Chapter Sixteen
It’s not long before another unfortunate ripple effect emerges from my appearance on Nancy’s show.
The week after the Solar Summit excursion, the Washington Chronicle publishes an article titled “Ryser’s Throwing a Festival to Pay for Its Mistakes. Is It Enough?”
I scroll through it while I’m standing in line at Pretzel in Paradise waiting for our office’s order to be ready.
The article paints the festival as a calculated move on Ryser’s part to distract from the backlash they’re getting for their latest disaster.
It points out that, just one day before Marina and I went on Nancy’s show, an advocacy group filed a lawsuit against Ryser for illegally treating contaminated water and passing it off as natural mineral water.
The article ends with an ominous line: “In a way, it’s chillingly apt that Ryser representative Lauryn Harper would vomit on Greensteader Nancy Fletcher’s show.
Ryser’s biggest mark on Greenstead was, after all, a similarly uncontrolled deluge.
In vomiting on television, Ms. Harper is sending a message loud and clear: Ryser isn’t finished ruining this town yet. ”
Using my hangover humiliation as a metaphor for Ryser’s transgressions seems like a bit of a stretch.
Other than that, though, the article is fairly standard.
It’s common for journalists to put out Ryser exposés from time to time, reminding people about its shady past and present.
But it always blows over. People may read it, get outraged, and decide to boycott Ryser products—until they realize just how much Ryser dominates supermarket aisles.
Switching from Ryser-branded potato chips to Katz still benefits Ryser in the end.
As Marina tragically discovered two years into her Ryser boycott, Ryser owns Katz. And a thousand other brands.
I can only hope Amanda sees it this way.
But a slow sense of dread starts building inside me.
That notion that comforted me before, about Nancy’s show not being on Amanda’s radar, holds less weight now it’s been published in a newspaper Amanda definitely subscribes to.
Any moment now, Amanda’s going to read the article, watch the clip, hear Marina’s rant, and ask how I could have let someone bad-mouth Ryser without putting a stop to it.
(Though perhaps she’ll be grateful my throwing up distracted from it.
I wouldn’t mind pretending that was a strategic move.)
When I don’t hear from Amanda that day, the feeling lessens, and I start to think she’s unbothered after all.
That all changes the next day, when I see her name light up my phone.
A wave of panic crashes over me. She hasn’t called me once since my demotion.
It’s no coincidence that she’s calling now, the day after the article came out.
Still, I let the phone buzz for a few seconds longer.
Let her think about how hard I’ve been working.
It might have been difficult to give off that impression last month, when the sounds of Jen watching Love Island and Arun and Randy playing air hockey filled the office.
But that’s all changed now. Right this moment, Arun’s using the whiteboard to figure out where to put the apple cider dunk tank.
Tessa’s on the phone with the owner of a DC bakery, inviting him to serve as a judge for the festival’s pie-baking contest—and from the enthusiasm in her voice, it’s going well.
Randy’s on a call with a potential portable restroom supplier, negotiating for a lower price.
And Jen is picking up lunch for us all. That moment on Nancy’s show doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been completely dedicated to Ryser and this project. That has to count for something.
I let the phone buzz one more time before I answer. “Hello,” I say cautiously.
“What was that stunt you pulled on that show?” Amanda asks. “That’s not what we agreed on.”
Her chilly tone fires off a warning signal in my brain. A chilly Amanda is never a good sign. She doesn’t yell when angry; she gets cold and terse.
“I don’t think throwing up on TV is what anyone agreed on,” I say, forcing a laugh.
“I was only there because I owed Nancy a favor, but we used it as an opportunity to plug the festival. I talked up Ryser for sponsoring it,” I venture weakly.
The long pause that follows confirms that her issue isn’t what I did. It’s what Marina said.
“What about your friend?” Amanda says. “How do you think it looks for a Ryser employee to stand by while someone tries to damage our reputation? I’ll tell you how it looks,” she carries on, “because that article in the Washington Chronicle lays it all out there. Have you read it?”
“Yes. It was…a bit of a stretch.” I’m still thinking of that stupid vomit metaphor.
“It was damning,” Amanda says firmly. “And now we’re getting calls from Newsweek , Business Insider , ABC. People think we’re trying to use the festival to cover up the contaminated water debacle.”
