45. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter 45
Leslie
“ W hy the fuck did they cut to commercial?” Reed glared at the booth, steam shooting out his ears.
He stood to meet Maureen, who came charging over. “He heard everything! Security! Security!”
Risto.
What is Maureen doing? He was an invited guest?
I stepped forward in time to spot Risto getting escorted out by a guard. Seeing me, he blew a kiss, mouthing, It’s okay. He wore a huge smile, so I refocused on the battle in front of me.
“Stick to the fucking script!” Reed yelled at Maureen, puffing up tall.
“I think we should change the next segment to—”
“We’re not changing a goddamned thing!”
I slid in between them. “Kaelen. You need to calm down. We’re back live in two minutes and need to make some changes.”
“We? There’s no we. There’s only me.”
Maureen interjected. “This is good television. Allen has made a lot of valid points. Why don’t we put up her charts so you can look at the data together? We have another ten minutes to—”
“Oh, so now you’re the big mastermind?” Reed said to his producer, whose head bowed in penitence like a scolded teenager.
“If anyone should be pissed, it’s me after your attempted takedown,” I screamed at him.
“Fuck you, Allen. This is my show. Mo, get back in the booth and get ready for the next segment.” He pointed off-set without looking at the stage manager, who was wildly waving toward the On-Air signal.
A second later, the On-Air light illuminated. Maureen and I matched gazes as Reed’s rant continued.
“I don’t work for you, Allen, and you certainly don’t work for me.”
“Yeah, you saw to that. All over a few extra pounds?” I prodded.
“I can’t put you on camera looking like the fatty you are now!”
“So you’re still using weight clauses, despite the network statement?”
Reed laughed. “Those suits will never allow our talent to blimp up. No one wants to watch that! They’re only saying that to appease the mob you brought to our doorstep!”
“That reminds me. Those fake signs you put in the video were a master stroke.”
Reed smiled. “They were. Took us three hours, but was worth it to see your face on live television…”
Realization dawned as his head whipped around toward the “On-Air” sign shining brightly. He stared into the camera, then back at me and Maureen. Tugging his shirt neat, Reed stormed off set.
“Well, that’s live TV for you!” I said.
Maureen gestured for us to sit. “Before we continue, I want to apologize to our viewers, and to you, Ms. Allen, for the events of this evening. You were our guest, and we didn’t give you the opportunity to present your case fairly. Let’s do that now…”
We spent a half hour talking about my transformation from the beginning, extending into the next show’s time slot.
The information I’d learned.
The interviews I’d done with health providers and researchers.
And Reed’s teachers.
I looked straight into the camera.
“We’ve all been fed a steady diet of lies. But this conversation can change things. Take what you’ve heard here tonight. Research it for yourself, then think about whether it’s time we all ditch the fear and start living our fullest lives. Thank you for watching.”
“And we’re out!” The stage manager called, and a bell sounded the all clear. But instead of a burst of side conversations erupting, no one spoke a word. Everyone stayed exactly where they were.
I stood to leave, then it started.
A single person slow-clapped.
Then another, until thunderous applause reverberated across the studio. I sank back into my chair, the relief was so great. I suppressed tears for as long as I could, then let them stream down my face.
Eventually, the makeup artist wrapped me in a tight hug, then released to blot my cheeks. “That was unforgettable.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” I stepped away, laughing as I wiped my wet eyes.
Tonight was a class A clusterfuck, pinging between incredible highs and unbelievable lows. If viewers shut it off after the ambush, I’d be ruined. Hopefully, the last 37 minutes would grab the headlines. Where Reed bared his black soul for all to see, and I carried on. Alone. Fitting, really, because only we walked in our bodies. It was up to us to set ourselves free. No one could do it for us. It must have been compelling television, since the network stayed with me live, even after Reed left.
I navigated to the edge of the crowd, where someone grabbed my arm.
It was Kaelen. “Guess I owe you an apology.”
I stared down to where his hand held me.
He dropped it but was far from repentant.
“What did you expect me to do? You humiliated me in front of the world. The network demanded I set the record straight.”
“The only time you tell the truth is when you think the camera’s off,” I said.
“I was supposed to welcome you with open arms after that stunt you pulled with the protest?”
“I expected you to be a professional. The way I see it, I should get half of whatever outrageous amount they’re paying you, since you bailed in the middle of the show. While you cowered in a dressing room, I stayed on-set, telling the world the truth. It’s up to them now to live their lives. You can go crawl into the backward hole you came from. I’m done with this fucking network. You don’t deserve me.”
I walked away, but he called after me.
“A birdie told me about your contract with FlashNews.”
A smile crept across my face as I turned back. “How?”
“I have my ways. Who knows? If I get canned, you and I should partner. We’re a good pair.”
“No way.”
He covered his heart as if pierced.
“Why, Mr. Reed, are you flirting with me?”
“That cleavage does look marvelous.”
“Pig.”
“Always. See ya around, Allen.”
He strode across the set in the opposite direction, whistling, of all things.
I shook my head in disbelief. He was either a sly fox or poised for a new beginning of his own. Kaelen Reed would land on his feet.
