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Authors: Janine A. Morris

BOOK: Drama 99 FM
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Chapter 13
S
ereeta lived in a quaint little apartment in the heart of Harlem. She loved her apartment, but it wasn't until she began making the salary that Corey was paying her that she was able to really hook it up. She had been to IKEA, Target, and Bed Bath & Beyond once every weekend for the past month. She didn't even know that buying stuff for a living room and kitchen could be just as much fun as clothes shopping. She had finally realized she was becoming addicted to decorating and interior designing; she was wondering if she should make it a side hustle.
Corey had left town for the day and had let her know she wouldn't have to work for two days. She was so relieved to get a break; she could just stay home and reorganize her closet and install this wardrobe organizer she had purchased last weekend. She knew it was a bit pathetic to have days off with no one to share them with, but she was becoming content with the lifestyle she had. She had a few guys in her phone book who she was intimate with from time to time, but one or two had a girlfriend, and the others were only looking for fun and nothing serious. Most times she could call them when she was in need of a good time as well, but she had long ago gotten tired of the games. She didn't like the feeling of being used, so she didn't answer their calls or hang out with them unless she wanted them. It was easier to feel like she was using them than face that they were using her. So, on most occasions, she didn't have anyone to go on dates with or spend days off with.
She had been up and at 'em for about two hours when Reyna called. She let Sereeta know she was coming over and would be there soon. Sereeta didn't mind, because Reyna was one of the few people she would allow in her apartment when it wasn't clean. She had a thing for keeping a presentable home; she was very organized and meticulous. Her attention to detail was one of her strengths as Corey's assistant. She began to change into something a bit more presentable—instead of the underwear and wife beater she had slept in the night before. She threw on a pair of green leggings and a T-shirt. She had no plans on leaving the house today, so there was no need to look fabulous. She even left her head scarf on—she figured she would rather her wrap be fresh for when she was going somewhere.
It was about one o'clock when Reyna showed up. The doorbell rang two times consecutively, and Sereeta jumped off the couch to open the door. When she opened it, Reyna was standing there looking like a sad puppy.
“What's wrong?” Sereeta asked.
Reyna stomped over to the couch. She plopped down on the brown microfiber love seat.
“What's wrong?” Sereeta repeated, following behind her.
“I hate my job, Michael and I are fighting, I need to lose, like, ten pounds, and I am miserable,” Reyna blurted out.
“Someone sounds like they're experiencing PMS,” Sereeta said.
“You sound just like Michael. Oh, my gosh.”
Sereeta laughed as she pulled a couch pillow into her chest and scooted back in her seat.
“Don't brush off all my problems just because I have my period,” Reyna said.
“I am not, but you just tend to dwell on—and create—the negative when you are going through this time of the month. I am trying to tell you not to be so hard on yourself. It's just hormones.”
“It's not just hormones. Our fighting is real.”
“Chances are you are fighting because you are being hormonal,” Sereeta said, laughing.
“No, I am mad at him because he is going away with all his friends next month, and he and I haven't been away in years.”
“So plan a trip with him for later this year; then that issue is resolved.”
“No, he won't have that many more vacation days left to fit in another weeklong vacation, so we would have to go for a long weekend, and why do I have to get the short vacation and his boys the long one?”
“It's not as if you have been asking to go away with him, and you guys did go to Hawaii before.”
“I did mention it once or twice, but he always said, ‘We will look into it,' and ‘we' never did. And we went to Hawaii, like, three years ago. Besides, the real problem is that he didn't want to go with me, or he would've planned something. But he is all excited about going away with his
boooys,
” Reyna said.
Sereeta started to giggle. “I understand your point, but no need to fight over it. Plan a trip for the top of next year that is a week long and look forward to it and let this be over with.”
“I want me and you to go away together next month,” Reyna said.
“Next month?”
“Why? So when he goes away you can go away, too? Don't be so petty and obvious.”
“No, so that when he is away I won't be home pissed off. Instead I can be on vacation, too, having a good old time.”
“If you are serious or still feel this way when your period is over, let me know,” Sereeta said.
Reyna picked up a toss pillow and threw it across the room.
“Stop that. I'm just irritable and have cramps. I'm not having an out-of-body experience,” Reyna said.
“What did you have in mind, Reyna?”
“I don't know. Maybe Vegas for just an extended weekend.”
“OK, I have to speak with Corey about it and let you know.”
“You sound like he's your man,” Reyna said.
“No, I mean I have to see about getting off and all that,” Sereeta said.
“For a weekend?”
“I work weekends, too, remember. There are no set days that I do or don't work.”
“That sucks.”
“Well, it's not that bad. I usually get two days off, separate or together, and some weeks I can get three or so off if he has an away game and doesn't ask me to come or do anything back home.”
