Piper
The studio looked the same as it had when I interned at Action News years earlier. As a college student at the Savannah College of Art and Design, I had landed a coveted internship the summer before my senior year. The reporter I shadowed, Jennifer Marcingill, had helped me make a wonderful package that had gotten me hired at a small station in Virginia fresh from college. Now I was replacing her after her retirement. It was like I had come full circle.
I had been born and raised in Chatham County, Georgia. Savannah was my playground. Getting away had been a dream fresh from school, but my family needed me and I needed them. Coming home was a breath of fresh air that I desperately needed.
I checked my makeup in the mirror and reapplied my lipstick – Kiss’n’Tell – before taking a deep breath. I felt my now chin-length wavy hair, a bold and spontaneous move I had made upon moving back to Georgia, and hoped it wasn’t off-putting. Nothing I could do about it now, I told myself as I exited my car. “You got this, Piper. You are a talented and excellent journalist. Show them what you’re made of.”
With a nod, I strode up to the front door of Action News and yanked the door open. I went up to the desk like I owned the place.
“Can I help you?” A gruff woman with a thick southern drawl stared at me from behind a desk.
“Hello. I’m Piper Campbell, I’m here to see Mr. Andrews.” I picked up my chin and flashed my big grin, my signature look.
The woman behind the counter did not care. She halfway rolled her eyes and picked up the phone beside her. “A Pepper Campbell is here to see Mr. Andrews.”
“It’s Piper.” My voice was a whisper and she didn’t hear me. But it was okay because she pointed up the stairs where an older man opened the door and beckoned to me.
“Miss Campbell, come on up. Welcome to Action News.” I returned his smile and hurried to the stairs, my low heels clicking on the tiled floor. As I reached him, he put out his right hand. “I’m Heath Andrews. It’s nice to meet you in person.”
Shake firmly, but don’t squeeze, I reminded myself. People don’t like women who come across as too strong. At least not at first. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Andrews. It’s wonderful to be back in the building.” I followed him down the hall to his office.
After a briefing of my duties and expectations, I was introduced to an attractive man named Tyrell Harris who took me downstairs to show me around.
“I’m the production manager, a bit of a do everything and anything guy. If you ever need anything, I can help. But your cameraman and producer is more than capable.” He flashed a bright white smile in my direction.
“Is my producer here?” I hoped to meet him—or her—before I started work the next week. Building a rapport was an important part of the job and I had loved my cameraman and producer back in Virginia, he had envisioned himself as something of a father figure to me.
“Afraid not. He doesn’t come in until three, which is when you will be coming in as well.” He held a door open for me and I scooted past his large frame and waited.
Disappointed, I was determined to make a good impression on this man. I would be working with him as well. I smoothed my business dress down and prepared my professional expression.
He took the lead again and I followed dutifully. The halls looked similar to when I had been there almost seven years prior. The walls were still a dusky gray, the carpet the color of rust. When we began to pass desks I tried to recall Ms. Marcingill’s old producer.
“Is Ms. Marcingill’s producer still here? I was her intern several years ago.” I had to walk quickly to keep up with the man’s long strides.
“Well, AO has been her right-hand man for about five years now. Before that was Joe, but he moved.” Tyrell stopped in his tracks and I had to halt my steps to keep from running into him.
“Oh. Did you say his name is ‘Hey Yo?’” Surely I heard that wrong. Perhaps it was an Asian name I had misunderstood.
Sure enough, Tyrell laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ll have to tell him his name is Hey Yo now. No, AO. Like the letters. A and O.”
That made much more sense and I giggled. “Thank goodness. I’ve heard some crazy names, but I’m glad it’s not Hey Yo.” I rolled the letters A and O around on my tongue. They were a strange combination.
We went over to an empty desk that faced into the open newsroom. “This will be your desk, Miss Campbell.”
“Please, call me Piper.” I looked him in the eyes and noticed Tyrell’s smile made it up to the dark brown pupils staring back at me, a sign of a genuine person.
The desk was basic, nothing overly exciting. But I had wall space behind me with plenty of room for my SCAD degree and the award I had won for reporting in Virginia. I would also bring a picture of my family and my cat.
“What do you think?”
I bounced on my toes with excitement. “It’s just right. Now, what can you tell me about AO? Is he older? My previous producer thought he was something of a father figure to me he was about twenty years older than me.”
The quick chuckle from before turned into a full belly laugh. “AO? A father figure?” He wiped his eyes. Clearly, this AO was not a father figure. “AO is an excellent producer. Very professional, but he’s very much a confirmed bachelor and he’s younger than me.”
I couldn’t tell how old Tyrell was, but if I had to guess I’d say he was in his early thirties. That meant AO would be close to my age if he was younger. Tyrell said he had been working with Jennifer for five years. I stared blankly at the man still shaking his head with laughter before me.
