by Kiki Swinson
“You, Khloé Mercer, have been . . .”
I was silent, because suddenly, as I sat there waiting for the words to leave his ugly, wrinkled mouth, my stomach knotted so badly, I had the urge to double over, but didn’t.
“You have been nominated for . . .” He leaned into his desk so far, his old neck jiggled.
I swallowed hard. “Ye . . . yeah, I . . . um . . .”
“The very prestigious News and Documentary Emmy Awards for 2020,” the chief finally relayed, his voice going up higher than I’d ever heard it go. I guess that was his version of excited.
“Wh-what?” I asked, barely able to speak, as if I didn’t already know about it. I closed my eyes and waited to hear him say the rest. Everything in the room was spinning off axis, and, trust me, it wasn’t the fear this time.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed, jumping up out of the chair. I lost all good sense and sensibilities at that time. Although Liza had already told me, I didn’t realize how the realization of what I’d accomplished hadn’t hit me yet.
“I can’t believe it!” I started bouncing on my knees and fanning my hands in front of myself. I swear, I felt like my soul had left my body. I don’t know how else to describe the crazy out-of-body experience I had in that moment.
“Ms. Mercer, thank you for your hard work and bringing this very wanted attention to our little local news station. It is not every day that this happens for small newscasts like ours,” the chief went on, as if anything he said was going to stick in my head at that moment.
I couldn’t speak. I stared at the chief, waiting for him to finish, while trying to control my trembling hands.
“This is the official golden nomination certificate for your keepsake,” he said, extending the small sparkly, golden card toward me.
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing it, turning on my heels, and almost running out of the office.
As soon as I stepped into the hallway, Liza was there. “Khloé! Let me see!” Liza urged frantically.
I held out my quaking hand. Liza snatched the card and examined it for a few seconds.
“Agh!” She belted out the most ear-shattering scream I’d ever heard. Her scream snapped me out of my catatonic shock. I jumped so hard, I almost fell back into the wall.
“Oh, my God!” I screeched, and, believe it or not, I jumped so high off the floor, I know the staff at the station might’ve thought someone was chasing me or beating my ass. I continued to jump up and down too. Liza and I jumped and hugged and screamed and cried and danced and went round and round, until we were finally exhausted and almost collapsed to the floor, heaving and out of breath.
“Girl,” Liza gasped out the word, barely able to gather enough breath.
“Girrrrllllllll,” I dragged mine out on a long breath, hardly able to breathe myself. “Agh!” I screamed, and flailed my arms in the air.
Liza turned her head and looked over at me, straight on. “Agh!” she screamed too, and flailed her arms the same way. We busted out laughing. It was the kind of laughter that said we were set for life and would never have another care in the world. I had hit the news world lottery all from bringing down Anton Barker and his crew! My mother always said that it was better to be born lucky than rich!
16
THE FAÇADE OF HAPPINESS
I spun around like a fairy tale princess. I was so full of joy inside. I had finally made it. I had finally gotten what I wanted after every single struggle I’d endured.
All of my life I knew I was going to be successful. There was no doubt in my mind that I’d make it big one day. Being a successful news anchor was the only thing I’d dreamed about since I was a kid. My mother, God bless her heart, wasn’t the best example, but she overcame her demons and was waiting at home to watch and cheer me on. I didn’t have many strong-woman examples in my life, but my father, before he died, had helped me come up with a mantra: I am strong, beautiful, successful, and wonderfully made. I had hammered that into my little mind from the time I could say the alphabet.
“Khloé Dawn Mercer,” my father would say, calling me by my whole government name. “You’re so smart. You’re so pretty. Those big hazel eyes and that sandy brown hair are going to get you the best spot on TV. You watch! You’re going to be a go getter and a head turner when you grow up.”
I’d always believed every word he’d said too. There was something special about me. Not to brag, I just always knew and felt it inside me.
