Amanda Wakes Up

by Alisyn Camerota

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Mind if I just take a leak first? I raced right over from class,” Charlie said, laying his coat back down and heading toward the shut bathroom door.

  “Um . . . wait,” I gasped. Charlie’s hand was on the doorknob.

  “What?” He turned around.

  “I don’t think it’s working.”

  “Oh, really? I’ll have a look,” he said, pushing open the door.

  My throat closed. I stood motionless waiting for what, I didn’t know. A yell? A punch, maybe? Seconds later I heard only the sound of Charlie peeing. How was that possible? Had Rob snuck out when we weren’t looking? Was there a window in the bathroom? I racked my brain. I heard a flush, then the sink running.

  “All right, babe,” Charlie said, coming out of the bathroom. “Seems to be working fine now.” He came over and wrapped his arms around my back, stroking the back of my head. “I’ll look forward to your call later. I love you.”

  “Okay,” I nodded mechanically. Charlie grabbed his coat and offered a wave as he headed out the door. I watched the door shut, then darted back to the bathroom. I opened the door and stared mystified at the small, empty space. Suddenly, the shower curtain was ripped loudly to one side.

  “Oh, my God!” I said covering my mouth. “Wow! Great disappearing act,” I tried. “Sorry about that sitcom timing. I think I saw a scene like this on Friends once.” I attempted a laugh.

  “What the fuck was that, Amanda? I had to watch your fucking boyfriend take a piss. This is so fucking uncool.” Rob was seething as he stepped out of the bathtub.

  “I’m sorry, Rob.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were still with your boyfriend.”

  “I’m not. I don’t think. I mean, we were taking a break. At least I thought we were.”

  “So which one is it, Amanda? Are you broken up or not? You can’t have it both ways.” Rob stared right at me. Gone was any trace of the smooth operator from last night. His face was red. “Cause I don’t want to be your rebound guy or your revenge guy or whatever this is. I don’t know what game you’re playing, Amanda. But it sure as shit doesn’t sound like you’re being honest.”

  I took a defensive step back. “Oh, really, Rob? Were you being honest when you said you had my back? How about that? We had a deal to confront Fluke and you fucking bailed on me. You hung me out to dry and now you’re on the show and I’m off. What game are you playing?” I didn’t know where my rage was coming from, but there was no turning it off. I felt it ramping up.

  “That’s bullshit, Amanda. I was going to confront him with you. I was ready. But he hung up!”

  “How convenient!” I yelled. “You had ample opportunity to do it before then!”

  “By the way,” Rob shouted, “you didn’t say we were doing it today. You decided to pull the trigger without even telling me. You know, we’re supposed to be a team, but you don’t get that.”

  “Come on, Rob. You were never going to do it. Even Benji said you didn’t have the guts to do it!”

  Rob flinched, then he shook his head and let out a snort of disgust. “Fuck this, Amanda. I don’t like this. I never lose my cool like this. I’m outta here.” Rob opened my door then slammed it behind him.

  PART III

  True and Equal

  Chapter 31

  P. O. V.

  In the week since I’d been pulled off the show, I’d barely left my house. At first, I tried to keep working. I got dressed, put on some makeup, and went in—but I ended up sitting in my office, without any reporting assignment or anchor slot, simply watching waves of conflicting election polls scroll down my computer monitor, and Virginia Wynn’s smile grow increasingly rigid. Things weren’t going as planned—for either of us. So after a few days, I stopped going to work. I also stopped getting out of sweats. And showering. Mostly, I lay on my sofa.

  I had seen Charlie once, the day after the blowup with Rob. I was still reeling—but my double vision had gone away, almost at the very moment I realized I’d been too focused on trying to see two sides: Wynn/Fluke, liberal/conservative, Charlie/Rob. Maybe my lens was wrong. Maybe there was more to full understanding than being able to simultaneously see black and white. Maybe life was a kaleidoscope, with lots of angles and colors all at once. That morning, in a search for wisdom, I’d looked up the Nietzsche quote that Laurie had mentioned months ago and realized she’d missed a vital piece.

