by Kiki Swinson
I had finally flopped down on a tiny piece of curb next to my car to try and figure out my next moves. I hadn’t gotten my first paycheck from the station yet, which meant I was still struggling financially with ten dollars in my pocketbook and broke as a joke. I certainly did not have enough money to call any kind of mechanic company to come help me with the car. I sat there with my head in my hands for almost ten minutes before a pair of feet stopped in front of me.
At first, I didn’t look up. I looked down at the little shiny, patent leather work flats from Target. I knew where they came from, because I had several pairs myself. I crinkled my face in confusion and sucked my teeth. I wasn’t in the mood for anybody and their small-talk conversation. Then I decided to look up and see who it was, so I could dismiss them really quick. It was Amber. I kind of felt uncomfortable with her looking down at me like I was a charity case, so I jumped to my feet.
“What’s going on, Khloé? You look like you’re having a time-out here,” she said, a little too cheery for my liking.
“My car is acting up,” I answered, mumbling the obvious. Amber could clearly see what was going on, so I was confused about why she would ask. We were both new to the station and trying to figure things out with working and life in general. I didn’t know much about her, but she seemed nice enough. I mean, she had stopped to find out what was going on, when several others of my coworkers had just either waved and kept it moving or avoided looking in my direction, like they didn’t see me in need of help.
Amber had pulled out her car keys. “Well, I can give you a ride home or to a shop if you need me to,” she had offered kindly. “No use in you standing out here frying in the sun. C’mon,” she continued.
“Oh, my goodness, would you really? That’s so kind of you, Amber. I’ll buy you lunch for a few days to repay you,” I had said, perking up and happily taking her up on her offer. She was right: Standing out there wasn’t going to solve a thing, and I’d already fried in the sun long enough. It felt like I had almost run to Amber’s car—that was how desperate I was to get the hell out of that scorching heat. Amber had a nice little C-Class Mercedes-Benz with tan leather interior. It was a comfortable little ride. I had quickly assessed that she was the spoiled white princess type who’d probably gotten her car as a birthday gift when she turned sixteen. Still, I had been super grateful for her offer to take me home so I could find Kyle to hustle up a way to fix my piece-of-crap car.
“Thank God,” I had huffed out as the cool air from Amber’s air conditioner hit my face and body. I rested my head back on the headrest, let the air blow in my face, and took several deep breaths. Amber turned down her rock music, which had immediately started blasting when she started the ignition.
“Sorry about that,” she said awkwardly, as if she knew that a black girl like me would not like that noise that she called music. But I could care less about her music choice. That was the furthest thing from my mind. So we sat in uncomfortable silence for a few long seconds.
“So, what are you working on?” Amber had asked, being the first to break the quiet in the car.
I opened my eyes and sat up a bit with excitement because I had a chance to speak to someone about my work, since Kyle and my mother were never really that interested in hearing it.
“Oh, my gosh, I found a story lead about a suspected kidnapping that might’ve just happened. This girl Lisa is the daughter of a criminal court judge and no one has seen her . . . She’s missing. Her father, the judge, is thought to have lots of enemies and they’re starting to worry that this is not a missing person’s case, but may be a kidnapping. I’m still working up the information, but it is a solid lead. I should be bringing it to Christian by the end of this week,” I had blabbed. I was honestly and innocently elated to share my story lead with Amber. It was refreshing to have someone to talk shop with outside work. My guard had been completely down around her, which wasn’t at all like the normal, guarded me.
“Really?” Amber had asked, sounding interested. “Tell me more,” she insisted. She was becoming giddy by the second. “Where are they from? What court is the father a judge out of? Which police are working on it?” She asked a million questions, and I happily and freely answered them all.
