Page 8 of Well, Actually
“Trashy?” I say the word softly, part of me hoping they don’t hear me. Their silence indicates they definitely did, and I press on, trying to do some damage control. “I mean, I know Soundbites is hip and has that perfect balance between trendy topics and hard-hitting news, and I just don’t want to distract from the latter.”
William moves to speak, but Landry cuts him off.
“Miss Kitt,” she says, delicate voice barbed at the edges, indicating she’s only going to say this once so I better listen the fuck up. “News outlets do not exist without revenue. Revenue, in the age of internet real estate, does not exist without advertisers and consumers seeing those advertisements. You went on social media and got a huge segment of our target demographic’s attention, and now they’re salivatinglike hungry little dogs for more. I would be the world’s worst businesswoman to thinkanythingtrumps the capitalization on that, whether it’s earth-shattering reporting or some tawdry sex story. Beggars can’t be choosers if they want to hit that bottom line.”
My head spins as everything slips further out of control.
“I have the shareholder meeting to prep for,” William says. “Are you okay wrapping this up solo, Mom?”
“Of course.”
With a terse nod, William exits the call, leaving us to stare at each other.
“Let me guess,” Landry says after a moment, tilting her head to the side as she studies me. “As a little girl, you dreamed of growing up and becoming a journalist. One of thoserealjournalists with boots on the ground in conflict zones and delivering exposés on corporate greed and senators abusing the system. You watchedGilmore Girlsand resonated with Rory and subsequently learned who Christiane Amanpour is and also made her your role model so you could be smart and clever whenever an adult asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. You went to some prestigious college and got your expensive degree and expected the pieces to fall into place—the jobs and the beats and the exposure to outlets that would broadcast your voice far and wide as you brought truth to people.”
I go very still, shame cracking my skin as she paints me by the numbers.
“You didn’t grow up thinking your big break would be eating hot dogs and interviewing whatever mid-list celebrityis desperate enough for some coverage, and now you want to dig in your heels because you’re too good for this.”
“Perhaps we should…” Aida’s protest is weak, and Landry makes a cooing sound like she understands the sting of her words but knows they’re necessary. Maybe they are. Maybe I need a reminder of how pathetic my situation actually is.
“What I’m getting at, Eva,” she continues, a genuine look of care on her flawless face, “is that the world is not kind to your hopes and dreams, especially those of women. The universe does not give a damn about your plans and your aspirations and any of the grueling work you put in to reach them. The universe is random and harsh and throws whatever it wants at you, and all you can do is make the best of whatever shitty hand that is.”
Landry leans forward with a look so intense it feels like she’s in the room with me, peering into my skull, plucking out every withered dream by the roots as she tells me the truth. “And sometimes, when you play what you think are your piss-poor cards, a miracle happens. A different force in the universe sees your effort, sees how hard you’re working and, maybe,just maybe, that force conspires to throw you a bone at the end of the deal. Do you understand what I’m saying, Eva? Do you understand what might be at the end of playing this out?”
My lips part, thoughts swirling and tangling with ideas that seem too good to be true. “Are you saying—”
“I’m speaking in metaphors, dear, that’s all.” Landry lifts her dainty hands, palms out. “Oh, sorry to change topics, but before I forget—Aida?”
Aida sits up in attention, jaw clenched and eyes lined with worry. “Yes?”
“Did you hear that Howards in the investigative group is leaving next month? Apparently he got a job at CNN.”
Aida’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “I… uh. No. I hadn’t heard.”
Landry nods primly, eyes off the screen again and fingers dancing across her keyboard. “We’ll need to find his replacement soon. Not that it has much to do with you, I’m just making myself a note. Didn’t want to forget to spread the word to the production team. Lots of transitions being made as William gets situated behind the wheel; deserving employees moving up while we cull the deadweight. You know how these things go. Anyway.”
Landry’s eyes are back on me, steady and focused and glinting while blood roars in my ears. She nods, almost imperceptibly, confirming the existence of the tiny carrot she’s dangling in front of me. “Soundbites is a family, a family that takes care of each other.”
While there are few traits more toxic than a corporation referring to its culture as family-like, I tamp down my revulsion, holding her gaze, thoughts spinning and teeth gritting with a sudden hunger for that hinted-at opportunity.
“And families are made up of team players,” Landry continues. “Are you a team player, Eva?”
I let out a choked grunt that hopefully sounds like agreement. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to point out thatteamsare actually the ones made up of team players, andfamilies, in the nuclear sense, are made up of genetically connected,emotionally scarred people doing their best not to strangle each other at any given time.…
I manage to give her a calm, cool nod. “I am.”
Landry’s smile is dazzling, teeth as perfectly white as the pearls roped around her neck. “Good. Then we’ll see you at the interview.”
Chapter 4
Depending on the day and the interviewee, a typicalSausage Talkrecording requires me to eat anywhere from two to five hot dogs that usually sit like a brick in my stomach, my fingers smelling like ketchup and wiener water by the time the day is through. It all generally helps feed into my miserable persona for the segment.
But as I walk into the office for today’s shoot with Cooper, there’s a very real chance that I won’t be able to stomach a single bite with the combination of nerves and bitterness that’s been fermenting in me the past three days. But hey, if I puke on him during a live stream, it’ll probably be great for views, which is all I’m good for at this point.
While all of this is coming together with miraculous speed, the last few days have been a sick and slow type of torture, each hour hitting a new milestone of views and commentson my video. The post left its ideal audience of righteously indignant women and started picking up steam with trolls and incels. While it genuinely makes me laugh that any of these men (and some women) think they can hurt my precious feelings with a predictable and derivatively scathing comment, I never anticipated being called various forms ofbitchat such a rapid frequency.
But, for every horrible thing someone tries to say about me, there are five other strangers hopping in with clever responses and digs in my defense that take a troll down a peg or nine.