All through high school I obsessed over doing well in school with the one goal in mind. I never partied or went out, like my brother did. And I certainly didn’t stop striving to move forward. At that point I had overcome a lot of tragedy and struggle, and I was determined to make a life for myself—a good life, that is.
Now, standing inside the grand foyer of the hotel, fingers curled so tightly into my palms that my knuckles turned white, with my heart punching against my chest wall, I waited for my date and prepared myself to walk the red carpet of the News and Documentary Emmy Awards. This was like life coming full circle. My story reporting had gained me an Emmy nomination, something that was not an easy task either. Who knows what’s going to come at me tomorrow? I can’t say. But I can say that I’m gonna relish in this moment now and think about tomorrow when it gets here.
I’d already given myself five pep talks about how I should react if I didn’t win. I’d told myself there would be another time. I’d told myself I would win and give my speech like a pro. I’d told myself I would not cry. Still, nothing I told myself eased the electric currents of nervousness coursing through my body. I swallowed hard so that my sparkly diamond choker rose and fell against the ladder of my throat. I would’ve paced in circles, if I didn’t have on thirty-minute heels.
“We are almost ready for you,” the red-carpet organizer said, patting my shoulder. She smiled warmly and I returned the favor.
I nodded and shifted my weight from one foot to the other, balancing carefully on my sparkly Christian Louboutin pumps. I’d gone all out for the occasion. It wouldn’t have been right if I hadn’t. I mean for me, this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It was nearly unheard of for a small local television station, like the one I worked at, to have a story so good, so newsworthy, that the station and I got nominated for an Emmy.
“You have made us proud,” my bosses at the station had said. That was like the proudest moment of my life, given the fact that I’d been under the gun for a good story.
“Are you ready?”
I startled. I blinked a few times and looked to my right. I smiled.
“I guess so,” I replied, jamming my right fist into my hip and bending my arm at the elbow to make an opening for my brother, Kyle, to slide his arm through.
“You look amazing, pretty eyes,” Kyle said, his voice deep.
My stomach clenched. My father had always called me that when I was little. “Hey, pretty eyes.”
A small explosion of heat lit in my chest as I thought about my father not being here through everything we’d been through over the years. I silently wished he had been around. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, and I wanted to say so many things to my father.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. I shook my head, wishing away my worries. I couldn’t focus on the past right now. If I did, I might not make it down the red carpet without mascara all over my face. And I couldn’t have that. I had to look perfect for this occasion.
“You clean up nicely yourself,” I replied to my brother, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Just then, I heard the low hum of the music that invited the next round of guests out onto the X in the center of the red carpet. That was my signal.
Kyle squared his shoulders and tightened his lock on my arm so that I was forced a little closer to him. “A’ight, twin, here we go. On TV and shit. This is type crazy.”
I blew out a long breath. “I know, right? And I would have no other date but you, because without you this story wouldn’t have been possible,” I sa
id in return.
“That was a small thing,” he replied.
I looked down and smoothed my left hand over the fine, hand-sewn beads on the front of my floor-length couture gown. I tensed up and got ready to walk out in front of throngs of people and tons of paparazzi. There was a quick, fleeting thought in my mind that the crowd might have some people in it that weren’t happy about my story reporting. But I quickly let those invasive thoughts pass.
“Loosen up,” Kyle said. “You’ve been working for this all of your life, right? And we here now, so you can’t go running and hiding. We here now, twin.”
I parted a quivery-lipped smile. “The way I’m shaking, you’d think I was hosting the show or something. All I’ve got to do is make it past these cameras and get to my seat—that is, unless I win.”
“You mean when you win,” Kyle corrected lovingly. He was the best.
I sucked in my breath as we finally stood at the end of the beautifully decorated red carpet outside the Microsoft Theater in downtown L.A. The scene was magic. Lights flashing. Gorgeous people and celebrities flowing down the red carpet taking their turns stopping and letting others take pictures of them. The stars were being interviewed about their outfits and who’d designed them while the paparazzi were taking pictures. My heart was racing, but in a good way. It was a dream come true out there.