With a wave, he led me away from my new desk and introduced me to a handful of people, including the anchors of the five o’clock news. I had been following them on social media for a few weeks to learn about them. Karry Draper, divorced mom of two teens who had attended the University of Maryland and had been an anchor for eight years, was a lovely lady with a light smile. And Sam Greenfield, a silver fox with grandkids who was still fit as a fiddle, was about as disinterested in me as they came.
That was okay. Soon they would know me. I would become a permanent fixture in their world and perhaps one day I would take over their position. I had plans.
Tyrell took me to HR and got my badge. It was outfitted with a magstripe that would get me into the employee parking lot and the always-locked back studio doors. Then he led me back down the gray hallway.
“Thank you so much for the tour, Tyrell. I look forward to seeing you again next week.” I shook his hand as he stopped at the lobby door to show me out.
“It was nice to meet you, Piper. I think you’ll fit right in here at Action News.”
“Thank you. I think so, too.” My confidence was boosted by his words of encouragement. I stepped through the door and back into the lobby, my heels again making noise on the floor.
I looked at the unpleasant woman at the desk and scrunched my nose at her. “I’ll be back next week!”
A confused stare looked my way but she didn’t say a word as I crossed the lobby floor and exited the building. It would be different this time. Not like when I was an intern and a classmate of mine tried to ruin my career. But that was in the past. Now I was here and ready to make my mark.
Back at home, I sorted my outfits by color. I kept the basics in a variety of colors so I could easily mix and match. Savannah was a mix of old-world style and trendy happenings, and I needed to make sure I looked the part.
I had moved back in with my parents until I could find a place on my own. I hoped to be there less than six months. Already my mother was hovering over my every movement. She had opted for early retirement and now had all the time in the world for me. I adored her, but space was needed.
“Did you see the studio?” She sat on my bed and folded scarves.
“Of course, Mom. It’s much the same. The woman at the desk was unpleasant, but I won’t be going in the front door anymore.” I glanced at my ID card that lay on my dresser, just waiting to be clipped to my lapel.
“What does Sam Greenfield look like in real life?” My mother, Mary, had been nursing a crush on the Action News anchor for twenty years. “Is he really as foxy as he appears on camera?”
I grabbed my notebook and jotted down my first week’s outfit combinations before answering her. “Yes, Mom. Looking at him is like looking at Michelangelo’s David. He’s tall and trim and smelled divine.”
I didn’t need to see her face to know her eyes were wide and her mouth slack. “You smelled him?”
I rolled my eyes before turning to my mother. “Yes, I did. I walked up to him, grabbed him by his Armani suit, and sniffed up his whole body.” My face was completely expressionless as I watched her contort into shock.
“Piper Marie, really. That’s not funny.” An exasperated huff escaped her lips and she stood. “I’m going to Amalia’s to get a wedding gift for your cousin. Do you want to come with?”
Shaking my head, I declined. I loved my cousin Amy, but I had no desire to be told yet again that I was approaching thirty with no ring gracing my left hand. I didn’t need a ring from a man to be happy. Henry had seen to that.
A ring had been on my hand for about six months. My boyfriend of two years, Henry Peddler, had proposed to me on Valentine’s Day with a lovely diamond ring. Excitement had given way to horror when I learned he had gotten a girl he worked with pregnant. Not to mention the fact that he completely abandoned the girl without insurance or any help. I had given her the engagement ring, told her to sell it, and dumped Henry quicker than a Kardashian. I also happened to do a segment on deadbeat dads that won an award. I might have sent a copy of it to Henry.
That was why I had moved back home. I had to get out of Richmond, out of Virginia. When the job at Action News came up, I jumped at the chance and put in my notice with Channel Seven and moved back to Savannah. It was a fresh start all around.
I changed into leggings and a tank top and grabbed my yoga mat. I needed to clear my head. Thank goodness my parents were still members of Savvy Seven and had allowed me to join under their gym membership. A class was starting in thirty, I had just enough time to get down there and ready.
After scanning my card, I made my way over to the yoga room. A class was just letting out, so I stood to the side and waited with two older women and a wiry man holding mats. That’s when I heard the voice.
It was a voice I would never forget. It had been the bane of my existence for two years in college, belonging to a man I had thought I would never see again after he graduated a semester before me. A chill went up my spine as his familiar baritone voice grew closer and louder.
I pulled out my phone and turned away, just in case he saw me. I watched as the guy who had nearly ruined my career before it began came into view, laughing and talking with someone else. I turned more, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me.
“I’ll catch you later man,” the other guy said.
“I’ll whoop you tomorrow, Kenny.” Then he disappeared around the corner and was silent.
But there was no mistaking that tall frame, the tanned skin, the lilt of his voice. Alonso Ortiz was still in Savannah.