  It was true he’d said there are no facts, only interpretations, but he’d gone further. He said the only way to see the truth is to look at multiple perspectives. “The more eyes, different eyes, we can use to observe one thing, the more complete will our ‘concept’ of this thing, our ‘objectivity,’ be.”

  Charlie came through the door holding a bouquet of orange chrysanthemums. They were in season now and the corner deli had dozens of them in buckets by the street, but from Charlie, who rejected Hallmark moments, it was a truly tender gesture.

  “Let me start,” he’d said, kissing me, then sitting down. “I’ve thought a lot about this. I was unfair to you. Of course your career is important. I wasn’t sensitive enough. I messed up. I want to make it clear that I get that. And I think you’ve turned a corner, too. It was great how you went after Fluke. I mean, if you can do more of that, I think you can take him down by Election Day and make a real mark in history.”

  I nodded, since it pained me too much to tell him Benji had pulled me off the air. I had a horrible feeling Charlie would say he told me so. “I don’t think it’s my job to take down Fluke. That’s the job of the Wynn campaign—and the voters themselves. It’s my job to shine a spotlight and highlight hypocrisy. On all sides.”

  “I know,” Charlie said. “But Fluke doesn’t have a side and people don’t understand that. The World’s Most Successful Man? It’s all mythology. And you’re on the front lines. You have a moral imperative to educate people, don’t you?”

  “No, that’s you,” I said. “I have a moral imperative to bear witness to history, even the stuff I don’t like, in as honest a way as I can,” I said, then I sighed. “And maybe it’s not the job of journalists to solve problems. Maybe that was always a gimmick. But somehow just reporting problems doesn’t feel like enough anymore. I want to help both sides understand each other. You know? I think it’s important to feel understood.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He paused. “Understanding is good.”

  “So I don’t think I can do this anymore,” I told him.

  “Yes, you can,” he said. “Maybe FAIR News is the perfect place for you. You can speak directly to your lunatic viewers in these next couple of weeks and tell them how dangerous he is.”

  “No,” I said flatly, “I mean this. Our relationship. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t want a relationship based on liberal politics or anger at conservatives or hatred of Fluke. I know those things are really important to you and I hear you and I respect you for that. I just wish you heard me.”

  “I do hear you. You feel trapped. You signed a three-year contract and you have to make the best of it. I understand that. I do.”

  “I do feel trapped, Charlie. But not only at work. I don’t want to be put in a box of Democrat or Republican or liberal or conservative. Maybe it’s okay to be a little of everything. Maybe if that were an option, people wouldn’t be so polarized. I want the freedom to feel however I feel. I want to ask whatever questions I want and be with whomever I choose, regardless of how they vote.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  I didn’t tell him it meant that I was pining for Rob. Or that I felt like Rob had understood me in a way that no one else did.

  “I know you think I have to pick a side,” I went on to Charlie. “And of course I’m against Fluke. That’s the easy part. The harder part is staying open to
different sides.”

  “You know what they say,” Charlie said, tilting his head at me. “Standing in the middle of the road will only get you run over.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But somewhere in the middle is also where problems get solved. And I don’t think you’ll ever be comfortable with me staying there.”

  Charlie looked like he didn’t understand. I shut my eyes as he closed the door to my apartment, knowing it was possible that my best chance at the future life I wanted was walking out.

  • • •

  Hard to believe that was more than a week ago. It could have been six months ago or yesterday, for all I knew. Days had a funny way of bleeding together when not separated by work. I looked at the clock. 7:30 A.M. Time for the breezy talking point to break up the hour. I reflexively reached for the remote. The TV was set to FAIR, as it was every morning when I couldn’t help myself and tuned in, hoping for a sign that Rob missed me, even though he hadn’t returned my calls or email.