With my arm hooked through my brother’s, I plastered on a smile and in my heels carefully navigated the thick red carpet. Collective awestruck gasps rose and fell amongst the crowd standing on either side of the decorated path. But it was the glares and smirks from four men in suits that had caused me to stumble a bit. I noticed them right away; they were clearly not there to celebrate. I was a long way from Norfolk, where I’d broken my story and busted up some pretty dangerous people’s lives.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid, I thought. Everyone had been taken down, back in Norfolk, so it was impossible they’d sent people to L.A. And to the Emmy Awards of all places! I couldn’t stop to tell Kyle about my paranoia, or suspicions—whichever way you wanted to look at it. He was too busy smiling and waving, as if he were the one who had been nominated. Stopping to tell him something serious would have messed up the pictures we were having snapped of us. I continued to smile and play it off like I hadn’t noticed the men.
Focus, Khloé, focus. Those guys are probably just security. But somewhere deep down inside, I had a strong feeling those men were there to make a point about what had happened after my story broke. Their presence was like a threat whispered in my ear.
It’ll all be over soon. Then I can move on and maybe stay in L.A. and never return to Norfolk, I spoke to myself.
Kyle stepped to the side to let me get a few pictures alone. Just like me, he wore a smile that said, I’m proud. Unlike my big fancy gown, with all the sparkles and expensive sparkly shoes, my brother was simple. He wore a plain black suit instead of a fancy tuxedo. He had argued me down about wearing a tux. I’d finally given up.
“Ms. Mercer! Ms. Mercer! Over here,” a paparazzo cameraman called out to me. Then another and another.
I am really famous now. Wow!
I felt something flutter inside. With everything I’d been through, I had lost sight of how rewarding my job really was. Just then, one of the red-carpet reporters rushed over to me with her microphone jutting out in front of her.
“Ms. Mercer, who are you wearing tonight?” she asked.
I blushed and twirled around so she could get a better look. “I’m wearing Michael Costello, custom-made,” I gushed.
“Beautiful. So tell us, the story that got you here, you put your life in danger, correct?” the reporter asked boldly.
A cold feeling came over me for a second. I dropped my smile just thinking back on it.
“Well, any good reporter sometimes has to do things to get the real story,” I came back at her.
“Even if it means a bit of selling your soul,” she asked, pushing her microphone right to my lips.
“Thank you for your time,” I replied, annoyed. I grabbed Kyle, took one last look over my shoulder for those men, and headed inside.
* * *
The awards seemed to drag on. By the time they’d gotten to the category I was nominated in, I was completely filled with anxiety.
“And the nominees for Outstanding Coverage of a Breaking News Story are . . .”
I clenched my butt cheeks together and balled up my toes in my shoes so hard that they throbbed.
Kyle reached over and grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
I closed my eyes and waited to hear the results. My ears were ringing so loudly from my nerves that I didn’t hear anything until cheers erupted from the crowd.
“You won, twin! They just called your name! You won,” Kyle blurted loudly. He beamed with pride. It took me a few minutes to register what he was saying. He let go of my hand and helped me to my feet. My mouth hung open in a perfectly round O, and my legs were shaking so badly that my knees knocked together. I could barely catch my breath, and that instinctive right hand over my heart told the whole story.
“You have to go up there,” Kyle said, urging me into the aisle so I could walk onstage and get my award.
Kyle held on to me to make sure I could balance on my heels; I guess he could feel how hard I was trembling. He walked me up onto the stage. I stood frozen for a few seconds as I turned toward the spectators. Cheers arose. My cheeks flushed and the bones in my face ached from grinning. I deserved this Emmy Award. At least that was what the loud crowd was saying with their warm cheers.