I had gone on and on about the story idea and how I was going to be loved at the station for it. I told her that I had already pulled some police documents and done some background research on the father. I’d told Amber my plan on winning Christian over and how my ultimate goal was to nab that six o’clock spot on live TV. Amber had listened intently and gave me several words of encouragement. She’d seemed genuinely happy for me and even offered to help me with anything I needed . . . including rides in the field or rides home after work. In the days after she’d given me the ride home, she would come around me at the station and ask more and more questions about my story idea. In the moment I hadn’t thought anything of it. She seemed like she could be a friend to me. A trusting coworker. I guess I had been naïve enough to think that Amber would have the same type of morals and loyalty that I had. Turned out, I was in the business of “kill or be killed.” No one went by a set of rules. Everyone was for themselves, and the sooner I realized that, the better off I would be.
6
CUTTHROAT GAMES
Four days after Amber had saved my life in the station parking lot, I’d rushed into the news station with my notes for my story, ready to present to Christian. I was sure the story was solid, and that Christian was going to be elated about it. When I’d finally made it down the long hallway to the main station floor, where all of us new assistants usually gathered to let Christian hear out next story idea, I saw a small crowd gathered there already. They all seemed to be watching something intently. I wanted to know what was going on, so I pushed my way through to see. I wedged between two other new, young reporters to see what the buzz was all about. As soon as I heard it, I felt faint. It was as if a hundred bombs had exploded in my ears. I quickly found out that it was Amber’s voice that had everyone, including Christian, enthralled:
“In breaking news Norfolk police are reporting that they are searching tonight for a missing teenager, Lisa Benton, the eighteen-year-old daughter of criminal court judge Marc Benton. It has been over two weeks since anyone has seen Lisa, who, at first, was suspected of being a runaway. Benton and his wife insist that their daughter would never run away from home. The prominent judge told us that he last spoke to his daughter on her cell phone the night before she went missing. Judge Benton told Norfolk detectives that he and his wife have a great relationship with their daughter, and it is not like Lisa to leave for this long without contacting them.
“Police have spoken to a limited number of witnesses so far who say the young woman was last seen at an unnamed posh restaurant, where her parents say she went to celebrate her upcoming high school graduation with friends. Police have not revealed whether or not they have spoken to any of the missing girl’s friends who attended the dinner as well. The teen’s late-model Audi SUV has not been located at this time. Judge Benton and the Norfolk police are asking that anyone with information about Lisa Benton’s possible whereabouts contact the tip line at 877-MISSING.”
That was my story! Those were my words! I had previewed my newscast to Amber exactly like she was saying it to the group, including Christian. I had immediately began shaking all over. Heat rose from my feet and burst through the top of my head. My mind was telling me to bust through the crowd and snatch that bitch by her hair and fuck her up. But, for some reason, my body was not following the directions of the thoughts racing through my brain. Instead, I just stood there, suspended in time, choking on every stolen word Amber uttered out of her thieving-ass mouth.
A tornado of emotions swirled inside me. I had felt unsteady on my feet. Suddenly I could no longer hear Amber practicing my story for broadcast later that evening; all I could hear were alarm bells ringing in my head. My heart rate sped up so fast, it made my head hurt. I felt like I was going
to actually faint. My first instinct was to make a nasty scene, because it was warranted. But that would’ve put me at risk of losing my job and my reputation in the business. I played the scenario out in my mind, over and over: Crazy black girl beats up white girl and accuses her of stealing a story. I’d be dubbed the “angry black girl” and never land another news job in my life. I’d certainly never get on the 6:00 p.m. news desk, which had been my goal the whole time.
In that moment my entire body was trembling, and then I realized I was standing there amongst my other peers on the verge of tears and looking crazy. I’ve been through worse, I told myself. I was stronger than that, because I came from the rough. I remember as a child going hungry. Gotten my ass beat up by chicks in my old neighborhood when I was a kid. A few of my boyfriends cheated on me. So this shit, right here, can’t be nothing more than a minor setback. I told myself to pull it together.
