by Jayne Allen
Just then, Ms. Gretchen’s voice flashed into my mind. If a man doesn’t have plans for you…life regrets… “Oh hell no, Marc. Hell no! You know what?” I whipped around and turned to face him, my eyes squinty and blazing with anger, pointing my finger directly at his face. “You will not be one of my life regrets Marc, you won’t!” I reached for the door and opened it, throwing one of my legs out.
“Tabby, don’t…” Marc said, feebly.
“Don’t what Marc? Don’t reclaim my time that you’ve been wasting? Is that what? Don’t sit here while you pull my life into your inability to make commitments? Fuck you!” I screamed, slamming his very expensive, shiny car door for emphasis, and clacking my heels as quickly as possible to the front door of my building. I waved to the door man with my head down as I swept in through the lobby to the elevators as quickly as I could, pushing the up button more times than I knew I was supposed to. I got up to my apartment and for the second time in these weeks, cried myself to sleep still wearing my dress and stilettos.
I did have one regret, I wish I had taken those flowers.
Chapter 19
To say that my evening with Marc had been a disappointment would be like saying, “Serena Williams plays tennis.” Of course Serena Williams plays tennis, but that’s not what has made her remarkable. What has made her remarkable has been her focus, drive and mastery of something that nearly every able-bodied person can do, but where she stands in a league of one. She elevated the pastime of tennis to a place of mental transformation. Her good is so extreme, it evolved the game into almost another sport entirely. If you played against Serena Williams, you wouldn’t be playing tennis, you’d be playing Serena. And when you played Serena, if the true Serena showed up, then only Serena could win. That was my experience with Marc last night. By every assessment, I had been played.
Still, by Sunday afternoon, I had already started to feel bad about the argument, and by the evening I began to second-guess myself on the resolution that seemed so clear at the slam of the car door. Was Marc himself worth waiting for? It was something I needed to figure out, but was competing with life events that were now more important than ever. The promotion announcements at work were soon. Very soon. Word in the office on Friday was that Chris might even use the next newsroom meeting to do it. Where I would otherwise obsess over Marc and my phone, I had no room left in my mind—instead, I was obsessing about reaping season on a hard-worked-for promotion.
On Monday morning, I was a nervous wreck. So, I did what any other nervous wreck would do in my situation, I pretended to be somebody else. I didn’t walk into the office building as just a reporter, I came looking my absolute best, striding in as how I imagined the Beyoncé version of me would with theme music, a DJ and a personal fan in tow. I was strong, powerful, invincible, gorgeous, talented, articulate…and all of a sudden, I was listening to the needle rip on my song. Just as the elevator doors started to close, Scott Stone walked into my elevator for the morning ride up. Because, of course he would. Crap.
“Morning Tabby,” he turned and greeted me with his sunglasses still on.
“Morning Scott,” I replied curtly, barely turning.
“Seems like today’s the day. How are you feeling?” Asshole. What am I supposed to say to that? Yeah, I most definitely feel like I’m going to get this promotion over you today, can’t wait!
“I probably feel similarly to you,” I said. “And mostly nervous, I definitely feel nervous.”
“I don’t feel nervous. Not at all. I feel pretty confident, actually,” Scott said, taking his glasses off, and securing them in the pocket of his blazer.
“Oh? Maybe you know something I don’t, then?”
“Nothing official, but it’s seemed pretty clear for a while now how this thing was going to go,” he volleyed back looking at me like I was a small lost child. “I mean, you didn’t think you were going to get the Senior Reporter role in this round, did you?” I looked at him wide eyed. How was it possible that everybody else in the office knew that Scott and I were both up for the Senior Reporter role, except Scott?
“I’ve got the seniority,” I said. “And my reports rate well, so I’ve always seen the lane as wide open…even up to now…up until the announcement gets made.” I got ready to step out of the elevator as the doors started to open. Scott followed me and then he paused to face me, as the doors closed behind us.
“But, Tabby,” Scott said quietly. “Honestly, don’t you think your perspective is kind of…limited?” In spite of all of the muscles I regularly used in my face, my mouth dropped wide open on its own. “I mean, you can’t cover sports, we know that, and you’re always bringing up…urban issues, in areas that most of our viewers don’t even care about.” I stood there in absolute disbelief as Scott brought his arm up to rest his hand on my shoulder and look me directly in my eyes, with the sincerity of a father, even though we were almost exactly the same age. “Look, just something to think about. Make some adjustments, and you probably will be ready for next year.” With that, he gave my shoulder a little rub, and turned in the direction of his own cubicle, that I assume he had already started packing up to move into his new office. Watching him walk away allowed a few seconds to recover from the paralysis of shock. When I could move again, I headed to the kitchen to grab a coffee before going to my own cubicle. Time to shake it off. We had a newsroom meeting to attend.
