Chapter 8 #2
She shook her head. “Why would you ever turn down that lovely, paid man?” She was perpetually looking for a guy who matched the tall, chocolate, suited model she’d cut out of GQ and affixed to her vision board. “He didn’t come out as a Republican, did he?”
“Joseph isn’t the only man in New York City,” I shot back. Over the chorus of “Oooooh,” I asked, “Now, do you want to talk about Joseph, or do you want to hear my news?”
“Um, Joseph,” Denyse said.
“Damn, D, you are single-minded,” Sofie cut in. “Let the woman speak.”
“Thank you, Sof,” I said. “So, I have another job offer.”
Teresa exhaled sharply and jumped up. “Is it…?”
I smiled, and before I could get a “yep” out of my mouth, Teresa ran over and grabbed my shoulders. “You did it, Nikki! Wepa!”
Everyone else looked mystified until Sofie asked, “Nikki, can you please get on with the news so we all know what the hell you’re talking about?”
“My bad.” I drained my champagne glass to give myself a second to think about where to start. “So, a few months ago I pitched Tyisha to Lucinda for a cover.”
“Girl, what?” Sofie exclaimed. “Even I know Lucinda wouldn’t take that idea seriously.”
“Well, I should have known too,” I replied as she refilled my flute. “She told me ‘Black girls don’t sell magazines.’” I made air quotes to indicate that those were her exact words and watched my friends’ mouths fall open.
“What? How come you didn’t tell us?” Denyse exclaimed, taking off her glasses to clean them on her silk top. “You know I would have organized a protest outside Park Ave Pub that same week.”
“Uh, that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you!
” I smiled at the thought of Muffy trying to work out how to get to her waiting town car as a brigade of activists marched in front of Park Ave Pub’s doors.
“I wasn’t ready for DEFCON 2–level action.
But it did get me thinking about whether I really wanted to stay there. ”
“I bet.” Denyse huffed. “I deal with microaggressions all the time at work but nothing so blatantly gross.”
“Exactly.” I sighed. “But then Lucinda offered me the special projects editor position, and I just couldn’t turn down such a big job, even though she basically told me straight up that she wanted me to blackify StyleList so I could save the business and her ass.”
“That is some bullshit,” Sofie declared, rolling up the sleeves of her pink satin FUBU jacket.
“It was. But it was also flattering to be entrusted with something so huge by a literal publishing legend,” I said with a half shrug. “Around the same time, I saw an urban women’s lifestyle mag at CeCe’s called Sugar. It’s published by NuVoices, this new media company.”
“Barbara Porter runs it, right?” Sofie interrupted. “I had a meeting with her once about sponsoring an event at the café.”
“That’s right,” I continued. “I started obsessing about Sugar, then I met Barbara at a fashion party. I went back and forth about what to do until my girl”—I pointed my chin at Teresa—“told me to get off my culo. I sent Barbara some ideas for Sugar, which she must have liked because she just offered me the editor in chief spot.”
There was total silence for a second, then everyone screamed at once. This was the reaction I wanted. I tried to field all the questions that were coming at me:
“Will you have a big staff?”
“Don’t know.”
“Will you meet celebrities?”
“Definitely a different set than StyleList. More hip hop than Hollywood.”
“Are you going to get to go to the Grammys?”
“Not sure.”
“Are you going to be rich?”
“Ha! No. I think it pays less than I make now.”
“What’s Barbara like?”
“Street smart and takes no shit or prisoners. She told me that she wasn’t sure I can handle the job so she’s giving me a six-month trial period.”
Another silence as I watched them look around at each other. The music outside the kitchen and the loud hum of the commercial refrigerator combined into a head-pounding fury.
Finally, Teresa replied, “Well, then, I guess you had better fucking crush it!”
“I guess I had better fucking crush it.” I took a deep calming breath and bumped fists with each one of my girls.
At that moment, the door cracked open and Kiara peeked her head in, her blingy chandelier earrings casting tiny rainbows around the kitchen. “I don’t want to interrupt, but I heard some loud screaming in here. Y’all good?”
“Join us.” I waved her in. “Come meet my crew.”
I introduced Kiara, carefully watching the reactions of my protective besties.
Sofie, our peacemaker, was the easiest, enveloping Kiara in a quick bear hug and chatting her up about their mutual connections.
Denyse, the most judgmental, scoped out Kiara’s expensive, iced-out getup so thoroughly I knew she would have plenty of comments later.
Teresa, the hardest nut to crack, was unsurprisingly the most skeptical; she coolly extended her hand, making it clear that no hugs would be forthcoming until Kiara proved her loyalty.
When I told Kiara about Sugar, she had the same reaction: a moment of stillness before she yelled and high-fived me.
“I swear I’m psychic. When we first met, I just knew something big was going to happen for you soon,” she said, accepting a glass of champagne from Sofie.
“I thought it was your promotion at StyleList, but this is huge, love!” I could see my girls warming at her unfettered excitement.
Kiara turned to the rest of the room. “Your girl is about to become a major player in the culture. Better strap in—this is gonna be a wild ride!”
I lifted my glass. “To wild rides!”
“To wild rides.” They clicked my glass and hugged me again. I looked around Sofie’s kitchen and thought about the fact that these were exactly the women Sugar was for: my smart, cool, fun girlfriends.