Boss

by Tracy Brown

  She pushed those thoughts aside now, and busied herself sending text messages to Dana and Tonya to let them know that she was on her way. Then she went over the questions she wanted to ask during the interviews she had lined up. The wounded boy was not without his troubles. But he wasn’t the hardened criminal that the press seemed determined to depict. Crystal intended to humanize the boy and his family, and to try to do so without painting every police officer in the country as a villain.

  The driver dropped her off on the corner and she tipped him generously as she always did. She melted into the sea of people moving toward the center of Union Square. A large crowd had already gathered, full of people from all walks of life. The sight of such a diverse crowd of people united under the common cause of human rights made her feel reassured. The march itself wasn’t scheduled to start for another hour at least. Crystal hoped that would give her enough time to get a good interview in with all her subjects. The weather was unusually warm for New York at this time of year. Crowds of people milled about in T-shirts, hoodies, and carried signs, all emblazoned with the face and name of Arnold Jackson. She spotted Tonya heading toward her in the crowd and smiled as she approached.

  “What’s up?” Tonya smiled back, her eyes shielded by dark Chanel sunglasses. “I got here early so I could get some pictures of the crowd, get a feel for the energy.” She glanced around now, nodding. “The people are fired up. The organizers are keeping them on message, though. They want this to be a nonviolent, peaceful protest against police corruption and the murder of unarmed black men.” Tonya snapped some pictures of a father and his two sons standing nearby. As the magazine’s social media manager, she kept Hipster on the scene at every epic event in arts, culture, and entertainment. It was a job she was well suited for, as a young black woman living single in the city she loved.

  Crystal glanced at her cell phone. “Dana just texted me. She’s trying to find parking.”

  Tonya laughed. Dana was a transplant from L.A., still accustomed to driving everywhere. It made her late all the time, which was at times irritating to Crystal. When she had worked for Angela Richmond at Sable, it would have been unthinkable for any member of the staff to arrive at any event after her. Angela perceived lateness as disregard for the value of her time. Her insistence on punctuality had forced Crystal to form a habit of arriving early to everything. As she watched Dana scrambling through the crowd now, juggling her purse, her phone, and her tablet, Crystal shook her head in pity. She wondered how long it would be before her patience ran out and she had to tell Dana to get it together.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Dana said, as if on cue. “I should have just hopped on the train…”

  Tonya nodded. “Exactly. I’m buying you a MetroCard.”

  Crystal laughed, though Dana seemed mildly annoyed by the dig. Tonya seized every opportunity to chide her about the fact that she wasn’t a true New Yorker. Crystal changed the subject.

  “I want to meet with Alicia and, hopefully, with Arnold Jackson’s family. Let’s get in here and see if we can make this as powerful a story as possible.”

  The ladies fanned out, and meshed into the crowd, their press credentials prominently on display. Heading past the police barricade toward the tent where the organizers had set up a headquarters of sorts, the two ladies followed Crystal’s lead. She greeted Alicia Oliver, one of the movement’s founders, and the two of them caught up like old friends. Crystal had first interviewed Alicia for a feature piece on prominent women in the fields of entertainment and politics. The women had hit it off instantly then, as evidenced by the broad smiles, hugs, and hand-holding they exhibited now as they reconnected.

  “Let’s sit back in the corner, away from all the preparations going on,” Alicia suggested, leading the trio in that direction. They passed throngs of people setting up sound equipment, passing out bullhorns, toting signs. Finally they arrived at a small section in the back of the tent, where a few milk crates were available for them to perch on during the interview. They made do with the makeshift venue, and Dana began snapping photos while Crystal peppered Alicia with questions. Dana took feverish notes amid the bustle of the swelling crowd.

  “The Jacksons are a good family,” Alicia was saying. “Arnold’s sister is joining us today. But the rest of the family is holding vigil at his bedside, praying desperately for a miracle.”

  Crystal nodded. “Of course.”

  Alicia nodded. “Arnold’s father is from Harlem. He runs a bunch of businesses, and mentors a group of young men from the neighborhood. Seven of them went to HBCUs last year, and ten more are on target to do the same this school year.” Alicia smiled like a proud mom. “He was trying to make a difference with children in the neighborhood, and his own son was a victim of violence. And, at the hands of the police at that.” She shook her head in dismay. “I’ll go get his sister now so that you can speak with her for a few minutes.” She left, and returned a few minutes later with an older man and a beautiful brown girl who Crystal estimated to be around sixteen years old. She looked sad, angry, and terribly afraid all at the same time. Crystal had to resist the urge to hug the young lady.

  Alicia introduced them. “This is Craig Bradley. He’s the attorney for the Jackson family. And this is Lisa Jackson. She’s Arnold Jackson’s younger sister.”

  Crystal greeted the girl and introduced Tonya and Dana.

  “I have some more details to tend to, so I’ll leave you ladies for a little while.” Alicia scampered off to prepare for the march. Everyone else got comfortable as the interview began.

  Crystal looked at Lisa warmly. “How is your brother doing?”