The air in the conference room seemed charged with a different kind of electricity. I tried to use it to stop the morning’s conversation with Scott from affecting my mood. Was Scott right though? My mind continued to challenge me. On the surface, maybe I couldn’t cover sports with the dexterity of an ESPN reporter, but, I certainly could do the research. In fact, I’d probably do a better job than some know-it-all who thought they already knew everything there was to know. And my perspective wasn’t limited; it was augmented. Of course I saw all of the “mainstream” issues that related to the broadest base of our viewership, but I also saw the things that were affecting minority communities as well. Not just black people and not just urban, whatever that meant. Still, maybe Scott’s perspective was how Chris saw me also. He gave Scott that Ram’s assignment over me, and he stuck me with LA real estate trends. And actually, I was able to turn that tinder wood-dry, tired concept into an interesting story by bringing in the topic of gentrification. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chris move into position to start the meeting.
“As many of you are suspecting,” Chris begin talking just as his pale, pudgy figure entered the room, holding a thin stack of papers, “we’re going to start today’s weekly with some announcements.” Everybody shifted nervously. What remained of Beyoncé-me took a stage-left exit. “We’re lucky. Meetings like this in our industry too often come with layoffs. We all need to be proud that we’ve got the best numbers in the Southland. So you can congratulate yourselves for that.” The room broke into a spirited round of applause with some hoots and whistles. Chris continued. “So we are going to announce a few promotions, and then it’s right into regular programming for this meeting. Congratulate your colleagues when you see them after we finish, or better yet after work. They’re going to be even busier than they have been, starting today.” Chris didn’t even lift his wire-rimmed glasses-clad face up from the papers he was reading.
“Happy hour on me!” Donald Hugh, the evening anchor said.
“You heard Donald, drinks on him tonight,” Chris said, all business. “Let’s get to it. Joining the anchor team will be…Senior Reporter Julie Johnson. Congratulations Julie, you are now our newest weekend anchor.” I looked down the table at Julie’s face. She was beaming and her smile was wider than a tropical banana. People around her patted her shoulders and she turned to acknowledge each one, making her look somewhat like a bobble head. Uh oh. I thought. A woman joining the anchor team. That was a big deal. That probably meant that a man was going to get the Senior Reporter…Crap. ”And our
newest Senior Reporter is…” Chris paused, seeming to read something on the paper in front of him. “Tabitha Walker.” See, I knew that Scott…wait…did I hear that correctly? Did he just say Tabitha Walker? I looked around and everyone was looking at me showing teeth, but for a second, the room went silent. All I could see were moving mouths. To know it was real, there was only one face I wanted to see, that I need to see. I turned to look at Scott. My victory was written in the redness of his face. His shoulders had dropped at least an inch and he had the same open-mouthed look that I had in the elevator. The taste of victory started to creep into my mouth like sweet blackberry cobbler and vanilla bean ice cream. As I closed my eyes to savor the moment, memories flooded into my mind in lightning-quick flashes of every time before now that said I wouldn’t make it. Every bad story assignment, every side comment, and even the brief encounter on the elevator with Scott. It was all there, but transformed now on the inside of me into a burst of light-filled uncontainable joy that threatened to spill out of every pore of my body. I had overcome to bask in the sunlight on the mountaintop. A pat on the back brought me back into the present. I hadn’t even realized my eyes were closed. “Congratulations Tabitha, here’s your letter from HR.” Chris was standing right next to me, speaking over my shoulder. “You’ll start as a reporting team lead as of today’s meeting.” He handed me the paper on the top of the stack. “Ok, folks, let’s get to business. We’ve got news to cover.”
By the time the meeting ended, I had my first team assignment as a Senior Reporter. Two of my former colleagues had been assigned to work with me, and for the first time ever, I would have final say over how the story ended up on television. As we all walked out, Chris stopped me near the door, in the hallway.
“Tabby, do you mind coming in to see me in my office?” Oh boy, this can’t be good. I thought to myself. He didn’t ask anyone else for a follow-up meeting. See, even when you win, you can’t win.
“Sure Chris, right now?”
“Yes, now is great. Let’s head down together.”
Chris and I walked down the hallway together, which I appreciated in some ways, and worried about in others. On the one hand, as I had just gotten promoted, I didn’t want my leveling-up to seem in any way different from any of the others. The last thing I wanted was for people to think that I was getting special treatment, or worse, that I had already messed up. On the flip side, people in the office seeing me walk with Chris made it seem like we were in alignment and that I was important. I just hoped it wasn’t any kind of attention that I didn’t want. We reached Chris’s office and he offered me a seat in his guest chair. I took it, and he sat behind his expansive desk, covered with enough papers to look like a snowstorm hit.
“Congratulations Tabby,” Chris started, “I’m looking forward to seeing you expand into this new role.”
“Thanks Chris.” I said. “It’s nice to be recognized for the work I’ve been doing here. Viewer ratings have been strong on my stories and I’m looking forward to…”
“You know,” Chris interrupted, “conventional wisdom would have said that I should have given the position to Scott. You know that right?” Chris asked me unflinchingly. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, remembering the conversation that Scott and I had on the elevator. Oh, what? What the fuck you just say? I know you didn’t just say what I thought you said. I took a moment to summon my professionalism to filter my thoughts into better words.
“I’m sorry Chris,” I said politely, adding an airy layer to my voice. “Maybe I am misunderstanding you. Are you now saying that I didn’t deserve the promotion?” I asked, trying to maintain a respectful tone, but beginning to bristle.