  “And that’s why I encourage women to rebel against the power structure, the men that keep us down,” Margot was saying. “That’s what the R stands for. Of course, it could also be for the silent rage we feel. I know it’s not nice to feel angry. It can be scary, but I say, let it out!”

  Oh, Jesus, not this again. Who signed off on this? Is Fatima on vacation or something?

  Ever since the day Benji gave me the Wake Up, USA! slot months ago, Margot, it seemed, had channeled all her outrage into writing a soon-to-be-published self-help book titled ROAR: The Four Female Empowerment Words to Find Your Inner Beast. In anticipation of the book launch, she’d created a Women’s Power Forum, as she called it, but which I suspected was really a local Junior League lunch that needed a last-minute pseudo celebrity. The book had allowed Margot to find her voice and she wasn’t about to let viewers forget it.

  “Now the O in R-O-A-R is for outdo,” she went on. “That’s what we as women need to do. Outdo, meaning outperform everyone else. That way the bosses can never take your job away from you. Outshine your competition! Run circles around them! And be outspoken about it. Toot your own horn!”

  Overbearing, I thought.

  “That’s what’s made Mr. Fluke so successful,” she was saying. “He trumpets his own success. And you should, too! We’ll get his take on all this when he’s on the show just a few minutes from now.”

  Outrageous, I thought, saddling up on Fluke’s “Success” slogan to sell books to his followers. How obvious. And obsequious!

  “Adamant,” she said. “Give yourself permission to be stubborn. Women are always the ones to cave in. But we don’t have to anymore! We don’t need to yield to others’ agendas.”

  “Asinine!” I yelled at the TV. How could Rob sit there and suffer through this? He looked miserable. I was dying to text him. I could send something breezy and quippy—but I had tried that, with a “Make it stop!” text a few days ago when Margot was on a different ROAR rant. He hadn’t responded and I worried that he didn’t know what I was referring to. What I really needed to do was to see him and apologize and tell him that I had broken up with Charlie. And I needed to do it in person, not over email.

  “Relax, recharge, and regroup,” Margot continued. “The three R’s. We women take care of everyone else, but we need to remember ourselves.”

  “That’s four R’s, you dummy!” I shouted. “Redundant!”

  And with that, I let out a guttural howl at the TV, low and long, until I’d emptied my lungs. It wasn’t a scream exactly, it was more like a growl, something painful and primal. A lot like a roar. “Dammit!” I yelled. This ROAR shit is catchy!

  “Is that you making the noise?” Mom asked from behind me.

  I turned to find her in a bathrobe. “Oh, God, sorry, Mom.” I’d forgotten in my crazed state that Mom was in my bedroom sleeping, having arrived last night for a visit to try to cheer me up.

  “What are you watching?” she asked. “It sounded like a wildlife program.”

  “It’s Wake Up, USA!” I said, gesturing to the screen.

  “Isn’t it terrific that Margot’s written a book for women? I wonder if that came out of her Wynn interview. Now, are women’s issues something you might be able to focus on?”

  “Oh, God, Mom. Margot’s no champion of women’s rights, believe me. She’s more concerned with her gel manicures than equal pay.”

  “Sweetie, I hate to see you so upset. I know you miss being on the show. When does this quarter end anyway? That’s what Benji’s waiting for, yes? The quarter?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Benji. I left him a message Monday but he hasn’t called me back.”

  “What about your agent?”

  “Jake hasn’t heard from Benji either. He told me to see this as a vacation.” He’d actually said, Do you know how many of my clients are trying to get paid for doing nothing? Congratulations! “Jake says I should relax.” I stopped myself before I added “recharge and regroup.” That ROAR stuff just makes sense!

  “Well, I do think it’s nice that we get to spend some time together,” Mom said. “You haven’t had a moment to breathe since you started this job. Everyone is extremely stressed out by the election. It’s nice you get a break.”

  Mom had moved to the kitchen, where I watched her putter around, opening cabinets, attempting, I knew, to fix herself a cup of tea, as soon as she figured out where to find the kettle, a tea bag, the mug, and some sugar.