  Lisa shrugged. “He’s still alive. The doctors said it’s a miracle that he survived. They said now it’s up to God. So we’re all just praying.” Her voice cracked and Mr. Bradley handed her a tissue in anticipation of the tears to come. Lisa took it and continued, “We’ve been at the hospital all day and night, praying, talking to him, and playing the music he likes.” She shook her head. “It’s hard.”

  Crystal felt the tears threatening to plunge forth. But she fought them back. It was moments like this that made it hard to keep her professional poker face on. This subject in particular hit a raw nerve within her. She knew the pain that this girl was experiencing firsthand.

  “How old is your brother?” she asked.

  “Twenty.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Crystal nodded. She turned on her recorder.

  Mr. Bradley spoke up immediately. “Lisa is not here to speak on behalf of the family. She’s here to speak about her own thoughts and opinions. And, she’s not going to comment on any plans for future litigation against the police or the city.”

  Crystal nodded. “That’s fine.” She looked at Lisa. “I’m not here to get in your business, or to try and create more tension between your family and the police. I want to hear your story as a young woman of color dealing with a situation that is way too horrific for anyone your age to have to face. This interview is about you, about your relationship with your brother. I want you to tell your story in your words. That’s it.”

  Lisa seemed to relax a little. She nodded and Crystal began.

  “Tell me what kind of guy your brother is. Describe your relationship with him.”

  Lisa thought about it. She opened her mouth to speak, but got choked up and began to cry softly. Dana rubbed her back comfortingly. Lisa took a deep breath and finally spoke.

  “He’s hilarious.” She laughed through her tears as she said it. “He likes to joke around and make everybody smile. We’re close. He’s always looking out for me. Making sure none of the guys in the neighborhood try to holla at me.” She shook her head, and wiped the tears that trailed down her cheek. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t bother nobody.”

  Crystal thought about Malik’s laugh and how it filled an entire room. She missed that laugh and imagined that Lisa would give anything to hear one of her brother’s
jokes now.

  Lisa went on. “Since the shooting, the media keeps highlighting his arrest record, his Facebook posts, and all the things that make the shooting justifiable to them. But that’s not who my brother is. None of those things justifies shooting an unarmed boy so many times.”

  Dana’s pen moved across her notepad rapidly, even though her recorder was capturing the entire interview. She was the type of writer who liked to capture the nuances not found in words. She noted Lisa’s passionate and angry delivery, her animated body language, and the intensity in her eyes.

  Tonya snapped several pictures of Lisa as she spoke. She caught a few of Mr. Bradley, too, for good measure.

  “What do you know about the night of Arnold’s traffic stop?” Crystal asked.

  Lisa shook her head, glancing at her attorney for confirmation. “I wasn’t there. So, I can’t say what happened. All I know is that they brought my brother into the hospital with two gunshots in his chest. One in his leg. He’s not responding to anybody. He’s just laying there, hooked up to them machines. He’s not laughing no more. He’s just laying there.” She dissolved into tears, and Dana hugged her as she cried. Mr. Bradley pulled out more tissues, and everyone took one this time.

  Crystal pulled herself together. She remembered the condition she had found her brother in when she arrived at the hospital that fateful night. Malik had been beaten so badly that the doctors had given him only a fifty-fifty chance of survival. She looked at Lisa, her eyes full of empathy and compassion.

  “One last question, Lisa. I know this is hard for you.”

  Lisa nodded, and dabbed at her eyes.

  “What do you want to say to other young women who are reading this article? Women like you, who have seen a loved one victimized by gun violence?”

  Lisa thought for several moments about that one. She sighed before she answered. “We have to do something. We can’t just keep marching and making hashtags. I see so many black men dying around me. My uncle got shot by some gang member and died. Now my brother is laying up in the hospital shot by the cops. I’m tired of it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say to your readers, honestly. They probably want to hear me say something positive and kumbaya or some shit. But I’m fucking mad. My brother doesn’t deserve to be laid up in the hospital right now. He doesn’t deserve to have machines breathing for him and tubes down his throat. My mother has cried so much that her voice is gone. This is crazy. And, I’m ready to fight somebody. I want to hurt something the same way my family is hurting right now.”

  Lisa’s voice boomed, and people around them stopped and stared. Crystal nodded her head, and held the young woman’s gaze. “I feel you,” she said sincerely. “I really do.”

  Alicia arrived at the perfect time to ask them to wrap things up.

  “We have everything we need,” Crystal said. “Thank you, Lisa, Mr. Bradley.” She shook both of their hands. Alicia hugged Crystal good-bye before shuttling Lisa Jackson and her attorney off to lead the march.

  Crystal let out a deep sigh.

  “That was intense,” Tonya said.

  Dana nodded. “Definitely.”

  Crystal slid her sunglasses on, and prayed that the women hadn’t noticed the tears in her eyes. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to cry. She was barely holding it together now.

  “I’ve got an appointment uptown,” she said abruptly. “I have to go.” She hurried off without another word.

  Dana and Tonya exchanged glances and shrugged. They parted ways, heading off in opposite directions as the march got under way. Crystal found a secluded spot on the side of a wall near the perimeter of the square. She leaned against it and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. Memories of that fateful day flashed in her mind. Malik in that hospital bed dying, her mother distraught, their family in ruins. She could still feel the shame and the hurt and the feeling that it was all her fault. She hadn’t expected that interviewing Arnold Jackson’s family members would bring up so much raw emotion. Those old familiar feelings of anger, helplessness, and betrayal resurfaced with as much intensity as they had back in 2006.

