Inner Circle (14 page)

Jackie was impressed with Shawn and thought how nice it would’ve been if someone had offered her a helping hand when she was struggling to get into the business. Now that she had some clout, she wanted to give back. She had presented the idea of a mentoring program to The Wives Association, but it was shot down. Queen Bee Eve stated that it wasn’t the right time, which was bullshit to Jackie,
but whatever. To date, the association was Eve’s baby, and now was not the time to go against her. Jackie wasn’t accustomed to playing second-string to anybody, and if she had anything to do with it, Eve wouldn’t always be the one calling the shots.

Jackie pulled out her notes for a last-minute review. While she always had a copy readily available, she prided herself in reporting her stories with as little reading as possible. It gave her stories a more personal touch and was part of her signature style.

Jackie looked up and noticed Sandra Harris, the show’s executive producer, hurrying toward her. From her body language and the expression on her face, Jackie was sure it was about the exclusive. She sighed in anticipation of a confrontation.

Jackie respected Sandra. She thought she was a great producer, but they frequently bumped heads. It was as if Sandra saw her as a threat to her position, and no matter how many times Jackie assured her that she didn’t want her job, Sandra still didn’t seem to get it.

“Morning, Jackie,” Sandra said, eyeing the notes in Jackie’s hand.

“Hey, darling. Good morning.” Jackie sipped her tea and smiled politely. She shook her head as she gave Sandra a quick once-over. You’d think with all the money she made, she’d do better than Target eyeglasses, a Supercuts pageboy, and what appeared to be cheap JCPenney pumps.

“Good morning? Well, aren’t you the cool cucumber today! I don’t understand how you do it, J.”

“Do what?”

“Get these stories, and not just stories, but exclusives!”

“Sandy, you know me, and you know that I take my job seriously. I do my homework. You said it yourself. It’s what separates a good journalist from a great one. That, plus the fact that I have great sources is how I do it.”

“Good try, Jackie, but this is not Marcus you’re talking to. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I know that there is a thin line between sources and insider information. I also know there’s an even thinner
line between getting an exclusive and being inclusive. I’ve watched you. You’re a great journalist, and true, you do your homework, but you and I both know there’s something else going on here.”

“It’s called luck,” Jackie shrugged.

“Nobody’s that lucky. You’ve managed to have at least one
exclusive
breaking news story every year for the past three years. Some journalists go their entire careers and
never
have a breaking story, let alone an exclusive. How do you explain that?”

“I guess they’re
unlucky,
” she laughed.

“It can’t be that simple,” Sandra said, folding her arms in frustration.

“So what are you saying?” Jackie replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, Jackie, you know exactly what I’m saying. As executive producer, I have the responsibility of maintaining the integrity of our show and our stories. I have people to answer to. When the big boys upstairs ask me how we got the exclusive,
luck
is not what they want to hear.”

“I can respect your position, Sandra. But just like you have people to answer to, so do I, and if I start revealing where I get my information, my sources will dry up like an open tube of Krazy Glue.” Jackie sipped her tea. “And when has there ever been a question about the integrity of my stories?”

“Your point is well taken,” Sandra said, adjusting her glasses. “But I’m sure you see my point too. If you were in my shoes, you’d be asking the same questions.”

“Which is why I’m not in your shoes. You do you, and I’ll do me.”

“You doing you makes it hard for me to do me.”

“Well, me doing me has our ratings at the top.”

Jackie got Marcus’s attention and gestured that she needed her lipstick freshened. He grabbed the tube from his case and darted to her station. Jackie could almost feel Sandra’s eyes glaring at the back of her neck as Marcus smoothed on a fresh coat of lipstick, and then headed back across the room.

Jackie turned to Sandra. “So what do you really want from me, Sandra? Because you and I both know this whole ‘the boys upstairs are concerned’ business is bull.”

“I want assurance that your suspicious success is not going to result in a scandal for this station or this show one day. I have to be able to tell the folks on the twelfth floor that they have nothing to worry about, and if that means verifying your sources, then that’s what I’ll do. It’s what a good producer does.”

“I can appreciate that,” Jackie said, glancing at her watch. “But as a good producer, you also know that good
journalists
never reveal their sources. Not
even
to you! Now, if there’s nothing else, I, just like you, have a show to do. Excuse me.” Jackie turned and headed for the newsroom. She smiled as she took her mark at the news desk and prepared for her cue. She loved having the upper hand, and the more successful she became, the more success she craved. This was truly just the beginning in her career, her love, and her life, and nothing, not even a nosy-ass producer, was going to get in her way.

11

“. . . and
slapped him so hard that he left his whole handprint on his face. I knew he was messing around with that boy, and I told his monkey ass that you can’t go hiring a temp from an agency called the Queen Bee Temp Agency and not expect drama.”

Eve sat in her pajamas sipping her tea and going over the profiles of five new potential athletes while listening to her assistant Brandon Phillips talk nonstop about the most current office gossip. Since marrying Chase and officially moving to Los Angeles, Eve traveled back and forth to the Miami office monthly for work. When in L.A., she made it a point only to work part time, and on the days she didn’t go into Rothberg’s West Coast offices, she and Brandon played catch-up on the phone while she worked from home.

As Brandon continued with his Wendy Williams Hot Topic rendition, Eve sifted through the files of five of the most elite athletes in the league. She knew that her opinion or pick of any one of the five candidates to become clients of Rothberg’s would drastically change their lives. She took pride in studying everything about them in order to find the right fit for the agency. She’d seen firsthand what Rothberg’s influence could do for a career. It was because of the agency that Chase had become the superstar he had.

Eve had advised Andrew of Chase’s potential long before Chase had expressed his interest in her. She knew that he had all the makings of a star, and with the proper guidance, especially under Andrew’s watchful eye, he’d become just that.

