From the corner of her eye, she saw Mia giving her a thumbs-up, and Carli felt victorious, even as the muscles in Steve’s jaw visibly clenched.
“Yes, Carli. This decision is important. That’s why I don’t want her focusing on intangibles. She needs to be focusing on the facts, like what academic programs they have and the employment rate of their alumni.”
“That’s on my list, Dad,” Mia said. “Basically, all the stuff you’ve mentioned is on my list of things to consider. Could we maybe talk about something else for a while? You know, save some of this fighting for the ride home tomorrow?”
“We’re not fighting, Mia. We’re discussing. There’s a difference,” he said, because only Steve could quarrel about whether or not something was a quarrel.
“Is there a difference? Really? Because it always sounds like you’re trying to start an argument, Dad.”
He paused for a few seconds before muttering, “And you’re starting to sound a lot like your mother.”
Carli smirked and decided to take that as a compliment.
The conversation was sufficiently snuffed after that, and they drove on in silence for the next half an hour or so. Carli watched the scenery roll by as she stared out the window, her mind filled with other things. Gus and his latest training session with Mrs. Stern, Ben and how excited he seemed to be about his new grill, and her career prospects. Or apparent lack thereof. As she took a sip of coffee from the thermal Channel 7 travel mug that Marlow had given her in honor of her bravery for making the audition tape, it seemed as if applying for the job had gotten her exactly nowhere. The tape had been turned over a week ago and still, not a peep from the news director. Carli had worked Monday through Thursday last week, just as she always had, and there’d been no note, memo, email—nothing to indicate that Jessica was remotely interested in talking to her about the job. And Troy had walked past her every afternoon, just like always, with a wave and a smile and a “See ya later, Sheila.” As if the experience had never even happened. As if she’d imagined it. Carli had stepped out of her comfort zone just as Erin and Marlow, and even her kids, had encouraged her to do and ended up with nothing but a new coffee mug. Had she snoozed too long and missed her opportunity?
“God, he’s so frustrating!” Mia said five hours later, after chucking her backpack onto the hotel room bed and flouncing her body down next to it. “Why does he have to nitpick every single thing I say?”
Carli had no good answer for that, other than the obvious one—which was that Steve was a self-absorbed pain in the ass. Tomorrow was going to be hellish.
“For what it’s worth, he thinks he’s helping.”
“How can he possibly think he’s helping when he undermines all my opinions? I’m the one who has to live at the college I choose. I’m the one who’ll be dealing with the professors and the homework and the students and the—” And with that, stoic Mia burst into tears.
Yep. Tomorrow would be absolutely hellish unless Carli took some action. She sank down onto the bed and pulled Mia half onto her lap to stroke her hair, just like she’d done when her daughter was little.
“Tomorrow will be just fine, Mia. Don’t let Dad get under your skin, okay? I am one hundred percent confident that no matter where you go to school, you’re going to love it, and you’re going to figure everything out just like you always do. And you’re going to make some amazing new friends.”
“Maybe I should just keep living at your house and go to community college until I know what I actually want to study.” Mia snuffled against Carli’s leg, and as much as the lonely-mom part of her wanted to say that was a great idea, the more forward-thinking mom in her said, “You need to live on campus someplace, honey. I don’t care where, but I think getting the full experience includes dorm life. Some of the best friends I’ve ever had were the ones I met my freshman year in college.”
Another snuffle. “I have literally never heard you talk about college friends.”
“You haven’t? I’m sure I told you some of the stories. I had a great time in college.” She had had a great time in college, but those memories were dusty and tucked away, like old photos lost and forgotten in a shoebox in someone’s attic. “You’ve heard me talk to Mary Ann on the phone, right? Or Kristi or Jill?”
Mia shook her head, and Carli tried to recall the last time she’d actually spoken to any of them. Those women were once so large a part of her life, but she’d let those relationships drift away as Steve and then Mia and Tess became the center of her universe, and now she only knew what they were up to through Facebook posts about vacations and their kids’ accomplishments. She resolved, in that moment, to rekindle some old friendships. Maybe a conversation with old college friends would help Carli remember who she used to be, so she could figure out who she wanted to become.
In the meantime, she’d settle for regaling Mia with stories about her own college days, and by the time they were ready for bed, Mia was full of giggles and optimism about tomorrow’s tour. And after her daughter was tucked into bed like a toddler, Carli told her she was running down to the lobby to get some ibuprofen. She went to Steve’s room instead. The surprise on his face as he opened the door was priceless.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re referring to a booty call, that’s a huge, emphatic no. I’m here to tell you to back off on your constant criticism of Mia about this college stuff. She’s a smart girl with a good, sensible head on her shoulders, and you’ve got her so stressed out about making the wrong decision that she can’t think straight.”
His expression of bemused surprise morphed into a scowl. “Don’t come knocking on my door at eleven o’clock at night just to tell me what to do. And I’m not criticizing her. She’s a seventeen-year-old girl who needs adult guidance.”
“She’s eighteen, you moron, and she’s got plenty of adult guidance. She has listened to what you have to say and she’s not dismissing it, but now you have to be quiet and let her sift through the facts on her own. So tomorrow, I want you to smile and nod and let Mia take the fucking tour without your constant commentary. Got it?”