  “Crys. You okay?”

  Her eyes flew open at the sound of her name uttered by that familiar voice. A chill ran down her spine. She shivered at the feeling, adjusted her sunglasses, and turned around to face him.

  “My goodness! Troy.” She stammered a little and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He was frowning, and didn’t seem to believe her. “You sure? I saw you leaning on the wall like you might faint or something.”

  She shook her head, still smiling. “Please. I’m fine. My feet were just hurting, honestly. I thought I could rest for a second while nobody was looking.” She looked at him questioningly. “What are you doing down here?”

  He tucked his hands inside his coat pocket. “It’s ironic, right? When you mentioned having an interview earlier, I had no idea that it was here. Otherwise, I would have offered you a ride,” he said. “Craig Bradley is a family friend. He invited me to the rally today and I came to offer my support.”

  “I see.” Crystal looked around at the march that was already under way. “I think you might’ve missed him.”

  Troy looked at her oddly, guilt written all over his face. Finally, he came clean.

  “Truthfully, my friend Craig told me about this rally days ago. I didn’t plan on coming. But when my father mentioned that you were interviewing the Jackson family today, I changed my mind. I came down here, hoping that I would see you and convince you to have a cup of coffee with me.” He smiled at her shyly. “I figured since we’ll be working together so closely, we could get to know each other a little better. You know?” He shrugged.

  Crystal smiled. “Okay.”

  UNFINISHED BUSINESS

  They found a Starbucks nearby, grabbed some coffee, and sat together in the back of the café, facing the door. Troy was talking about his plans for Stuart Mitchell Enterprises and how excited he was about stepping into his father’s footprints. Crystal watched him, listening intently as she sipped her coffee. His eyes twinkled with a boyish charm that made her smile. He was so passionate about what he was saying that it disarmed her.

  But it was hard for her to focus on what he was saying. She found herself distracted by his appearance. She watched his lips as he spoke. The way he moved his hands, and gestured. His expensive coat, his watch, his resemblance to his father. The man had impeccable style. Every piece in his current wardrobe was impressive. But that was no surprise. The Mitchell family had amassed a fortune over the years. In publishing alone, they had several top urban magazines in their portfolio. Hipster was the most successful one. But all of them were performing well. They also had their hands in a number of lucrative marketing and advertising campaigns. Troy had certainly been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. And with a very high self-esteem, evidenced by the soliloquy he launched into now about his success so far.

  “My father’s vision for Stuart Mitchell was narrow,” Troy was saying. “When he started the company, it was the early nineties and he was thinking print media. Everything is digital now. So my plan is to make sure each of our publications has a highly visible online profile, like Hipster does.” He smiled at her then. “I applaud you for having the foresight to make that happen.”

  Crystal raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. “If you’re not digital you don’t exist in this day and age.”

  Troy agreed. “That’s what gives Hipster such an advantage. Unlike its competitors, Hipster’s average reader is between the ages of eighteen to forty. That’s a young, progressive audience and they expect their favorite magazines to keep up. You’ve been successful at doing that.”

  Crystal nodded. “Sounds like you did your homework, Troy.”

  “Of course.” He sat back in his seat and looked at her. “My father can’t stop singing your praises. Over the past couple of months, I’ve been hanging out with him a lot while he shows me the ropes. And
he talks about Hipster like it’s a miracle. His investors were urging him to cut his losses and pull the plug on the whole thing. He was considering that. But he said that when you walked into his office and told him your vision, he knew right away that it was a perfect fit. He has great respect and admiration for you.” Troy smirked playfully. “I can see why.”

  Crystal frowned a little. “What does that mean?” she asked. “You just met me. You couldn’t have seen much.”

  He shook his head. “Not true,” he said. “I’ve seen plenty. For one thing, you met me and my team this morning. Then you excused yourself to go and personally conduct an interview that you could have easily handed off to one of your writers. That tells me you’re serious about your job, and about the magazine overall.”

  Crystal grinned as she listened.

  “As if that wasn’t enough, I got here and found you nearly in tears after an interview.”

  She shifted uneasily in her seat. She hadn’t thought he noticed the tears in her eyes. And, truthfully, she didn’t appreciate him bringing it up.

  He held his hand over his heart. “That type of compassion for someone you just met is incredible. Especially in media. You hear so many different stories from day to day that you kind of become desensitized to it. Numb. You know what I mean?” He shook his head. “But not you. I could tell that you were emotional about it, even though you tried to play it off. I understand you wanting to keep your professional mask on. But, truthfully, I liked seeing you vulnerable like that. It speaks volumes that you can feel that type of compassion for someone whose life is so different from yours.”

  Crystal stared back at him and smiled. Of course he had no idea how wrong he was. Lisa Jackson’s life paralleled hers in more ways than Troy knew.

  “Tell me about yourself, Crystal,” Troy said. “I’m curious about you.”