Here I was thinking Amber and I had started building a friendship, and all along she was stabbing me in the front and back. I’d even grabbed lunch for us both, just like I said I would, the day she gave me the ride. I always kept my promises. I was always loyal and trusting to a certain extent too. I had been planning to surprise Amber with what she’d told me was her favorite meal—shrimp and pasta from the Cheesecake Factory. Instead, she’d surprised me with a betrayal so huge. Tears had involuntarily begun to roll down my face before I could help it. I quickly and angrily swiped at the tears, pissed at myself for being weak in that moment. I whirled on the balls of my feet and pushed my way back through the crowd, which had been watching Amber in awe.
“Hey, Khloé . . . what’s wrong with you?” Joe, one of the station’s backstage hands, came after me and asked. Suddenly my body itched with the heat of shame and embarrassment. You damn crybaby! Now someone has seen you crying like a silly child! I had silently chastised myself.
I quickly swiped my hands over my face and turned around to face him. With my chest heaving up and down, and my entire body trembling like a leaf in a wild storm, I finally willed myself to be calm.
“Allergies kicking my ass,” I lied, sniffling and wiping my face again with my hands.
“I understand,” Joe said, with some doubt curling on his lips. “Well, feel better,” he said, following up, but still looking at me strangely.
I had almost run away from him. I wanted to get out of there so badly. I got to the staff lounge, where our refrigerator and table were located. I walked over and grabbed the bag containing my lunch and Amber’s. I raced into our common area, where we all had small lockers. I took Amber’s food, opened her locker, and dumped the sauce-covered pasta and shrimp all over her belongings. Even that hadn’t made me feel any better. I felt lost. I spun around a few times like a madwoman before I’d finally gotten my bearings. I located my knapsack, grabbed it and my cell phone, and rushed to the station’s exit. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I had to get out of there before I caught a case.
Dumb! Dumb! Dumb! I had chanted in my head. I can’t believe it. How could I be that stupid to trust Amber or anyone with my story?
Who, but me, would trust someone they barely knew, just because she offered them a goddamn ride home? I beat myself up royally for that. No wonder all of the senior reporters at the station had been so standoffish and snobby toward all of us newbies; they didn’t trust each other or us newbies.
I had raced to my car and got in. I started to drive aimlessly. I couldn’t even think straight. The tears began to flow again. I couldn’t believe this had happened to me. At first, I thought about calling Kyle and having him get some dudes from the neighborhood to set Amber up: They could rob that bitch and beat her ass a little bit. Break her arm, snatch a clump of hair from her scalp, give her dumb ass a busted lip and black eye. Spray-painting her car would’ve done the job too. I’m sure that probably would’ve made me feel better, but I decided against it, thinking it would’ve been too risky for Kyle.
Then I thought about marching right into Christian’s office and telling her exactly what Amber had done. How she had stolen the very story I’d told her about. But the way Christian was, there was no telling whose side she would’ve taken. Then I thought about starting a rumor at the studio about that bitch Amber, telling everyone she had some incurable STD that she’d gotten during her days as a prostitute. That would’ve just made me look like I was jealous and petty. None of my ideas for revenge were going to pan out, because I was too emotional. Plotting someone’s downfall never works out if you’re emotional. I learned that a long time ago. So, what should I do?
After driving around for a while, I finally came up with a way to deal with how I was feeling about Amber and what she’d done. “You fucked the wrong person, Amber. You may have gotten away with this one, but I’ll show you who will really win in the end,” I growled out loud as if somehow Amber could hear me. At that moment I had decided that instead of being the stereotypical angry black girl, and giving Amber the satisfaction of playing the victim, like white girls loved to do, I would slowly and methodically plot my revenge against that bitch. I had decided that I would destroy Amber slowly and watch her career crumble to ashes, but not before I showed Christian who the real star reporter was. I had something to prove and I’m gonna make sure that Christian is sitting in the front row.
* * *
Now I stood there wrapped up in the memory and feeling all the same distrust for Amber. She stared at me just as hard as I stared at her. I wasn’t backing down from my hatred of her, and, clearly, she wasn’t either.