He rubbed a paw across the top of his buzz-cut hair, and Carli wondered how she’d ever found him attractive. “Couldn’t you have just texted me that?”
His lack of emotion nearly made her smile. She’d been prepared for a much more vigorous debate. “You never respond to my text messages, and I wanted to make sure that you heard me this time. Are you hearing me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the lobby tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m.”
“Yes, sir!” He saluted her with his middle finger, but at least he didn’t argue.
Carli all but skipped down the hall back to her room after he’d shut his door.
“Did you get the ibuprofen?” Mia mumbled as Carli got back to her room.
“What? Oh, I forgot I already had some in my purse. Do you need some?”
Mia offered up a sleepy smile. “No, but we’re probably both going to have a headache after spending the day with Dad.”
“Maybe he’ll surprise us,” Carli answered. She picked up her phone from the nightstand where it had been charging and noticed a missed call from Marlow. Why would Marlow call her so late in the evening? Unless . . . it must be something about the job. She stared at the screen, wanting to listen to the message, poised on that fragile bubble of optimism while hoping that maybe it was good news. Still on a high from having told Steve to shove it. But if Marlow was calling to notify her that the position was filled, the bubble would burst.
Carli brushed her teeth and washed her face and put on her pajamas and set the alarm on her phone and adjusted the thermostat and checked the locks on the door and got into bed, and when there was absolutely nothing she needed to do other than go to sleep, she finally listened to the message.
“Hey, Carli! I know you’re in Northern Timfucktoo or wherever, but I thought you might like to know that t
he news director wants to see you. She didn’t specifically tell me any details. She just asked me to arrange a time. Can you come in early the day after tomorrow? Text me back as soon as you can. I’m heading to bed, but you can call me tomorrow if that’s easier. Good luck, babe! We’re all rooting for you.”
She listened to the message three more times and finally fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Chapter 11
“Good morning, Carli. Thanks so much for coming in early today.” Jessica Jackson greeted Carli with a mild but sincere smile and gestured to the chrome-and-black-leather armchair on the other side of her immaculately tidy desk. “Please, sit down.” The news director was soft-spoken and direct, with her jet-black hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. It might have looked severe on someone else, but on Jessica it looked sleek and elegant. Her cream-colored suit and pale pink scarf complemented the rich hue of her skin, leaving Carli to wish she’d worn something with a little more pizzazz. She had on a navy-blue pantsuit with a plain white blouse. She’d wanted to look professional but now felt a bit drab. She needed to update her scarf collection.
She perched nervously on the edge of the seat, keeping her spine straight and holding on to her purse tightly enough to stem the quiver of her hands. She shouldn’t be this nervous. Jessica knew her. Not well, but well enough. And she’d seen the audition tape, so that was either good news or bad.
Thankfully, the news director got right to the point. “Carli, I think we both know that your lack of credentials and minimal on-air experience make you a real risk for this job.”
Carli felt all the air leave the room, and her vision wavered for a moment as Jessica continued, “But your test tape with Troy had a lot of sparkle to it. Troy’s personality is big, and not everyone can share the screen with him. I think you handled him deftly, and your delivery was natural and engaging. I think our audience would respond to you, but I wonder if you’re up to the challenge. Do you think you are?”
Jessica was asking her? Good Lord. No one ever asked for her opinion. Should she tell the truth and say, “Um, probably not”? Or should she blast out of her comfort zone and lie like a teenager getting caught after curfew? She chose option B.
“I am absolutely up for the challenge,” she said brazenly. “I’ve got a degree in broadcast journalism, and although I haven’t been on air since my college internships, I’ve been with this station for four years. I know the ins and outs. I know the people, and I know Glenville. I think I can do this job, Jessica. In fact, I’m certain of it.”
Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh! Erin would be so damn proud of her right now. She’d just sold it.
The news director arched a dark brow and nodded. “I like your confidence. That’s the kind of bold energy you’ll need to keep up with Troy. So I’d like to make you an offer. As you know, this is a brand-new show. I’m certain there will be some bumps in the road as we fine-tune things, weeding out what doesn’t work and building on what does, but I expect everyone involved to deliver their best work, every time.”
“Absolutely,” Carli said, not certain if she was supposed to agree or just listen.
Jessica continued. “We’ve decided to include Allie Winters as an additional cohost on occasion. That will give us some flexibility with regard to on-location segments.”
Allie Winters was Channel 7’s newest meteorologist, and she had a great personality. Carli liked her a lot because, unlike Troy, Allie knew everyone’s names and had a habit of bringing in cupcakes for the staff. She’d be fun to work with, and maybe doubling the estrogen on set would help dilute Troy’s overpowering, heavily cologned testosterone. That was a relief.
“We already have a great lineup of local guests to interview,” Jessica added. “And the marketing team will be developing our ad spots over the next few weeks. If you decide to take this job, we’ll have you, Troy, and Allie do a few promo bits soon, just to show to our test group, but we want to get ads going as soon as possible. We need to build up the buzz a bit. Next week we’ll start rehearsals and do some full run-throughs, although we won’t be going live with the show for a few weeks yet.”