And so would I.
I entered my dressing room to find Risto and the security guy laughing over a bag of takeout.
They both stood.
“Umm,” the young man said, wiping his mouth. “I better go.”
Risto fizzed with excitement. “He’s studying to be a chef. We’ve been talking food. What happened after I left?”
After two days of ignoring my mother’s calls, I decided to answer. But I refused to speak first. It took every bit of yoga calmness I could summon and sat on my bed for the dreaded conversation.
“Finally! I swear, I have to appear on television to get my daughter’s attention.”
“That was despicable. What possessed you to do that? And for what? To humiliate me and ruin my career?”
She snickered. “Oh, you’re doing that quite well on your own. You’ve been unraveling for months. What was I supposed to do? You won’t take my calls or texts and ran off when I came in person. Did you get any of the letters I sent to Risto’s in Pennslyvania?”
Risto and I hadn’t been back to the house in a while. He did quick day trips to check on Boricua, but he hadn’t mentioned any mail.
“You know nothing about me or my life, yet you presume to lecture me about what’s best. I’m an adult and it’s time for you to stop.”
“I don’t care how old you are. You’re my daughter, and I’ll fight for you even when you won’t.”
Risto splashed merrily in the shower, so I shifted my heated call to the living room to avoid disturbing him. My man had a big night ahead with the restaurant opening. And I had no intention of letting my mother’s tantrum ruin it. While she ranted, my attention drifted toward my laptop.
I was expecting an email from Barbara about my imploding contract at FlashNews. Their execs had shut off the Kaelen special after the first 20 minutes and began terminating my deal. Their cowardice made it clear my time there would have ended badly, so we parted ways. I also waved off offers from the other networks, including from NewsOne. Reed shot me a text offering my original Saturday job back, without the weight clause. But I soured on network news, media manipulation, and city buses wearing my face. I’d built a career by telling stories on my own terms, and that suited me just fine.
I would still investigate corruption and bring information forward to challenge what we thought we knew, especially about entrenched institutions. If people wanted to see me, they could catch me on my weekly YouTube reports, always done with me fully clothed and well-fed, then posted to podcast platforms. A syndication offer rolled in from a satellite radio network, and I was seriously considering it.
“Are you listening?” Mom shouted at me.
“No. And we should take time off from each other for the foreseeable future. Not like before, where you texted me nasty messages. A real break.”
“You don’t mean that.” Panic laced Mom’s trembling voice.
“Until you can accept me as-is and stop pressuring me to adopt your destructive behavior, it’s best we sever our relationship.”
“I love you. This isn’t what I want,” Mom whimpered.
“If that’s true, then take some time to think. There’s a toxic mess between us, and it centers on disordered behaviors and beliefs about food. I hope you find help or at least treat me respectfully, even if you don’t approve of my choices. If you can, I’ll be here to support you as you rebuild your life and our relationship. If not, then it’s best we go our own ways and try again when we’re both in a healthier place.”
I hung up, pained that my mom’s obsession with weight overshadowed her love for me. She refused to accept me as a human in a larger body. It was too much. I was too much.
But that was a her problem, not a me problem.
I had never felt better and was eager to embrace whatever craziness Risto and I would cook up next. Literally.
“Hey, it’s over,” I said to Risto through the closed bathroom door. “I’m free.”
He cracked it open, and steam billowed moist heat into my face. I stepped back to prevent the humidity from frizzing my freshly styled hair.
“So that’s it then?” Risto toweled off his head. Bare butt flexing as his torso showed signs of renewed health. While I wanted to share everything with Risto, my past food obsession wasn’t one of them. I was so relieved we’d both moved on.
“Yeah. It’s for the best. Maybe someday Mom and I will be able to reconnect.”
Risto paced into the bedroom and slipped on his underwear. “Whatever happened with that offer from the professor?”
What started as joke emails between me and Professor Hawley after she saw my special with Kaelen Reed congealed into an intriguing idea. She’d gone to the department chair of the journalism school with a proposal to bring me in as an adjunct to teach a course about journalistic integrity and the need to expose institutional corruption. I had an arsenal of experiences to draw on, and it would help me inspire the next generation of investigative reporters. With newsroom budget cuts, too few of us remained dedicated to pounding the pavement and doing the hard work needed to shed light on uncomfortable truths.
The more I thought about it, the more thrilled I became about the opportunity. I just had to put a course curriculum together for the school to approve.
“You’ve got that look…” Risto said, kissing the top of my head as he passed by me to select his clothes.
He stood in front of his dresser. I hugged him from behind, his furnace of a body drying all lingering dampness from his skin.
God, I loved this man.
He moved about our apartment like he’d been here forever. Our lives melded so completely I could no longer remember who I’d been before. Old me was unrecognizable.
Alone.
Angry.
Afraid.
And very, very hungry.
Risto rotated in my arms to hug me back. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I have everything I need right here.” I kissed his chest.
“So no dinner, then?”
I gave him the stink eye. “That’s not even funny. Now get dressed. You’re the featured attraction at an event in your honor. Boricua 2 awaits its famous chef!”