a night and she clicked Shut Down.

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Meanwhile, on the other side of London, the light of the monitor in the dark room illuminated James’s handsome, sharp features. It even made his dark, wavy hair appear neon blue.

Frustrated at Julie’s argumentative nature, he could just imagine what his fans must have been thinking. He hated being seen as feeble, but somehow Julie always made him look just that. That was why his number of fans was always so close to Julie’s.

Professionally, he believed everyone should know his or her competition, so he clicked on Independent Woman, tucked securely away in his digital Favorites folder. He read her latest blog entry only to realize that the person she was responding to was none other than Alpha James.

Women! James had typed. "Don’t get me wrong—I love women, but they can be so complicated! You’re probably thinking, What a cliché! So let me clarify. It’s the bra-burning feminist types that annoy me the most."

He then searched bra-burning feminists in Google Images and published one of a woman throwing her bra into a trash bin.

It was obvious to James that his readers were always entertained by the photos that accompanied his blog entries. In fact, the highest-rated one in the two years since beginning his blog had been of a man and a woman, both in boxing gloves, inside a ring. It accompanied the article he had written just a few days before Valentine’s Day on how men and women could never be physically equal in terms of strength. Of course, he had interviewed a few sports physiologists about female and male weight lifters and bodybuilders to support his theory. The only reason he regretted publicly posting that entry was the number of women who had read it. He had spent Valentine’s Day taking off from work because he was sick. He had slept in during the day and spent the night watching sappy rom-coms for fake date-story ideas in case a colleague asked him how he had spent his Valentine’s Day.

James’s gaze fell on a newspaper with the headline University Men’s Societies on the Rise sprawled across the top of page 12, which he classily bookmarked with a piece of ripped notebook paper. He then took a sip of coffee from his black mug, on which bold white letters spelled Patriarchy. He typed on his blog, verbatim, the quote he had given to the reporter of the published article: Men have rights too, especially the right to the benefit of the doubt. When there are abuse cases or child custody battles, men are immediately judged as crooks, criminals and unsuitable slobs.

He wrinkled his nose and crunched in his eyebrows as he typed.

James was satisfied, but somehow always felt like he was fighting for a position in society that he could never achieve. And Julie, constantly rebutting his every word, did not make it any easier for him. In fact, she was partly to blame for his current confusion: Was he on the defensive or offensive side of the gender battle?

His blood heated like molten lava, and he decided to write a comment under one of Julie’s blog entries—Recent studies show that men score higher on IQ tests than women—followed by scientific sources. Even as he typed, he admitted to himself that no matter how much he despised Julie, Independent Woman and Alpha James, like yin and yang, could not exist without each other. He cringed at how disturbing those words sounded in his head.

Noticing that it was three o’clock in the morning, James decided to be the better man, and without waiting for Julie’s reply, he clicked Shut Down.

Chapter 2

Curtain Call

Fem You. The bold purple letters on the glass door were so large they were visible from nearly two streets away. Julie’s office was on Goodge Street. She had chosen purple instead of pink to avoid the stereotype that boys liked blue and girls liked pink. Although purple was not that far off, she liked the color and stubbornly kept it.

That morning, Julie pushed the door open and walked in, her heels battling the marble floor. She could not have cared less about the curious eyes that followed her, including those of Elizabeth Eyre, a.k.a. Lizzie. Lizzie had been Julie’s best friend since university, and her personal assistant.

Attempting to calm herself down after just having read the increase in James’s fan base, Julie looped furious violin music in her head, particularly Paganini’s Moto Perpetuo. It helped … increase her pace. She just wanted to be Alice in the blue dress and disappear into an abyss. Her wonderland, however, consisted of feminists, including male ones.

In her office, she released a scream of relief. At the same time, she theatrically clawed her red-painted fingernails as deeply into her skull as she thought possible. Of course, this led to an excruciating headache. But what could be worse than knowing that she’d just lost another cyber gender war!

Ouch, she grumbled. She was rubbing her head when Lizzie barged in. No need to knock. Just waltz right in.

Ha. Nice to see Alpha James hasn’t ruined your sarcasm.

Lizzie was not the least bit intimidated by Julie. She would never bow down to a drama queen. Two years earlier, she had come up with the name Fem You for Julie’s organization, which gave her the right to stand up for herself. Fem You was a play on words, short for Feminist University and another f-word she’d rather not say.