I looked over at my brother, and he wore a cool grin as I slowly unfolded the paper containing my speech. I wish I could’ve been as cool as he was in that moment. My hands shook, but I stuck out my chest and delivered the perfect speech to accept my award. The crowd clapped and cheered again as Kyle and I walked toward the stage exit.
“Wait right there . . . hold that pose!” a photographer called out. “Smile, you’re the winner,” he instructed, hoisting his camera to eye level to ensure he captured the exact moment. I was blushing and sure that my face would look like a cherry in every snapshot he took.
Kyle and I posed and turned to each other on cue. We capitalized on the opportunity to take this free twin-sister-and-brother photo shoot. The photographer’s flash exploded.
The bright lights sparkled in my eyes. It was truly the perfect day in my life.
“Walk slowly forward now,” the photographer instructed. When Kyle and I finally made it to the end of the picture area, I was bombarded with more photographers eager to snap photos with professional and personal cameras. Noticing the paparazzi, even Kyle waved like a star. I also flashed my best debutante smile.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great reporter . . .” A tall man in a suit stepped into our path, clapping his hand on my shoulder. My smile faded and I bit down into my jaw.
“I didn’t think you’d go through with showing up here, all out in the public. We’re all proud of you back in Norfolk. You still got a lot of balls,” he said, smiling wickedly, the bright stage lights glinting off his one gold tooth.
He turned his attention to Kyle. “You can thank your sister for everything.”
I shivered.
“Ms. Mercer!” another photographer shouted, jutting his camera forward for a close-up. I twisted away from the man in the suit, happy for the distraction. Kyle and I hurried down the walkway, faking happiness so we didn’t make a scene. It didn’t last for long.
“Khloé! Khloé Mercer!” a male voice boomed.
My head jerked at the voice. Still smiling and faking like I wasn’t about to faint from fear, I turned to my right.
“You should’ve stayed the fuck out of the way! You fucked with the wrong people!” the voice boomed again. The source barreled through the crowd, heading straight toward Kyle and me.
“Gun! He’s got a gun!” a lady photographer screamed first.
“Oh, shit!” Kyle’s eyes went round as
he faced the long metal nose of the weapon. Frantically he unhooked his arm from mine and stepped in front of me. Before he could make another move, the sound of rapid-fire explosions cut through the air.
The entire place went crazy. The hired security seemed to materialize out of the walls and began running at full speed, guns drawn. Things were going crazy. Photographers, cameramen, backstage staff . . . everyone was running in a million directions. Two of the security guards were picked off, falling to the floor like knocked-over bowling pins. Screams pierced the air from every direction.
Kyle’s body jerked from being hit with bullets. He was snatched from my side in an instant. I turned and watched as my brother’s arms flew up, bent at the elbow and flailing like a puppet on a string. His body crumpled like a rag doll and fell into an awkward heap on the floor, right at my feet. It was all too familiar.
There was no way I could lose my brother in this way. Not after everything. I stood frozen; my feet were seemingly rooted into the floor under me. This was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to breathe.
“Kyle!” I shrieked, finally finding my voice.
“Help!” someone yelled. “Call the police! Help!” More screams erupted around us.
The sounds of people screaming and loud booms exploded around me. I coughed as the grainy, metallic grit of gunpowder settled at the back of my throat. I inched forward on the floor next to Kyle. The smell of bloody raw meat wafted up my nose. The floor around him had pooled into a deep red pond of blood. Everything was happening so fast. I blinked my eyes to make sure this was real.
“Kyle!” I screamed so loud that my throat burned. I grabbed his shoulders and shook them, hoping for a response.
“No!” I sobbed, throwing my body on top of his. I just knew I wasn’t out of danger. I knew who it was they wanted, and it was me.
More deafening booms blasted through the air.
I couldn’t think as I lay on the floor. The thundering footfalls of fleeing guests left me feeling abandoned and adrift. I lay next to Kyle, listening to his labored breathing.
