by K L Finalley
"If we want to. Dad's house is sold. We'll have the proceeds on Wednesday. We start looking for our house on Tuesday. It's time to kick this plan in full gear," Jacqueline said with excitement.
For a second, Mallory's excitement was lost. "But, wait, I can't go with you to Ethan's office..."
Jacqueline chuckled. "Baby, the financial adviser appointment isn't gonna be that exciting. Money has to be moved around. Things're gonna get paid off. Nothing amazing is going to happen. If you can't make it, it's no big deal. Tuesday's a bigger deal."
"Tuesday I'll make. I can't let you pick a house without me."
"Well, I can."
"You can't. You shouldn't. Listen, baby, I gotta go. I love you."
"Yeah, I gotta go, too. I love you, too." Then, Jacqueline was gone. Mallory collected her laptop, turned off her light, slipped her feet back into her heels, and left her office. Click clack click clack, she walked out of her office door. Passing by the atrium that separated her office from Misty's office, she took pause to notice that the chairs, which were white Friday were yellow today. Canary yellow. Mallory squinted her eyes at the difference and proceeded to Misty's office. Pushing open her glass door, she gazed upon the top of Misty's head.
In a soft voice, she mumbled, "Misty? Misty? Are you asleep?"
"No, honey, I'm fine. I was just resting."
"Are you okay?"
"Wonderful. The coldness helps keep my pores small. A little pageant secret, " then, Melissa Tate lifted her head off her desk. Her straight, blond hair slid into place. With high cheekbones and bright, blue eyes, she was what people thought of when they thought of models. Tall, sleek, thin. She was seated in her white leather chair in a white leather dress with a gold zipper on the left sleeve. "What are we discussing in this morning's meeting?"
"This morning, we will meet with Chase Munro. Do you remember him?"
"Chase Munro? Yes, he's the designer."
"Right, the set designer. You wanted to make some changes to the set design. So, we sent over some of the changes you wanted to see done and he's stopping by with some mock-ups to show us."
"It's so drab and dark on the set right now. I want more pop. More pizazz. Nate says we should go ahead and make the changes we want made now. We want the show's image set before we're syndicated in May."
"Is the deal final?" Mallory asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Misty confirmed as she shifted her hair behind her shoulders. "The networks signed the final contracts with the station on Friday. Tomorrow, they start my contract negotiations, then yours."
"I never thought our little show would grow beyond southwest Florida," Mallory admitted.
"Me either, honey. I thought this could be something I could do now that I'm older."
"Misty, you aren't old."
"Honey, I'm over thirty. That's ancient for a model," Misty shared. With renewed exuberance, she asked, "But, now, we're going national. Are you ready?"
"Not really. I hadn't thought much of it. I guess I didn't want to just in case it didn't happen."
"Well, it's happening. Better get ready to see The Scoop on network television by summer."
Through the glass, the two women could see a man stacking several stage prototypes outside of Misty's door. As he stacked the third one, he walked away. Mallory walked to the door, stuck her head out of it, and said, "Mister Munro, I can have a member of the staff assist you with those. Come inside."
The thick set man with a ruddy complexion asked, "Are you sure? I have a few more in my truck downstairs."
"For the sake of time, I think it would be best," Mallory responded. She held the door open as he entered Misty's office with three models. Then, she went to the first desk and said, "Have Kinley and Hudson retrieve the rest of Mister Munro's models from his truck and deliver them to Missus Tate's office." Click clack. Click clack. Then, she returned to the office.
