CHAPTER NINE #2
“Iced and raised?” he asks.
“I’m the daughter of a doctor, what do you think?” I smirk, thank the driver, then stroll through the lobby.
“I think you’re smart enough to have been a doctor. Speaking of, what’s this I hear you are covering a story about Leo Taylor on your show?”
Crap.
Dad is old school and comes from old money. He wasn’t happy that I wanted to become a journalist, but he accepted it. Mostly. Lawyer and doctor were top of his list, but Mom pushed back, telling him I had very strong English and communication skills.
“Fine, write a book. But you need a real career, Brooklyn. Your mother and I are going to live a long life. Your trust fund will only get you so far.”
Rude.
Said trust fund was from Grandpa, who’d done very well in the property markets in Manhattan in the fifties and sixties. It was enough that if I moved to another state, I could probably live the rest of my life modestly without working.
But not in New York.
Nor was that appealing.
Growing up with two successful parents taught me that a career wasn’t just about earning money, it was about having independence, a purpose in life and meeting people. Friends, a partner, or just interesting and different types of people that broaden your horizons.
The thought of spending my days shopping, gossiping, and thriving on drama because I had nothing else to do was as unappealing as a crusty gym sock.
“Dad, I’ve got an internship with the NYT.” I told him proudly when I’d graduated with honors from Columbia.
“Congratulations,” Dad had replied and meant it. “While it would’ve been good to have a lawyer in the family, I’m happy that you’re following your dreams.”
Dad has always been a loving father. I understood why he’d questioned me at the time, but times had changed since he decided on a career. I would have been a horrible doctor or lawyer. I was too opinionated for either of them.
Next minute he’s telling his friends that I was working for The New York Times with his head held high, and approving murmurs followed.
The day I resigned, I knew he wouldn’t understand my new path. I am not even sure Dad understands the importance of podcasts, or if he’s ever listened to one.
I started off saying I was starting my own media company. Which was true. Then he took more interest, which is what loving fathers did. Goddamn it.
Then he had all his friends follow me.
Great for numbers but terrible for our weekly chats, where he gives me their feedback each week.
“Dad, just tell them to put comments in the comment section and I’ll read them.”
“Why would they do that? They can tell me, and I said I’ll pass them on.”
Great.
Mom told me to just listen and let him get it off his chest.
I could only imagine what he’d have to say about Leo Taylor, whom he’d seen on the big screen for decades.
“He’s getting a Hollywood star,” I reply, hoping he hasn’t heard all that much.
Silence.
Shit, he knows.
“Brook—”
“Dad, please. Let me do my job.”
“There is no way Leo Taylor has done those things.”
I cringe as the elevator pings open and head down the hall. Coming to a halt, I stare at the enormous bouquet of roses sitting outside my door.
What on earth?
“Well, that’s what we do. We’re investigating it.”
“You aren’t the police, Brook. Don’t get involved in this. Leo Taylor is a powerful man. He could destroy your reputation and career. You could do the same to his.”
I swallow, pick up the flowers, and open my door. Dropping them on the kitchen counter, I pluck out the card and put the phone on speaker to keep listening to Dad.
And his lecture.
The one I don’t entirely disagree with.
Unless Taylor is guilty.
One rose for every orgasm I plan to give you tonight. T x
Blinking, I count the number of white roses and give up when I get past twelve. I definitely cannot think about this while speaking to my dad.
“... he’s connected to a lot of people in Washington and New York. Brian called me. He’s worried about you.”
Uncle Brian, as I call him, is my dad’s best friend. A fellow doctor.
Luna jumps up on the counter and sniffs the flowers. “Hey baby girl.”
“What? Brooklyn, are you listening?”
“Yes Dad. I was talking to Luna.”
“Oh. Hello cat.”
I start laughing. He’s always called her that, and it never fails to make me giggle. Then Luna replies with a bright meow, and I laugh even louder.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I am paying attention, and I do understand the risks. We’re doing thorough research and have sent people to the police to report the crimes.”
“Surely this is slander.”
“It’s not. We are well within our rights to discuss it and ask questions. First Amendment, remember. Free speech.”
“Barely. I’m worried about you, Brook.”
I close my eyes.
“Well, let me put this to you, Dad. If I were hurt by a man and he got away with it, would you want everyone to stay silent?”
He doesn’t reply, then I hear his sigh. “No.”
I’m not thrilled either. If these people are lying, I could be harming an innocent man. Or my silence could hurt innocents already harmed...and many others.
“Podcasts fill the space that corporate-funded mainstream media can’t and won’t. It’s how the media space works these days.” I remind him. “We talk about topics that need attention. It’s not always comfortable. It’s not always something everyone agrees with.”
As I’ve said in one of my shows, humans have been talking for thousands of years, sharing knowledge, telling stories. It’s ironic that now we have the most powerful communication tools in history—social media—we’re trying to suppress speech.
Ironic...and makes me want to ask more questions.