Chapter 27 #2
“Okay, I feel that.” I could hear Derek nodding. His voice made me want to keep talking.
“I’m just … sick of being a pawn. Honestly, I’m sick of how damn near every woman is a pawn in this world. We get judged and cornered and casually discussed.” My voice caught, so I took a big gulp of my coffee.
“And now you want to use your platform to make sure that Bishopp doesn’t get away with rape or that his accuser isn’t maligned,” Derek offered. “Look, if no one else says it, I’m impressed. Way to take back the power, Nikki.”
That night, I watched everyone else leave the office while I worked on Bishopp’s profile.
It had been enraging to see him mugging for the camera at the photo shoot, oblivious to having laid waste to a child’s innocence and thinking that after propositioning and threatening me, he was still getting a glowing cover story.
I was rage-typing long after the last person vacated the NuVoices floor, so focused that I jumped when the lobby attendant called to tell me I had a pizza downstairs.
“I didn’t order anything,” I told him, although I hadn’t eaten and was starving.
“You tell that to the delivery guy, miss. He’s on his way up.”
The medium pie was delivered with a CD and a note that read:
Figured you’d be working late tonight. Speaking truth to power isn’t a 9-to-5 job under normal circumstances, and I know you’re on a deadline.
Plus, I still owe you a meal. Sending good energy and pepperoni.
You got this! (The CD is pretty far afield from the Smashing Pumpkins, but I think you’ll be into it, rock star.)
Warmly, Derek
Walking down the dark and deserted halls to my office with the lukewarm pizza in hand, I couldn’t make up my mind whether to feel empowered or sorry for myself.
Derek was right: There was no way to get around the discomfort of resistance.
Normally, a cover subject is the most celebrated person in a magazine, which is what everyone—Barbara, JJ, the industry—expected me to do with Sliq Bishopp.
But I was going renegade. The more I typed, the more it felt like one of the most meaningful and powerful things I had ever done as a journalist. On the flip side, both NuVoices and my career were on the bubble.
And, more importantly, my best friend was questioning my judgment.
I needed a distraction, so I put on the CD Derek had sent along with the pizza: H?tel Costes, Vol.
1. The eclectic mix of lounge-y electro house music curated by a French DJ named Stéphane Pompougnac paired throbbing beats with a chill vibe.
Perfect writing music. Derek’s kind gesture made me regret even more everything I’d done to cause a rift with my best friends.
I had an inspiration for my October editor’s letter and grabbed a notebook and pen to scribble with one hand while I ate my pizza with the other.
Hey, girlfriend. I’m writing this letter late at night, from my deserted office, feeling more alone than I have in a long time. I don’t feel this way because I’m by myself working late; I feel alone because I made some bad decisions that have messed up some of the relationships I care most about.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of talk about resistance: how important it is to resist a culture that disregards women, how important it is to resist anyone who disrespects the Sugar audience, how important it is to resist giving in to the people with power and money who always seem to get their way.
And I really am trying to walk that talk.
That’s why I wrote to you last month about sacrificing the advertising dollars my company would have made by collaborating with a bullying fashion designer.
That’s why I’m in the office at 11 pm right now, crafting a story on a powerful rapper who is accused of a heinous crime.
It’s also why we have included an interview with this rapper’s accuser to make sure that she’s allowed to tell her truth as well.
But resistance is hard. It’s messy and exhausting and risky—and often comes with very little support. I’m trying to have the courage to stay the course, to protect myself and you, my Sugar girls, at all times. But I recently behaved exactly opposite of everything I’m talking about.
At the last Sugar party, I asked a brilliant music artist and friend who is dating one of my closest girls to leave because his presence was unreasonably upsetting another rapper at the event.
I didn’t feel secure enough in my new job, in my music industry status, or in myself to do what I knew was the right thing, so I took the path of least resistance, and I disrespected people I love.
To make matters worse, when my friends called me to task and told me they were worried about me, I was defensive and selfish.
I’m in the office at 11 by myself writing a potentially incendiary cover story.
But the real reason I’m feeling very alone right now is because I did not have the courage to defend my friends when it counted.
This is a mea culpa to everyone as well as a public apology to my friends, who always had my back, even when I didn’t have theirs.
Your convictions mean nothing if you can’t maintain them in all areas of your life. And I will try to do better.
Love, Nikki
With that off my chest, I restarted the H?tel Costes CD, letting the chill music chase the stress from my mind so I could refocus on Bishopp’s profile.
The piece was difficult to write, the photos would be difficult to edit, and the cover lines would have to be very carefully crafted.
But nothing would stop my arrow from finding its target.