From behind the desk, Misty emerged. At five foot ten inches tall and in heels, she towered over Mr. Munro. She towered over most men. Mallory wondered how it made them feel, but she knew that the moment she spoke to them that any insecurity they may have felt was discarded. She recited her speech. Mallory had heard it a million times. She could recite it herself. In fact, sometimes, after long days, over a glass of wine, she would tease Misty and perform it. Misty would laugh and laugh. But, today, Mallory would set up the models and wait for Misty to say, "Hi, Mister Munro. I am Melissa Tate. My father has always called me Misty and it'd be okay if you did, too." She said those lines every time she met someone. With her slow Georgia drawl, it took longer than the two seconds it should. The line lingered in the air, in the person's thoughts. It wasn't just an introduction. It was a story. A personal account. It was something about herself, about her family. People stood and gazed at her wondering why they were so privileged to call her by a name her father had bestowed upon her. And, her long arm was extended. Her blue eyes were cast upon them. The recipient of the speech was about to shake hands with a former Miss Georgia, a runner-up to Miss America. She was there, standing in front of them with all the glory of the sun bestowed upon them.
Stuttering, like most new people did, Mr. Munro said, "Call me, Chase."
"Charmed," Misty replied and returned to her chair.
For fifteen minutes, Chase provided his vision of a variety of sets. Most of them were the same. They were dark wood sets with a desk and a variety of seating options for guests to be seated on either side of the host. Misty sat upright and looked interested, but Mallory knew that none of these is what she had wanted. Hoping to end the impasse, there was a brightly colored model she saw and thought would be of interest. It had a circular platform in the center of the stage with a semi-circular lime green desk behind which Misty and the guest would sit. Up above the desk was a bronze platform and a descending stairwell that led to the floor. Off to the right was a circular exit from the stage floor. It was perfect. Misty's eyes lit up when Chase showed her the model.
"Mallory, I could enter from that platform and walk down those stairs to the desk. When we had fashion segments, we could do it up there. And, I love that desk. It's so fun. Dontcha think?"
"I think it could work," Mallory agreed. "Chase, how hard would it be to transform what we have to that model?"
"That wouldn't be too hard. We have some parts now that could be repurposed for that design. It'd take a couple of days to make that transition."
"More than a weekend?"
"If I could get started after a Friday taping, it could be done by a Monday taping."
Mallory stood up to signify the end of the meeting. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear. The Production Designer and Assistant Program Director are outside these doors and to the left. They are waiting on you to finalize dates and times. Thank you for your help. We appreciate your work on this."
"Thank you, ladies. And, it's been a pleasure to meet you," he said ogling Misty.
"Call me, Misty, Chase." She shook his hand as he exited the office. As Mallory held the door, she motioned for Kinley and Hudson to wrangle the models from the office and return them to his truck. "I'm so proud of you, honey."
"What? Why?" Mallory was taken off guard as she held the door for her interns.
"You've come so far in a matter of months."
"We all have," Mallory plopped down on Misty's couch. Then, she wondered why her office didn't have a couch.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jacqueline stood in front of her desk staring out of her glass wall. With Earl Grey in her hand, she gazed across the newsroom floor. No one looked back at her. No one noticed that she was there. In khaki pants and a wine-colored long sleeve shirt, the cappuccino-colored woman should have caught the eye of, at least, one member of the staff. With arms folded, hovering in the air above them, like a warden looking down at the inmates, someone should have seen her and wondered what she was doing, but no one did. She rested her body against the glass, as if she was hoping to be seen. In truth, her desire couldn't be quelled
by them. She wanted just one person…Mallory.
While they were in Baltimore last October, things between them were unsteady. She hadn't acted as person who was part of a couple should, not because she hadn't thought of them as a couple, more so because she was unfamiliar with how a couple should act. So, when Mallory was elated after speaking with Misty, Jacqueline didn't dare say that she would miss her too much for her to ever leave the Sun. How could she say such a thing? She had worked at the Sun for sixteen years; most of those years were prior to Mallory's employment. And, more importantly, after the discussion, they were nurturing the idea of making a home together. That concept of building a future made the idea of being separated at work manageable; but standing against that glass wall on Leap Day scanning the crowd for Mallory's red locks and realizing that she wouldn't see them out there ever again hit her in the stomach like a cannonball.
Sipping her tea and feeling sorry for herself, she ignored the light tap against her door. Finally, the door cracked open and a brown-haired man-boy appeared. "Jacqueline, it's nine. Are you ready for me?"