“But we’re not,” I say, twisting a pen around in my hand. “It’ll blow over.” This is what we tell ourselves when we’ve exhausted all other options. We craft the statements, issue the press releases, plant the fluff pieces, and then we sit back and say, It’ll blow over . And it usually does.
But when Amanda doesn’t say it back, I realize she has something else in mind.
“It’s time for me to take over,” she says.
“Take over?”
“Remember what I told you? At the awards night?”
This goddamn mystery has been haunting me for too long. “No,” I say slowly.
Amanda sighs. “I said it’d be good to have the festival in our pocket in case we need it, remember? In case Ryser makes headlines again and we need a way to spin it? You agreed that if something came up, I’d take lead on strategy.”
I go still. I try to remember the gibberish I’d heard, now that I can put it into context.
Hazmat inner rocket. Lee done scatter bee.
Have that in our pocket. Lead on strategy.
Amanda was always going to use this festival as a secret weapon, something to keep on standby the next time Ryser came under fire. When that happened, she would take over.
“Now that this festival is getting national attention,” she continues, “I’m going to need to have a say in how it’s run. It has to have the right messaging. If people think we’re doing this festival in response to the lawsuit, we need to be very careful about how we position it.”
I set my pen down and sit up straighter. “So we’re going to be working together again?” I try to sound nonchalant, but a thread of hope sneaks through my words.
“On this,” Amanda says, “yes.”
“Okay. Great!” Already my mind is racing. This is the best possible outcome. Amanda’s handed me a perfect opportunity to remind her of all the reasons why I deserve to get my old job back.
Amanda tells me she’ll send a meeting invitation for a standing weekly call. I never thought I’d be so excited to hear the word meeting again. When we hang up, I look around the office grinning like an idiot.
Arun turns to me, marker still in hand. “What is it?” he asks, his voice wary.
“That was my old boss. She wants to be involved in festival planning.”
This earns skeptical looks from my colleagues. Arun caps his marker, Randy puts his call on hold, and Tessa keeps her eyes on me while she wraps up her call. They don’t stop staring until Jen comes through the door, a paper bag full of sandwiches from Toasty’s in her hand.
“What’s going on?” Jen asks, setting the bag on the air hockey table.
“Lauryn’s old boss at corporate suddenly wants to work with us on the festival,” Arun says.
“Because she knows we’re doing great things,” I fill in.
“Because of the article,” Randy guesses.
I give a shrug that they all see right through. Tessa groans. Arun sighs. And I don’t let it faze me. “This is a good thing,” I say. “Corporate has our back. We’ll have more resources.”
“Corporate’s calling the shots,” Arun corrects. “There’s a difference.”
I shake my head. “Amanda’s chill. She’s smart. It’s gonna be great. She just wants to have a call with us once a week to check in, and that’s it.”
Another round of groans.
“When’s the call?” Jen asks.
I check my email for the meeting invitation that’s just come through. “Monday at 9:00 a.m.,” I say as casually as I can.
Tessa boos me. But I just laugh and collect my sandwich. They may not see it yet, but this is the start of something good. This is the start of getting my old life back.
***
When Monday morning rolls around, I get to the office half an hour early.
I bring in donuts, put on a pot of coffee, and connect my laptop to the monitor in the meeting room in the back for the first time ever.
I make sure the camera’s working okay. I smooth a hand over my hair, pull down the hem of my dressiest flutter-sleeve top to make sure it’s centered, run a finger along the neckline to check for visible bra straps.
Then I watch the clock and wait for nine.
It’s the first Monday in August, our first meeting with Amanda.
It feels like my first day of work all over again. Like the world is full of promise.
My coworkers trickle in a few minutes before nine, yawning and making a beeline for the coffeepot. They cheer up when they see the donuts on the table, but uncertainty lingers on their faces when I click the link to join the meeting.
It starts off fine. Amanda asks what we’ve done for the festival so far, and we go around the table giving updates. She nods approvingly as we walk through the logistics. Arun’s voice is full of confidence when he answers her questions about the festival location.
“Wonderful,” Amanda says, dipping her head down to make a note of something. “What about sponsors? Who have you gotten so far?”
We share a look around the table.
“Well, Ryser,” I say. “And Solar Summit.”
There’s a pause. Amanda’s expression shifts from patient to concerned. “That’s it?”