Black Buck(49)

“Nah, man. It’s not that. It’s worse. Some girl—hol’ up.”

My phone was ringing. Rhett. He never called this early in the morning.

“Yo, I gotta take this. I’ll be back.”

“Aight, don’ forget.”

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Buck. How are you?” He sounded anxious.

“I’m okay, Rhett. How’re you? I saw the news, man. You’re about to be on Rise and Shine, America, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “About that. You’ve spoken with an assistant or two before, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied, my heart fucking racing. Was someone trying to implicate me in this? Thinking I was going to faint, I walked to the park and sat down on a swing too small for my ass.

“Great, that’s good. Listen, Buck. This is going to sound weird, but you know we’re at war, right?”

“Of course, Rhett. I know.”

“And you know we gotta do whatever we can, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, unsure.

“Exactly. And they just fired their first shot this morning. ABC, NBC, Fox, MSNBC, CNN, all of them. They’re coming down hard and trying to make an example out of us.”

“But why would they do that? What have we ever done?”

“It’s like I said yesterday. We were winning too much. We represent the future, and people are afraid of the future, so they do all they can to maintain the status quo. And now it’s time for us to hit back. Starting with going on Rise and Shine, America and letting the world know who we are instead of having others tell them.”

“Hell yeah,” I said, swinging back and forth, shaking the rickety swing set.

“And this is where you come in,” he said. “I need you to go home, change into something nice, and take an Uber to Times Square Studios. I’ll pay for it.”

I fell off the swing and landed on my face, dropping the phone onto the rubber playground tiles before scrambling for it.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yeah. But what’s this all about, Rhett?”

“It’s time for us to hit back, Buck. You and I. We’re going to go on Rise and Shine, America. Together. I’ll tell you why when you get here. Now hurry.”



* * *





Morning traffic in Manhattan was slower than loading porn with dial-up in the nineties. The Uber driver with skin the color of midnight and eyes as yellow as egg yolks kept looking at me in his rearview mirror.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you somebody?”

Good question.

“Nah.” I looked down at my white short-sleeved button-up with two pens in the front pocket, black slacks with a black belt, and black leather shoes to match.

“Oh,” he said, disappointed. “It is just that you look like somebody, you know? You have that look.”

“Sorry to let you down, man,” I replied, twisting in my seat. My phone vibrated. Rhett.

Where are you Buck? Starting in 15. Hurry!

There was a huge television screen on the building with the words RISE AND SHINE, AMERICA plastered on it, headlines flashing on the banners below. “Sumwun CEO to speak.” “Sumwun got some explainin’ to do.” “Tensions rise in Libya.”

The driver turned around before I hopped out.

“Hey,” he said, exposing teeth that matched the color of his eyes. “You are going to be somebody, I know it.”

“Thanks, man,” I said, showing him the five-star rating on my phone. “I appreciate it.”

After arriving on the second floor, I saw an audience full of white women and Sandra Stork, the beautiful tall Black TV host Ma loved. A group of lights and cameras faced windows looking out on Times Square.

“Thank God,” Rhett said, hugging me. “You, uh”—he looked me up and down—“sort of look like a Mormon, Buck. I don’t know if that’s the look we want. But maybe it is. Friendly and harmless.” Rhett wore a sharp beige suit with a white button-up and light-brown dress shoes.

“Thanks, I think. So what’s going on?”

“You and I are about to go on national television to hit back, that’s what,” he said, pointing to the cameras. “Just be yourself, answer questions as they come, and don’t, I repeat, don’t get defensive. We have nothing to hide.”

“Okay, but why am I here with you? Why not Chris, Clyde, or someone else?”

He shook his head. “No, we all went through that already. Everyone thinks it’s best for you to come on with me. For optics, you know?”

“Optics?”

“Yeah, optics, you know?” he said, smiling as he play-punched my shoulder.

“No, I don’t know, Rhett. What do you mean?”

“Listen, Buck. You know I love you like a brother. Everyone thought it’d be good to have a younger member of the sales team with me who won’t come off as a holier-than-thou white frat bro, you know?”

It took me a second, but I got it. Donesha was young and Black. I was young and Black. Rhett, Clyde, Chris, and everyone else on the team were white, which, I guess, meant they weren’t optimal for optics.