"Yes, yes, Grant, I am," Jacqueline said. She unfolded herself and shook her head as if to dislodge the clouds that rained down upon her. "I'm ready for you."
In a white short-sleeved shirt with embroidered paisleys on it and a pair of royal blue pants, Grant Kincaid, Jacqueline's assistant, slipped inside. He'd started at the Tampa Sun Tribune as an intern. Despite floating through various departments - copywriting, editorials, cartooning, features, sports, lifestyles - none of them worked for Grant. But, he was efficient and agreeable. He was well-spoken, well-written, hard-working, but nothing was a natural fit. Rather than let him go, as her then Editor-in-Chief suggested, she kept him. In need of an executive assistant, she offered him the opportunity and he had remained with her since.
"Before we get started with my assessment of you, is there anything you would like to present?" Jacqueline asked. She asked it of all her employees before she began their performance review. She hoped that it gave them the opportunity to speak candidly or bring up any issues they saw as targets for improvement. She hoped that they might be the same ones she would mention, preventing her feedback from feeling harsh and unexpected.
Despite having heard the question each year for the last six years, Grant looked stunned, "No. No. Nothing." He stuttered.
Holding out her hand, as if to calm him. "Well, you're not required to. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you might want to say."
"Is this going to be bad?" he interrupted.
"No, Grant," She shook her head. "You know, I emailed you a copy of your performance on Friday, so you'd have a chance to look it over. This shouldn't come as any surprise. Did you look at it?" Jacqueline held a printed copy in her hand. She was waving it in the air.
"I was too nervous to open it."
Placing it on her desk in front of her, she pushed it towards him. "Look. Go ahead. Take a look." As Grant held the paper up to his face, she spoke. "You'll see that I gave you all exceptional ratings. Since you are holding the document, I won't go over all the categories." Laughing a bit to lighten the mood, she said, "I don't think I could go over all the categories without reading them. I write a ton of these things twice a year, but I gotta say I never memorize them. Know what I mean?" Crickets. Grant said nothing. She was staring at the back of the paper. "Grant?"
"Yes."
"Grant, put the paper down." As he lowered it, she said, "Let's talk for a minute."
"Okay."
"Me and you."
"Okay."
"Grant. You do so much for me. You do anything I want or need from you. You handle business stuff and personal stuff. And, you do a great job. And, I want to thank you."
"You're welcome."
"But, you're a young guy. There's gotta be more that you want. You got a great performance review. And, from my perspective, as your boss, you do an incredible job. I couldn't ask for more, but this year, I want more out of you."
Grant opened his pad of paper, the one he carried to meetings to jot down her requests. "Okay. What do you need?"
"Put it away." Grant look confused. "Grant, close the pad," Jacqueline said, sternly. "I don't need you to do anything for me. I need you to do something for you. You've gotta want more than be an executive assistant your whole life."
"I make great money and you're a great boss."
"Well, thank you, but I'm serious." Jacqueline was leaning forward. "I like you. Genuinely. I like you. I want to know what you want to do and I want to help you do it." He didn't say anything. She was thinking that this was a bad idea. She was ready to give up and send him out of her office. Then, an idea struck. "Why'd you intern here? Years ago, why'd you pick the Sun?"
"I like to write," he said. It was a simple line. Pure and sweet.
Excited, she sat upright, "Okay. What do you write?"
"Well, I don't anymore."
She was losing her mind and her patience. She felt herself imploding. Her mind flashed to images of her untucking his paisley shirt and forcing him out of her office. Refocusing, she tried again. "All right, what do you like to do now?"
"Well, I still write sometimes. I used to have a little zine. But, I've started doing my own online cooking show." Then, Grant was more animated than she'd ever seen him. He sat forward, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and showed her a video of himself making a salad.
While she thought, who would ever watch you make a salad, she was happy he was doing something other than ordering chairs with his life. "This is nice, Grant. Do you want to be a chef?"
"I'm not sure. Taylor asks me that all the time."