“I’m working on a few things,” I answered Christian vaguely, looking at Amber through squinted eyes the whole time. I wanted that bitch to know she would never hear a story idea out of my mouth. Amber knew I hated her. She’d tried to act like she couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why, but she knew what she’d done.
Christian finally picked up on it. She heard the rumors. She knew what Amber had done to me back then. Christian turned toward Amber and smiled. “Give us a minute, sweetie,” she sang sweetly. I never heard Christian speak to anyone as nicely as she spoke to Amber all of the time.
“See you around,” Amber said snidely, bumping my shoulder as she passed me. I bit down into my jaw to keep myself from swinging on that skinny bitch. I could’ve beat her ass mercilessly, and Christian would not have been able to pull me off that bitch either. What I would’ve unleashed on her would have been years of torture and pain I suffered growing up. She would’ve felt every blow I would’ve lunged at her. There was no question that I would’ve been escorted out of here in handcuffs. And in doing that, I would’ve let her win, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. So I released a windstorm of breath and looked at Christian.
“Okay, so we are alone now. You looked like you wanted to tell me about something big,” Christian followed up, suddenly all business again. She really was the Devil in a dress.
“Well, I do, sort of. This is one you wouldn’t expect. It doesn’t hit too far from home either,” I said, boldly taking a seat next to my boss, just like Amber had done. Fuck it, if Amber could do it, I dared Christian to say something to me for doing it. I would file an Equal Employment Opportunity lawsuit so fast, her wrinkled neck would snap. This would not have looked good on the station. And especially on Christian, since she’s the boss.
“Okay . . . let’s hear it then,” Christian prodded.
I had told myself I wasn’t going to tell her too much, but I started to get caught up in the competition of the moment. I wasn’t going to let Amber best me in Christian’s eyes. I needed to prove that I was worthy of being there, even more than Amber.
“I have a strong lead on a certain mayoral candidate,” I said, partially dropping the bomb. “I’ll just say that the person has some real integrity issues that would make for very good reporting.”
Christian perked up and sat up erect in her chair. “Continue,” she said, tapping her big horse teeth with her nail, like she sometimes did when she was thinkin
g.
“Well, like I said, right now it is just a strong lead. But my spies gave me some pretty reliable information that this certain candidate is up to a lot of shady dealings. I mean, this tea is so hot, it could burn down a house. The station phones will be ringing, and the ratings will be skyrocketing when we break this,” I relayed, trying my best not to give too much away.
“Okay, but what is it? Who is it? I mean, I need more to make sure you’re not spinning your wheels and would have wasted your time and mine in the end,” Christian asked, moving to the edge of her chair and sticking out her neck toward me as if she could suck the information out of my brain. It wasn’t going to work. I could just imagine her getting ahold of my story and mentioning it to Amber. I already learned my lesson. I won’t be fooled again. Ever.
One thing about me, I was a quick study. After Lucy hired me, she’d taken me under her wing for a bit and I had blossomed. But when Christian came on board after me, I had fallen to the bottom of the popular pile, unless I could bring her something juicy. I recalled what Christian had said to me, over and over again: “Sometimes you have to go out there and make your own exclusive. Seduce a few people. Stalk some people. Whatever it takes. Even stealing sometimes.”
As I had made my way up the ranks at the station, I had gone home each night, studied my craft, and practiced how to speak like a real on-air news anchor.
“You’ll get all of the details soon. It’ll be the juicy exclusive you’re looking for,” I assured her. “But I won’t tell you anymore while we are here . . . in mixed company,” I continued, looking over my shoulder for emphasis. I turned back to Christian with a telling smirk on my face. “You know these walls have ears, eyes, legs, and arms too. I learned from some of the best in the business—don’t ever tell your executive producer too much. That way you’ll always have your I-didn’t-even-know defense when the shit hits the fan,” I said to Christian, looking around the room suspiciously. “And trust me, with this one . . . the shit will definitely be hitting the fan.”