“Girl, let me tell you, these execs better start recognizing. You feel me?”

“B, what do we know about Kendall Jones? He’s a soon-to-be graduate of USC, Heisman Trophy nominee, and a definite first-round draft pick. His stats read like my baby Chase’s.”

“Honey, hush. He could give yo’ man a run for his money, okaaaay? And have you seen him? Ummmph, he definitely gets
my
vote. As fine as he is, he could sell me a rock and call it a diamond.”

“Boy, you are too much . . .” Eve laughed. “I think out of the five possibilities that Andrew asked me to review, he’s my number-one pick.”

“Well, you know if you’re giving him your stamp of approval, it’s a wrap. Homeboy can consider himself young, black, and soon-to-be famous.”

Eve absolutely adored Brandon. He had been the office receptionist (he preferred office “manager”) at Rothberg’s West Coast offices for well over five years. When they met, Brandon wasn’t qualified to be an executive assistant, but Eve saw his potential and insisted that he be exclusively assigned to assist her.

During her transition from the Miami office, Brandon had been helpful in showing her the office ropes. Sitting at the front desk of Rothberg Enterprises had its advantages, and Brandon was more than happy to share all of them with Eve. During the course of their five-year working relationship, Brandon had also become one of her closest friends.

On the mornings that she didn’t go into the office, which was two days out of the week, Brandon and Eve had their morning phone call to discuss what needed to be done in her absence as well as what she needed to do while working from home. Eve had long since mastered
the ability to work and listen, making sure to filter what was interesting and what could be dismissed as embellishment. With Brandon, she could count on at least half of the conversation being embellished, allowing her to get a considerable amount of work done while the two of them talked.

“. . . I told Jeremy something fishy was going on. And you know I can smell fish a mile away! He said I should mind my own business, but I told his ass right back that if he didn’t . . . oh shit! Oh shit!”

Eve paused. These last exclamations did not quite fit the story.

“Brandon, what’s wrong?”

“Wait, hold on, girl! Let me turn up the TV.”

Eve shook her head and laughed to herself.

“Giiiiiirl, somebody done beat up the Tresses girl! Daaaaaaaaaaamn, look at her! Jeremy! Oh my God, come here quick!” Brandon shouted. “That poor child is tore up from the floor up.”

It took a moment for Brandon’s comments to register, but suddenly, Eve was all ears as she realized what she was hearing. Guilt followed by immediate fear enveloped her. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I said somebody beat up the Tresses girl. You know, that model chick from those commercials . . . what’s her name?”

“Carmen Garza,” Jeremy chimed in from the background.

“Yeah, that’s her. The supermodel with all that hair! It’s on the news right now. Girl, they’re saying she was attacked . . .”

Eve sat up in her chair so suddenly she spilled her tea all over herself. “Damn it!” She began to search desperately for the remote. She felt the burn from the hot tea as it began to scorch her skin, but she ignored the pain and continued her search.

“What channel?” Eve shouted into the phone before putting it on speaker in order to widen her search. “Brandon, what are they saying?”

“Oh damn . . . Girl, whoever attacked her cut off all that pretty hair of hers. The bitch is
bald
!”

“Bald?” Eve’s thoughts immediately flew to Callie and their conversation over lunch. Her heart raced as she dug her hands into the couch. “Brandon! Brandon!” she screamed into the phone.

“Oooooh! Sorry, girl. I just can’t believe it. Who would do that to the poor child? Pretty as she is it’s probably some jealous wife. Or better yet, probably the model that applied for the job and didn’t get it. Jealous bitches will do that sort of thing. The cameras couldn’t get a good look at her because she had her hands up to her face and a coat thrown over her head, but you can definitely see the bruises on her hands, and her face looks like a damn American flag, all red, white, and blue! I bet it was some jealous—”

“Brandon, I gotta go!” Eve yelled.

“Wait, I didn’t finish telling you—”

“No, Brandon, really, I have to go! I’ll call you later!” She hung up without waiting for a response. Frantically she tossed the couch cushions onto the floor. When she still didn’t see it, she got down on all fours and peered under the couch. Nothing! In frustration she leaned over the couch to search the kitchen counter. There it was!

“Finally,” she said, flipping the channels in search of the story. It was everywhere: ABC, NBC, CNN, FOX, every outlet with the same story. The headline read: “
SUPERMODEL ATTACKED
.” Eve turned the volume up.

“. . . reports indicate that supermodel and official Tresses hair-care spokesperson, Carmen Garza, was attacked last night by an unknown assailant or assailants. According to the Laguna Hills Police Department, the Argentine beauty, known for her luxurious locks, was reportedly taken to Orange County Cedar Hospital, and police received a call at approximately 11:30
P.M
. Thursday night.

“Upon arrival, police spoke with Miss Garza’s manager who confirmed the attack. Detective Edward Montoya
reported that details were sketchy, but that the victim appeared to have been beaten about the face and had bruises on her hands and legs. According to Montoya, Miss Garza was heavily sedated at the time and was unable to give a description of her attacker or attackers or provide any details. ‘The victim was understandably upset,’ reported Montoya. ‘Miss Garza has been released from the hospital, and we intend to speak with her later today. At that time, we should be able to gather more information and continue our investigation.”

Eve stood speechless as her mind raced back to her advice to Callie. If Callie was behind the attack, could she be considered an accomplice for planting the idea in her head? Eve fought hard to shake off the spirit of worry yet felt defeated by the failed efforts. She pressed mute on the remote and grabbed her cell phone, quickly dialing Amber’s number. As it rang, Eve watched clips of Carmen leaving the hospital holding a coat over her head. The bruises and bald head were obvious despite her discretion. Eve exhaled deeply. “Damn,” she whispered.