41. Chapter Forty-One
Chapter 41
Leslie
C andles flickered on the table as the eight of us broke off into side conversations. Most centered on two topics: Ruben’s restaurant empire—and his latest prodigy in Chef Risto (as Ruben insisted on calling him)—or the networks scrambling to save face.
Every media conglomerate had released press statements, both for and against weight clauses for on-air talent. Some claimed the practice simply responded to studies showing viewers preferred trim personalities. It was a public service to provide healthy role models whose weight complied with government guidelines. Others admitted the practice might be antiquated and committed to investigating how to eliminate or ease the requirements. No comment issued from NewsOne, about me specifically or their talent policies.
Kaelen Reed had gone radio silent after texting me, nice try . But he couldn’t continue to ignore the fervor demanding that he address what happened. His show sat at the epicenter of what some called Earthquake Leslie. Unflattering cartoons had surfaced. Most featured some version of a porked-out me with a pig snout, jumping up and down to ripple the earth’s surface while network logos bounced in the air like rubber balls. My favorite headline: “Allen feasts on networks.”
Old me would have turtled in shame, as my mother must be doing. She’d left me no less than sixteen messages, and I didn’t need to listen to a single one to sense her palpable horror. My dad simply texted: That’s my girl, with a heart eyes emoji.
How did those two ever marry? They were so different. I guessed it was lucky for me, though. Mom’s tenacity with Dad’s humanity produced the perfect combination for the career I loved.
“Leslie?” Rebecca asked.
“Hmm?” All eyes at the table were on me. “What’d I miss?”
“We’re just wondering if you’re going to accept any of the network interview requests.”
I slumped back in my chair. “I was holding out for NewsOne. Figured I should give them a shot before my job there is officially gone.”
Risto scratched his beard. “Hon, you never answered their warning in writing. Doesn’t that end things?”
He wasn’t wrong, unless my protest sign outside their studio window counted.
“The way I see it, they can forever appear like the bigoted cowards they are or make peace with me and save face. It’s their choice.”
“Have you sent that request to them?” Barbara asked.
“No, I just thought of it right now. It’s a great idea, don’t you think? A one-on-one interview with me and Kaelen Reed. We’d hash it out in a TV special. If it went well, I might even get rehired.”
Barbara winced. “You don’t honestly want to work there, do you?”
“Yeah, I kinda do.” I smiled.
Rebecca and Barbara exchanged glances, but it was Ruben’s wife, Anita, who spoke next.
“You deserve your own show.”
I laughed, reaching for my wine. “Sure, I can have a nightly interview program. I’ll grill notable people, and we’ll call it The Hot Seat . Reed will be my first victim.”
“I’d watch that,” Sebastian said.
“Me too.” Ruben raised his glass.
“Let’s pitch it!” Rebecca clapped merrily, her eyes aglow. I knew that look. It always happened before trouble.
Barbara shrugged in approval. A “why the hell not?” mutiny.
“To The Hot Seat !” Anita toasted.
Glasses clinked, and suddenly I felt like I was in a frying pan myself.
I caught Risto’s eye from the far head of the table opposite me.
He raised his glass. “?Suena en grande!”
Dream big.
It didn’t take long for the “hot seat” idea to sprout roots and embed itself into my psyche. Maybe I was thinking too small. If I went crawling back to NewsOne, I’d forever be battling with Reed. A petty, vindictive man with way more clout than I had.
Pitching the idea to rival networks would give me a fresh start at a new home. One far away from a huge asswipe who likely had no use for me now that he no longer wanted in my pants. I crafted a proposal that included two pages of potential topics with three guests each. It would cover a year of weekly shows, not counting the ripped-from-the-headlines themes that might arise and demand attention. Ideally, my show would air opposite Kaelen’s Saturday episode but tape during the week so I’d have weekends free. The more I refined the pitch, the more I imagined myself as a host, grilling big names and taking no prisoners.
But first, I had to find a network home.