  “Let me make that for you,” I said.

  She waved me off. “You sit down and relax, I’m fine.”

  I looked at the TV and turned up the volume. “Let’s unpack this,” Rob was saying now, in my living room, but not, of course, to me.

  Mom came and sat next to me. “Do you think it’s time to ask Benji to let you out of your contract? I mean, you’ve certainly given FAIR News a good shot. Maybe it’s not the right place for you.”

  I shut my eyes.

  “Maybe you could go back and work with Laurie and Gabe again?”

  I let out an exhale.

  “Maybe you should be a producer, like Laurie. Would that be easier? Being on air just seems so much more competitive.”

  “Mom, this is it. This was my dream. And I’m not ready to give up on it. Yes, it is competitive. Not everyone gets to work for Benji Diggs. And I don’t want to throw away that chance.”

  “I understand. I’m just concerned it’s not panning out.”

  “Well, I had a plan. I figured Laurie would get the housekeeper to talk and then she’d help me get the housekeeper. She talks to the woman’s lawyer all the time,” I said, omitting the part about Laurie sleeping with him. “And then if I got the housekeeper, Benji said I’d be back on the show and he’d give me a prime-time special, and a bigger contract.”

  “And you could win your Peabody,” Mom smiled. How she retained these tidbits from past conversations, I’d never know.

  “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, but that plan’s not coming together. The housekeeper won’t talk. Even Laurie’s powers of persuasion aren’t working.”

  “I guess you have to decide how much time and energy you want to put into waiting on that plan. Maybe there’s another plan.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I know you’ll come up with it as you always do. And remember, ultimately you don’t have to do what Benji or your agent or Charlie or even I tell you to do. As Shakespeare said, ‘To thine own self be true.’”

  “Okay, Mom, as soon as I figure out what that truth is, I’ll do it.”

  • • •

  And that’s when it hit me. Maybe Laurie would never get the housekeeper. And maybe it was time for me to take matters into my own hands. Watching the clock, I paced around until noon, an acceptable hour in any time zone, and when Mom went on her stroll through Central Park, I went to my desk and logge
d on to the Internet. For a second I allowed myself to be distracted by a tweet that had popped up from my old pal.

  @WakeUpUSA not the same without @AmandaGallo. #bringbackamanda

  I gave a sad smile to the screen. At least good ole @FrankinFresno missed me. This one’s for you, Frank, I thought as I zeroed in on what looked like it might be the right number and dialed.

  It rang three times before a woman’s voice picked up. “Hello?” She sounded distracted.

  “Martina Harrow?” I asked.

  There was a pause. “Who is this?”

  “My name is Amanda Gallo. And I’d like to talk to you.”

  Chapter 32

  White House

  I was sure I had the right person the minute she said, “Yes, Amanda Gallo. I know you. You asked Victor about me.”

  “Yes, that was me!” I told her.

  “And he hung up. That man made me furious.” She spoke quickly, her Creole lilt smoothing the words together.

  “Did you see that on TV?” I asked.

  “Yes, I saw it. I wanted to kill him that day. He don’t know who I am? He needs his head examined. Trust me, he knows very well who I am.”

  This was encouraging. Martina hadn’t hung up on me as she had on Laurie. And she was already giving me great stuff. She was angry with Fluke, which boded well for me. But I had to play my hand right—tap into that anger, convince her I was her ally. “I know he knows you,” I told her, like we were old friends. “I’ve seen the evidence. So why would he say that?”

  “I’ll tell you why he would say that. He’s lying!”

  That sounded like as good an opening as I’d ever get, so I went for it. “So what was your relationship with him like?”

  She paused. “I’m sorry. I do not want to talk about this. I need to go now.”

  “Fuck!” I yelled after she hung up. And so it went for three days. Two steps forward, one step back. She’d give me a couple of juicy morsels, but when I pushed for an interview, she’d hang up.