“You have to travel with him to away games?” Reyna asked.
“No, just once so far, but he needed me to arrange a meeting while he was in LA, and he wanted me to purchase some things from Rodeo Drive and be at the meeting with him.”
“Well, what about vacation days?”
“I'm not sure how they work yet. That's why I have to talk to him about it.”
“It's a very unorthodox job,” Reyna said.
“Indeed,” Sereeta replied.
“So how do you get paid?” Reyna asked.
“His accountant deposits my check in my account every two weeks, so I get direct deposits just like you.”
“Oh, OK. That's cool, at least.”
“What do you mean, ‘at least'? I love my job,” Sereeta said.
“Because you get to flirt with a bunch of rich black men—who wouldn't love that?”
Sereeta laughed. “It's nothing like that. It's just free and flexible. Even when I'm working, sometimes I feel like I'm off—I don't have a boss over my shoulder watching me most of the time. I can always fit my errands in throughout the day. He gives me pocket money, which I guess is called petty cash, to run the errands and stuff and pay for things—he always tells me I can keep what's left over, so a lot of days lunch is on him, and I come home with extra money,” Sereeta said.
“Sounds nice, but is it challenging? What do you do on most days?”
“Whatever he needs—errands mainly, but he also has me make and return calls for him, arrange meetings, keep his locker at the stadium organized and kept up,” she said.
“They don't have staff that does that?”
“They do, but he likes me to bring certain things from his house on some days. Like, he wants to wear certain things after the game if he's going somewhere, so he will have me bring it to the locker beforehand if he isn't leaving from home. Stuff like that.”
“Boy, is he spoiled,” Reyna said.
“He's just rich, that's all.”
“Aw, look at you defending your man.”
“Knock it off. He is not my man. I wish my man had it like him.”
“You don't have a man,” Reyna said.
Sereeta started laughing, and so did Reyna.
“You know what, this is why you and Michael are fighting now—because you are an evil bitch when you are bleeding,” she said.
“Whatever. I am just saying stop playing around. He is single, and clearly you are the lady in his life,” Reyna said. “You don't have a man, so why not?”
“I am the assistant in his life, Reyna, that's it. Why not? Because I work for him, and I need my job.”
“When you become his girl, you won't need a job, 'cause then your man will be balling,” Reyna said. She had lifted her arm in the air and pretended to make a basketball shot.
“You are such a nut, and I hope you know that,” Sereeta said. “There won't be any of that going on. I am not trying to lose my job for the groupie seat and be assed out—literally.”
“If he hasn't made a move on you yet, he likely doesn't see you as a groupie. He respects you. See where it goes—maybe this can be a little love story. Usher married his stylist,” Reyna said.
Sereeta got off the couch. “I'll be back. I'm going to fix something to drink.”
“Oh, did the conversation get to you? You are in denial that you have a crush on your boss!” Reyna yelled after her.
“Not at all!” Sereeta yelled back. “I'm just thirsty!”
In the kitchen, Sereeta poured herself a glass of AriZona iced tea. She stood there and then took a step, absorbing the conversation she was having with Reyna—which she wanted to stop. She didn't even want to put those thoughts in the air. It was hard enough remaining totally professional with a man who oozed confidence and was rich as hell and could buy her anything her heart desired. Hell, yeah, he was a catch. Still, she knew her chances of being with him were almost impossible, and she didn't need any girlie emotional feelings clouding her judgment. She couldn't afford to lose her job, and she knew that if she started flirting with him, he might get turned off and fire her. So unless Corey proposed or something, she was going to continue to act like he was a seventy-five-year-old, broke, hideous creature, and that he was the last thing on her mind.
Chapter 14
“I
'll murda dem, I'll murda dem”
blared through the speakers in the office. The CD in the stereo belonged to Random—he was a new artist on the label. Naomi had heard one or two of his mix-tape songs in the past, but this was her first time hearing this new song. He had been signed to their label for more than two years now, and they were finally dropping his album. He was a major project for the label because they had put a lot of money behind him, and they were hoping for big sales when his album dropped. There were a lot of people hoping to prove themselves with this project—a lot of marketing and promotions people, that is. Although Naomi was the new girl in marketing, it was even obvious to her who was trying to cut whose throat and who was trying to prove to the bosses that they were next in line to shine.
Her boss and a few other coworkers were huddled around the stereo system getting their first listen of the record. The stereo was in the wall in the center of the department's floor; there were a table and several chairs right in front of it. It was a setup perfectly designed for meetings where music needed to be heard. The staff didn't hold as many meetings there as they would've liked because it was such a disturbance for all the assistants sitting a few feet away in their cubicles. However, the staff usually held their music priority meeting every Monday right there in the middle of the floor. People from other departments would just walk up and listen and chime in. It was a cool concept that stemmed from the VP of marketing saying he wanted an open floor meeting to invite all ideas into their marketing plans.