Viraj worked his magic and got me interviews at three cable networks and one major broadcaster that hoped to replenish a recent talent drain in its news division. After several rounds of meetings, two offered contracts.
Then my phone rang, the caller speaking before I could.
“It’s Maureen from NewsOne. Do you have a moment? I’m here with Jay and Kaelen.”
The producer, the lawyer, and the pig-headed blowhard.
They must have gotten wind of my meetings.
While my instinct was to hang up, curiosity got the better of me.
“Never thought I’d hear from you again,” I said.
“Yeah, well, we never expected you to amass an army of protesters and fuck over the people who gave you a chance,” Kaelen snapped.
“Kaelen, please,” Maureen said.
“If you recall, you were the ones who rejected me. You have it backwa—”
“Actually,” Jay interrupted. “If you look at the contract language, we ‘may’ dismiss you for cause. We never officially did. That means you are still bound by the terms of the deal you signed.”
Could that be right? No. Not at all. My heart pounded so forcefully I got light-headed. Barbara and I checked the agreement. Carefully. No, they were trying to pull a fast one now that the competition was sniffing around. I held my cell phone against my chest while I composed myself.
“Allen? Still there?” Jay asked.
“For the moment, but you’re really wasting everyone’s time. You’ve conveniently forgotten the dismissal letter. The one you gave me ordering me to lose weight? Remember that?”
“Jay, what’s she talking about?” Maureen asked.
“According to that, our relationship ended 48 hours after our meeting,” I said.
“Only if you replied in writing, which you never did,” Jay replied, though he sounded unsure. The sounds of paper shuffling replaced the conversation as they frantically searched the pages of my contract, looking for answers. Then muffled voices escalated before a shout and a door slam.
Radio theater at its finest.
“Hello?” I said.
“Kaelen left,” Maureen said. “Listen, Allen. We admit we didn’t do right by you. This whole thing got blown up way bigger than it had to. But now there’s this new show you’ve been shopping around. We’d love for you to come in for a conversation. If it’s as good as the rumors suggest, we’d like you to consider NewsOne.”
They had to be kidding. They expected me to trust them after everything that happened? After they just tried to trick me into thinking I was still under contract? Did they forget what a major dick Kaelen had been to me since then? He posted nasty comments about me on social media, both on his own feed and others. Plus, Kaelen’s show aired Saturday nights. They didn’t even have a spot in the lineup.
Holy shit.
That’s why Kaelen left .
They were planning to offer me his Saturday time slot.
Given what happened and how they treated me, I had no intention of going back. But I could give them an incredible program differently.
“Before I entertain your ask, I want a one-on-one interview with Reed. Live. He has to face this head-on. It’ll be good for both of us and go a long way to repairing his reputation—”
“Done.”
“What?” flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. I was authorized to offer this should it come up.”
“Then I look forward to clearing the air. In prime time.”
It took a few weeks to arrange my TV special with Kaelen. I demanded a clean set, two chairs facing each other equally. We were long past the host/guest bullshit. I was his peer and equal, so the optics should reflect that. He’d kicked and screamed, but the network caved. Especially since the show was being billed as a Kaelen Reed special event.
My goal for the episode ran deeper than getting him to apologize. I wanted to understand what made him tick. Something from his background had triggered his deep loathing for fatness. I dressed in jeans and a cute top, grabbed my bag, and headed out to the neighborhood where he grew up: Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. It was an immigrant mecca now, known as Brooklyn’s Little Italy. With large Italian and Jewish populations when Reed was a kid.
I’d scheduled a meeting with the principal at his elementary school. Hopefully, talking to staff there would give me some clues about who Reed had been as a child.
I hopped on the D train and took the subway to the 20th Avenue station in Brooklyn. I then walked the remaining five blocks to Public School 348. The secretary signed me in and handed me a visitor lanyard before ushering me to meet Principal Athena Woods. She’d worked in the district for 32 years, rising from a teacher to hold her current post for 12 years.