That was also a relief. Carli needed the practice. So much practice.
Jessica pulled a few sheets of paper from a folder and slid them across the desk for Carli to see. They were photographs, one of a stylish, attractive woman of around thirty wearing a fitted black cocktail dress and strappy high heels while holding an adorable baby in one arm and a gym bag draped over the other. The second photo was a man golfing in a suit and tie. And the third was the image of a solidly average woman in jeans and a pale blue sweater. Her hair was shoulder length and brown, her ethnicity ambiguous. She was holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and was staring at a cell phone in the other.
“These are our target demographics for the show,” Jessica said, spreading the photos out in front of Carli. “Allie hits our younger viewers. The young career women, the new moms, the ones who’ve grown up being told they can have it all and are now working to balance life and careers. Troy is for our male viewers. In all honesty, they’re a secondary market, but we want to see how he does. And for some reason, he appeals to our over-sixty-five crowd of both genders. And then there’s you.” Jessica smiled again, but Carli was not really liking the photo that she was supposed represent. “Your aim is to appeal to our forty- to sixty-year-old female market. The women facing various life transitions. Menopause, empty nests, aging parents. Women who are starting a new career or transitioning into retirement. This audience is middle-class with a college education. Basically, you.”
The words individually were not an insult, because yes, Carli did indeed fit that bill, but suddenly her joy at being chosen for this cohost position dimmed. A sick sort of swelling took over in her stomach, but she tried to tamp it down. She was being too sensitive. There was nothing wrong with being a forty-something woman. She was facing an empty nest. She was starting a new career. So why did that photo bother her so much? Maybe it was the mom jeans or the bland hairstyle. Or the notion that she’d only gotten this job because she fit a cookie-cutter mold of what they needed. The one that said she hadn’t gotten it because she was special or talented or in any way unique. In fact, she’d been hired for exactly the opposite reason. She’d been hired because she was solidly average. A relatable everywoman. Just the way Steve had asked her to be his wife because she’d been in the right place at the right time, Jessica Jackson had given her this job because she was common and unprovocative.
The news director said more about the format of the show and the advertisers and audience they hoped to attract. She talked about scheduling and training and a multitude of other details, and Carli tried to absorb it all while ignoring the negative voice inside her head. The high-maintenance, critical voice that sounded a lot like Steve, but twenty years of him telling her she was less than were hard to shake off. She’d wanted to be hired on the strength of her audition tape and her style. Not because of her age or commonality.
But then Jessica started talking about salary and bonuses and overtime, and Carli’s mood swung from why do they want me? to holy shit, that’s a lot of money! Working as full-time, on-air talent was definitely more lucrative than being a part-time receptionist. So she just needed to tuck away those feelings of unworthiness and focus on making sure everyone knew she was somebody special. Even if she didn’t really believe it.
“So that’s about it,” Jessica finally said. “After seeing your tape, I do think you have what we’re looking for. You’ll have to work hard and hit the ground running, but if you want the job, it’s yours. Now, what questions do you have for me?”
There were dozens of questions, but the only one she dared to ask was “When can I start?”
Chapter 12
“So now that you have that amazing new job—and congratulations and you’re welcome, by the way—have you given any thought to redecorating?” Erin asked as she sat on the floor of Carli’s bedroom, playing
half-heartedly with Gus. He was trying to tug a rope toy from her hand while Carli was in the master bathroom, putting on mascara before they headed off to brunch with DeeDee and Renee.
“Redecorating?” Carli said absently, only half listening. She was busy thinking about her new and improved job and wondering if she should use her first new and improved paycheck to buy a new and improved vacuum, since hers didn’t seem to be doing the trick anymore. There was probably too much dog hair sucked up into it.
“Yes, redecorating,” Erin repeated. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything”—that was a first—“but everything in this house still has Steve’s man stink all over it, even your bedroom. Don’t you think it’s time to freshen things up? Show some of your own style around here?”
Carli paused, a mascara wand halfway to her eye, and looked over at Erin. “What makes you think this house isn’t my style?”
“Um, that?” Erin pointed to a golf trophy on the dresser. “Steve won that thing six years ago. Why is it still here? And how about that?” She pointed again, and Carli peered around the corner at a framed picture of her ex and his buddies all wearing tuxedoes and smoking cigars.
“That’s a wedding photo,” Carli said.
“Okay, but you’re not married anymore, and you’re not even in that picture.”
Carli frowned and looked into the mirror once more. “I get what you’re saying, and I don’t disagree, but I didn’t want to make a bunch of changes the minute Steve left. I felt like it was better for the kids to keep things similar so they wouldn’t think I was trying to erase him.”
Erin gave an unladylike snort and dropped the rope toy to scratch the dog’s belly so vigorously he wiggled with joy. “It’s not about erasing him, although it would be okay if you did. It’s about claiming your own territory. I don’t even know how you can sleep in here with his picture still on the wall. He’s been out of here for what . . . nine, ten months? It’s time to let go.”
The New Normal Page 10