From her cubicle, Naomi couldn't get a clear view of everyone sitting in front of the stereo, but she kept peeking over to get a glimpse of Tyreek. He had come down to listen to the track as well. He was in A and R and worked on the ninth floor, but he usually made his way to the marketing department at least once a day to do some dealings with Max, this guy who sat a few cubes away from Naomi. Today, however, Tyreek was just down there to hear the feedback on the record. When Naomi saw him sit down, she figured he was the A and R on Random's album; otherwise he probably wouldn't have come down. He was dressed in blue jeans, a Rocawear hoodie, and some Timbs. His dreads were pulled back in a rubber band, and his facial hair looked a little scruffy. He was totally masculine and grungy, but Naomi was still so impressed by everything about him.
This gathering to listen to Random's album was happening because the song had just landed on the VP's desk and was hot off the press. The VP had a strong belief that the first impression of a song could have a make-it-or-break-it effect, or it could be one of those songs that had to grow on you over time. Some artists didn't have that time; some artists didn't get the continuous airplay or the video exposure. Some artists had one shot and one shot only to impress a DJ or a programmer, so the VP liked to have a lot of ears give their opinion on that moment. The usual procedure after listening to a new single was the following: shortly after, they would meet, listen again, critique it, and then decide all the angles they could take when promoting it. They would decide which radio stations across the country would play it and then get to delegating who was to start the promotion of the record and who else would do what else.
Naomi wished she could sit in on those meetings because they looked so interesting, but she had been present for only one. Her boss had told her that after the other assistant came back from maternity leave in a few weeks, she would be able to go to the meetings, but right now, because staff was limited, they needed someone on the other side of the door. Naomi could hear the song from where she sat, and she definitely thought it was a good record. She bopped her head along lightly and tried to understand all the lyrics. She had always been a hip-hop and R & B fan, which was why she knew her job would be enjoyable for her. The song had a hot beat, and Random had a real unique flow; Naomi thought for sure there was a place for him on the radio. She knew what he looked like from his press shots, so she knew he was a good-looking, tall guy the girls would like.
After the song ended, most of the people who had been listening filed into the VP's office. They were going to list all the song's selling points, like who the producer was and anything else that would get it more press and publicity. Naomi saw them all walking into the office, and she buried her head back into the files on her desk, placing them in chronological order. As she turned to clear off some more space on her desk, she heard a voice. She turned around, and it was her boss.
“What did you think of the record?”
“I liked it a lot actually. The beat was different, and the hook was catchy,” she replied.
“What did it make you think of?”
“It made me think of dancing at a club, honestly.”
“Cool, thanks,” she said and walked away.
Naomi was surprised she had even come over and asked her opinion. She was pleased that Tiffany actually valued her opinion, and although it was a small thing, it had Naomi feeling real good on the inside.
She went back to her mundane task—that she hoped would fill up at least an hour or two of her day. She was updating the files and packaging older documents to be put away in the file storage closet. She glanced up on occasion to check her e-mails and texts, but for the most part, she kept her head buried in her files.
Kevin walked up. “Boo,” he said.
Naomi jumped, startled by his presence. “Oh, my gosh, you scared me.”
“That's what I was trying to do,” he said.
“Meanie. What do you want?”
“Nothing, just came to check on you and see if you wanted to get lunch later,” he said.
“Sure, how about two PM?”
“Why so late?”
“I had a big breakfast,” she replied. “But one or one thirty is fine.”
“OK, see you then,” he said. “And I hope you have a cute coat or something because you definitely didn't check out the fashion chic channel this morning before you left.”
Naomi glanced down. “Forget you . . . what? I wanted to be comfortable.”
“Well, brush your hair before we head out. I don't want to be seen walking with Ugly Betty.”
“How mean are you?” she said.
“Lata.”
Naomi knew he was playing, but she was also a firm believer that there was truth to every joke. She caught her reflection in the computer screen and finger-combed her hair back; it was already in a ponytail, so there wasn't much more she could do. After a while she just brushed it off—besides, this was who she was every day, and Kevin had no right talking.
 
 
Almost an hour went by—it was close to noon, and most of the department was still in the meeting about Random's single. Naomi's boss had stepped out for lunch, and a few others had left the room as well. Naomi had been busy answering phones, sending and responding to e-mails, and working on the filing project she had started that morning. A few phone calls had come in, but she had only taken messages because she was pretty confident that none of the callers were VIP enough to interrupt Tiffany for. That list Naomi had created with the VIPs had been coming in handy. Only once did she need to intercom Tiffany to see if she wanted the call, and that had been Hollywood. This time around, Tiffany had said to tell him she was in a meeting and that she would call him back. Naomi had been furious because Tiffany had had an attitude as if Naomi never should've interrupted her in the first place.