I sat in a wooden captain’s chair after shaking her hand. “Thanks for seeing me today.”
She chuckled. “It’s not every day a face from television knocks on your door. I presume you’re here about Kaelen?”
“Yes. I’m trying to learn more about him as a child.”
“He’s a favorite son around here. A smart child who became a great man. Mr. Reed is here regularly, talking to the kids and encouraging them to be kind to each other—and follow their dreams.” Principal Woods leaned forward in her chair, and I got the overwhelming sense that Reed had a powerful ally in her.
Not at all what I expected.
Kaelen’s visits must be unannounced, surprising given what a media hound he was. Why wouldn’t he plaster the newsroom with pictures of him posing with neighborhood children? Sure, they came by the studio. But I’d seen no photo-ops, articles, or learned any reasons for their visits.
“The school obviously meant a lot to him.”
“He was such a sensitive child. We do our best to stop the bullies, but kids always find a way.”
Sounded like Kaelen’s bullying must have started early.
“Do you remember what the issue was? What made Kaelen bully the other kids?”
Principal Woods leveled me with her deep brown eyes. “Kaelen would never and has never been a bully. He was the target. The victim.”
“My apologies. Given my adult interactions with him, I just assumed…”
She sighed, lowering her voice. “Kaelen was a chubby child. The kids picked on him for being different, especially because the Reeds were only one of two Black families here at the time.”
A pang of sorrow seeped into my bones, thinking of little Kaelen. Wanting so badly to be like everyone else while the other children only saw the color of his skin. My elementary school had a lot of biracial children, as well as Hispanic and Chinese children. Sounded like Kaelen could have benefited from a more diverse learning environment than the one he had here.
“If his past was so painful here, why does he come back?”
“Oh, that’s easy—Mr. Marinelli.”
Principal Woods explained how a gym teacher took young Kaelen under his wing. The man spent hours with Kaelen every day after school, getting the child into better physical shape. Running laps around the gym. Shooting baskets in the yard, doing sit-ups and push-ups. By the end of his elementary school career, Kaelen was so strong, he tried out—and made—the basketball teams in junior high and high school.
“He comes every year for the physical fitness tests we hold. He cheers the kids on and has even helped a few kids in his private time, like Mr. Marinelli did for him. When his star rose and his schedule made it difficult to make time, Kaelen began sponsoring scholarships to a local gym to help overweight and obese children get more physically fit.”
It jarred me to hear those “o” words spoken so freely. There were so many lies behind the concepts of “overweight” and “obesity,” but kids had zero chance to avoid them.
The principal beamed with pride, while I had traumatic flashbacks to my elementary school physical fitness tests. They created a pecking order, with me always at the bottom. Too tired and weak to participate fully, my scores were habitually low. Now I knew why. My lack of calories denied me the energy needed to run, play, and adopt a healthy love of movement. With Dot’s help, that was one more change I’d made for the better.
When I moved now, it was because I enjoyed it, and it made me feel good. I relished the strength and endurance of my muscles, marveling at how far I could walk and how much better I slept. Ironically, I was more active in my current body than I ever was at lower weights. Encouraging movement was admirable. But forcing kids to move as a proxy for losing weight fueled resentment for exercise by forever associating it with not being good enough as they were. Movement for the sake of health was best, regardless of the impact on the scale. I doubt that was the approach they took with the children.
It was great that Kaelen was encouraging kids to be active, but I didn’t have to wonder at the underlying message. In his world, the purpose of moving was to lose weight, avoid shame, and become like everyone else. Programs like this reinforced the notion that there was only one way to be, and that was as thin as possible. What started out as a well-intentioned gesture had likely developed into an unhealthy obsession with thinness that transformed Kaelen into a bully himself.
To me.
To Victoria, and to everyone who didn’t fit into his narrow ideal.
I thanked the principal for her time and headed home, ideas zinging around my brain.
When the time came for my battle with Mr. Reed, I’d be ready.