“No, no, not at all. You both deserved the promotion, Tabby. The decision didn’t come down to who deserved it and who didn’t. Though, on the basis of effort, one could conclude that Scott did deserve it more.” Wait, what?? Did you just say Scott deserved it more? Then why didn’t you give it to him, Chris? I paused another second to find my filter again, before responding. I could not believe that Chris was doing this.
“Chris, with all due respect,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even, “what exactly are you getting at?”
“My point is Tabby, that in every meeting, you let Scott out talk you, out maneuver you, and take the better assignments from you without fighting for them. You let him win.”
“Then why do I have the Senior Reporter job and he doesn’t?”
“Because if I had promoted him and then had this conversation with you, we’d be in a lawsuit,” Chris said with full seriousness. “I could either put you in this position and encourage you to grow into it, or watch you continue to fade into the background. I chose to take a risk.”
“Chris, it’s still sounding to me like you’re saying I don’t deserve the senior reporter position?”
“Ok, you don’t,” he said simply, causing my eyes to widen. “Not yet, but people get what they don’t deserve all of the time. Don’t get so hung up on things that don’t matter,” Chris said, putting both palms on his desk. “Listen, I haven’t built the success I have in my career by following conventional wisdom, Tabby. I did it by relentlessly following my gut. You need to start doing the same.” I felt my face flush with both embarrassment and irritation. I can’t believe this guy is sitting in front of me telling me I don’t deserve this promotion I worked my ass off for!
“I’m sorry Chris, can you help me understand, just so I’m clear on what you’re saying—if I didn’t deserve it, then why am I here?”
“Because we need your perspective Tabby. I’ve listened to you in the newsroom weeklies. You find angles to everyday stories that nobody has even thought to look for. That they can’t even see. And you do it effortlessly. News today, what’s fresh—it’s all about perspective,” Chris said, becoming increasingly emphatic about his words.
“And what about Scott?” I asked.
“What about Scott?” Chris said. “He’s probably gonna quit. I give him three months, tops. He’ll find another job where he can be hired as a senior reporter right away, and we’ll hire another Scott from the hundreds of reporters just like him whose resumes are sitting on my desk right now. Scott is replaceable, and we’ll replace him.” Is Chris saying what I think he’s saying? I decided to speak the unthinkable.
“So are you saying that I got the promotion because I’m black?” I asked, directly, but in full disbelief. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as I fought back any deeper internalization of my own words. I let them hang in the air and Chris did for a moment before he answered. A moment that seemed like an eternity.
“I’m saying that you got the promotion because you’re unique.” Chris leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “I believe that we have only just begun to see your perspective and potential. And if I had to pick, I’d rather know what’s in the mind of a Tabitha Walker than a Scott Stone. Scott Stone, I already know. I’ve seen it a million times before, and so have our viewers.” I was now more confused than ever.
“So what are you saying that I need to do?” I asked.
“Fight!” Chris said, pounding his desk with a fist for emphasis. Oh no, there’s that word again. Chris continued. “Tabby, you need to fight to make your voice heard. You need to stand up for your point of view—for your stories, for your perspective. Not just in the weeklies, but every day, in every room and on every team you work on! I’m not saying it’s an easy job, but easy doesn’t keep us on top.” The exertion had Chris almost panting by now.
“Chris,” I said, standing up to leave. “I can understand and appreciate your believing in me, but I earn what I have. I always have. I don’t want a position I don’t deserve and I definitely don’t want people around here thinking I just got where I am because I’m black. I’ve always worked twice as har…” I began my diatribe moving toward the door, writing my resignation letter in my mind as I spoke.
“Tabby, no one deserves a new role at the beginning,” Chris said, putting his full girthy mass behind his words. “Why are you so hung up on that one word?” He asked, giving an extra long pause. I was speechless and without answers. “Everyone has to earn their way on the back end in some way.” Chris was pointing forward at the air now. “And the people that make those kinds of judgments—that some promotion or whatnot happened just because you’re black, or just because you’re a woman—they’re always going to think that. But the fact is, that you got the promotion, Tabby, you did. So it’s your position now—to either prove them right, or to prove me right. Entirely up to you.” And with that he sat back down and pulled toward him a messy stack of the loose white papers that scattered his desk. Well, damn. I guess we’re done talking now? I thought to myself, standing near the door, still with my hand on the knob to exit but frozen with indecision. Do I stay in here or do I leave? Chris looked up at me over his glasses without moving his head. “Are we on the same page?” he asked. I thought about it for only a second.
“Same page,” I said, reluctantly.
Chapter 20
In all my years of a career, I never had anything happen to me like what happened in Chris’ office. I didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry. All I did know is that I’d better figure out how to listen to his words, or find a new job. And then came the blur of logistics, HR and then the office IT guy helped me get set up in my new office, which I was glad to settle into for some much needed privacy to sort through my thoughts. Just as it occurred to me that I now had a door, and that I wanted it closed, I heard a knock on the frame. I looked up to see Lisa standing in the doorway, holding two coffees.