Julie shrank into her leather chair. She took off her black Louis Vuittons and massaged her feet, which were throbbing from her anger stomps. She then had a good look at her friend of six years.

In her eyes, Lizzie was the epitome of the conventional nerd, but with a touch of class, including square black-framed glasses, short blonde curls, plump glossy lips, and sapphire eyes. She was like an adult version of Shirley Temple, but with a long dress on instead of a frock.

Lizzie said, On the upside, your Facebook fan base is now 550,003!

And James’s is 553,000. Your point? Julie flicked her loose hair away from her shoulders.

And your fan base is constantly on the rise so, no biggie.

"No biggie? James’s fan base is also constantly on the rise! I thought psychologists discovered that women read more than men, and I thought I’d have women on my side!"

She began hyperventilating and took out a paper bag from her desk drawer to breathe into.

Well, men do tend to read newspapers, especially on men-related issues. They must have read the article on men’s societies. Relax, Lizzie said, nonchalantly sitting down in the chair across from Julie’s desk. You and James have been battling each other for six years, ever since university. You’re forgetting why you began blogging in the first place … Lizzie waited for Julie to finish the sentence, but her head was buried inside the brown bag. "Ahem, to raise awareness about gender equality, not gender disparity. The more you guys participate in this so-called cyberwar, the more your readers are being misled to believe that gender equality is, well, just a war with no peace treaty."

Calmly placing the brown bag back into her drawer, Julie straightened out her hair and folded her hands on top of her desk. She knew Lizzie was right. Julie and James had studied at the same university, where she was leader of the Women’s Group and James the Men’s Society, the beginning of a six-year battle.

In a soft tone of voice, Lizzie asked her friend and colleague, Feeling better?

A little, Julie whimpered.

Great. I assume there will only be ballerina tiptoes around the office from now on, especially in the presence of clients, sponsors, and others who look up to you for inspiration.

There was a knock on the door.

Come in, Julie muttered.

A university student in tight khakis and a crimson sweater practically pranced in. Julie offered the young lady, whose ponytail bopped up and down, a seat.

I’ll be right outside if you need me, Lizzie said as she stepped out.

Sabrina Thompson, right? Julie asked.

Affirmative, the girl replied perkily.

You wanted to interview me for your women’s studies research paper. I’m here to help in any way I can.

Thank you for doing this! You and your organization have been such an inspiration for women all over, especially for me.

I’m flattered.

During moments like this one, Julie realized the value of Fem You, and therefore her own value. And Alpha James became dust on her shoulders, which she shrugged off into Never-Never Land.

Sabrina continued, So, you started Fem You around two years ago, and it’s obviously soaring with success. I have a lot of peers who come to you for advice, mainly on how to live independently. I think your most popular facility is your career center.

She swung a fist up for effect.

That’s lovely to know, Julie said.

Sabrina switched on her tape recorder and placed it on top of Julie’s desk. She then took out a piece of paper, on which she had scribbled interview questions before the meeting. In the two years since creating Fem You, Julie had become the hype of media attention and received letters from inspired young ladies praising her for her efforts.

As if an etiquette teacher, Julie exaggeratedly folded her hands on top of her desk and elongated her neck to a point that her shoulders automatically slid back.

So Sabrina, what would you like to know? she asked in a cavalier fashion.

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That same morning, James had on a T-shirt with the words The Godfather and the image of a puppeteer’s hands on it.

He sipped black coffee and, like a classic backstage writer, had a pencil behind one ear and a pen behind the other. Of course, that was for show, as most of his work was done on his super-thin laptop.

Circling the table of doughnuts and croissants, he feverishly tapped his fingers on his touch-screen phone. Twitter status: ‘553,000—thank you for reading my blog,’ followed by the website link. Just as he pocketed his phone, he felt someone breathing over his shoulders.

Maria! He yelled.

James chuckled nervously.

With her long legs, shiny brunette hair, piercing gray eyes, and high cheekbones, Maria Salvador was the archetypal Spanish beauty. For James, her accent only enhanced her seductive ability. Plus, she was also a producer on the show, and therefore a few steps higher on the corporate ladder than James.

I see that you’re hard at work, she said, rolling the r in work.

I’m just taking a snack break.

"I read your blog. Muy interesante," she said, raising her eyebrows.

Her plump lips curved up into a luscious smile. James longed to taste them, but there was that annoying rule in the work handbook that said, Don’t date your colleague.

"You don’t hate me or