If I would have told him that on my own, I would have gotten yelled at,
she told herself as she hung up the phone.
When Naomi saw her boss leaving, Naomi said nothing to her at all. Some days Naomi just wished she had an office she could close the door to and not have to see Tiffany at all. She pretended to work as she discreetly watched her boss exit the department. Knowing she was gone, Naomi sat up at her computer and logged on to her Facebook account. Excited to see that her red notifications icon read
14,
she began to look through them. One of her guy friends from Texas had written on her page I miss ya, come home soon. Naomi smiled and began to write back. When she was home she hadn't paid that boy no attention in school, but she had to admit she missed him, too. She missed all her people from back home, and she missed not feeling out of place. As she was typing back, I miss you, too. I'll be home for the holidays, she noticed Tyreek exit the office in which the meeting was being held and walk in her direction. She instantly glanced at her reflection in the computer screen again to see how she looked. Remembering what Kevin had said, she knew she wasn't looking like she belonged on the cover of a magazine, but she wanted to at least look presentable. By the time he reached her cubicle, she had already smoothed her hair down and licked her lips.
“Hey, is Max in today?” he asked Naomi.
“Yes, but he went down to the art department,” she replied.
“OK. Can you tell him Tyreek came by?”
“Sure.”
Before she could say any more, Tyreek walked back to where he had come from. Naomi watched him walk away and felt a bit disappointed that she couldn't keep his attention any longer than a few seconds. She understood that they hadn't really gotten to know each other yet—the extent of their conversations was usually a few words or a question and answer. Still, she didn't get why he couldn't just take a second to ask how she was doing or ask her name, even. In her opinion, guys always took a second to say at least a few words to most girls. Naomi had seen Tyreek on many occasions laughing and chatting it up with girls who worked there, flirting as well, so she knew he wasn't some antisocial, quiet guy. She felt under par, knowing he didn't care to even be cordial with her.
Damn, am I that far from his league that he couldn't even acknowledge me?
she thought.
Once he was out of sight, she looked back at her Facebook page profile picture. She was attractive, but she didn't highlight her attributes. She wore loose-fitting clothes that covered her 34-C breasts and her size-six waist. She kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail most days, and she wore no makeup at all, aside from lip gloss. She had light brown skin with jet-black hair and brown eyes. Back home in college she was considered one of the pretty girls at her school. She'd had a boyfriend, but on a regular basis there were different guys trying to talk to her. Even though she'd turned the guys down because she was madly in love with Charles, she enjoyed the attention because she hadn't gotten much of it in junior high and high school. Her confidence level had skyrocketed in college, but ever since she had moved to New York, she felt overlooked and unattractive. Most of the girls in New York City were pretty, fashionable, and bubbly. In comparison to them, Naomi was no triple threat.
As she stared at her profile picture, she started to think about her high school days when she wasn't that popular. Looking at her picture, she realized she looked pretty much the same as she did back then, give or take a few things. She began to wonder if she just simply wasn't all that attractive. It didn't make her feel any better that Tyreek had just treated her almost like she was invisible. Something wasn't working in her favor.
Because her boss was out to lunch, Naomi decided to make a quick call to Devora.
“I don't know why it seems like he just looks right through me,” Naomi said.
“Well, do you guys have a reason to speak, or do you try to start a conversation?” Devora replied.
“You know I'm not going to try to start talking to him. I wouldn't even know what to say.”
“You ask a question, that's the best way. Ask about something to do with his department or his job—that will at least get the ball rolling, and most likely he will want to brag about himself.”
“Yeah, well, he comes over to me to ask me about where one of my coworkers is, but then he just runs right off after getting an answer. No ‘thank you,' no nothing.”
“Maybe he was just in a hurry.”
“Yeah, he's always in a rush, but I just want to at least get to know him a little.”
“You sound so young, like he's a crush from eighth grade.”
“It's just I've been here for seven months already, and I have no male friends, and it would be nice.”
“Why him?”
“I guess because I work with him. There are no other options, and I think he is cute.”
“That's a good enough reason,” Devora replied, laughing. “Well, for starters, try to consider some other options as well, just in case he's out of your league.”
“Devora!”
“What? I'm just saying, just in case.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, I guess you coming out with me this Friday then.”
“I can go out with you, that's fine. I don't want you looking all desperate around your office trying to get that boy's attention, I know that for sure.”
“Shut up, ain't no one looking desperate. I just said I wanted to get to know him.”

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