There it was. After seven years of knowing Grant, he had never referred to another person in a personal capacity, not a friend, not a mother, not a father, not a sibling, but today, he had two hobbies and, presumably, a person in his life. A person with an asexual name. A Taylor, but nonetheless a person. Jacqueline was stunned. She wanted to call Mallory and let her know that Grant had actual human contact. Then, anxiety overwhelmed her, how was she to address Taylor? Grant's orientation was as unknown as his affinity to humans. She dare not offend him and send him back into hiding. After a few moments of quick thinking, she chose the middle path. "What's Taylor's opinion?"
"Do what makes you happy. I've got a lot of money saved. I could probably afford to go to school in a few years."
"Well, you know, we have a tuition reimbursement program at the Tampa Sun Tribune."
"Does that apply to culinary school?"
"It applies to any accredited program. I suggest you speak to your HR director," she leaned back in her chair.
"Thank you, Jacqueline."
"Grant, I want what's best for you. I really do. Even if, I have to hire a new assistant. Now, get out of here and make an appointment to talk to Jill. I have more reviews to perform." As Grant left her office, Jacqueline felt good about herself as a manager. She did wish to see him lead a life more than her note-taking, chair-ordering, pastry-buying, errand-running man-boy. While she was resting on Cloud Nine with her hands behind her head, Mia Steinbach, the Business and Finance Editor, entered her office. There was no knock on the door. There was no announcement of her presence. One minute, Jacqueline was on top of the world, thinking of her greatness, then the next minute she was sitting in the presence of true greatness. Mia was wearing gray block heels that perfectly matched her gray suit jacket and skirt. The jacket was wrapped around her shoulders as though there might be a chill in Jacqueline's office. It was left open to expose her white ruffled shirt. Mia walked with purpose as her eyeglasses hung from a gold chain that dangled on her neck. When she sat down at the chair across from Jacqueline, she lifted the glasses onto her face and sucked in her cheeks.
"Good morning, Jacqueline."
Jacqueline sat upright in her desk as if it was her performance review. "Good morning, Mia. How are you?"
"Delighted."
Ignoring that bizarre comme
nt, Jacqueline proceeded. "Before we get started with my assessment of you, is there anything you would like to present?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," Mia retorted. She placed a document on Jacqueline's desk and passed it to her. Then, she leaned back in the chair, holding her own copy and began to discuss its contents. "As you can see from this document, I have outlined the various articles, projects, sponsors, and advertisers that I have brought to the paper. Let's begin with Ramson Steel…"
Those were the last words that Jacqueline remembered. Mia recounted twelve companies that she assisted in acquiring as advertisers. She made mention of her informative article on the impact of Caribbean nation economies on southwest Florida's economic and political landscape, which was picked up by the Associated Press. She highlighted her involvement with the Chamber of Commerce and her ongoing expose on fraudulent land deals. Having missed the bulk of what was said, Jacqueline made some assumptions about Mia's ramblings when she spoke, "Mia, your contributions were unprecedented. And, if I, in any way, undermined your leadership skills and investigative expertise in your performance review, let me apologize."
"Oh, no, Jacqueline, I don't think that'll be necessary."
Holding a copy of Mia's review, Jacqueline pretended to review it, "Did I miss one of your key accomplishments?"
"No, I don't believe you did."
"Is this a question of salary increases? Those will be discussed in a couple of weeks once…"
"My heavens no. I wouldn't dare be so crass."
"Then, you'll have to explain this one to me. Do you want this noted for resume purposes? Are you intending on shopping for employment with another paper?" Jacqueline knew it wouldn't be the case. Mia was loyal. She was the kind of woman who stood for things until the things themselves where gone, and, then, she would never quite move on to new things. She would just stand upon old principles.
"Certainly not! How could you say that to me?" appalled at the suggestion, Mia clutched her chest. "I have been a part of the Tampa Sun Tribune family since!" She was thinking of the dramatic calculation of what would make her loyalty self-evident. "Since there was a Tampa Sun family!" Then, she pulled her gray suit jacket snuggly around her.