The Other Black Girl(111)
“Whoever that phone belongs to has had your back since day one. Presumably,” Malaika finally said. “And you’re gonna send those photos to that person who’s been texting you. Right?”
Nella nodded. She started to stand, the red-and-black scarf Hazel had gifted her suddenly pulling uncomfortably at her eyebrows.
Malaika stood, too. “Good. Because you know that’s the right thing to do. Maybe it seems like the crazy thing to do, but what have you got to lose, right?”
“Right.” Nella’s eyes were still trained on the lights in the tunnel.
“Great! So…” Malaika pointed at Nella’s phone, which Nella was clutching tightly to her torso. “Wanna do that, like… right now?”
“I think I just want to handle this when I get home,” Nella replied. “The train is coming.”
“We have plenty of time,” said Malaika. “Here—you must be really freaked out. I can just do it for you. Pass it.”
She reached for the phone, but got Nella’s arm and a withering glance instead.
“I said I’ll handle it, Mal. I just want to do it when I get home. My head’s spinning right now, I’m tired, and I’d rather talk about something else for the rest of this trip. Let’s drop it for now. Please?”
Malaika looked hurt. “Okay, okay, sorry. I just figured…”
The arriving train rattled so loudly, Nella didn’t hear the rest.
19
October 26, 2018
Wagner Books
Eleven forty-three a.m. Still no new messages, and still no missed calls.
Nella slipped her phone into her pocket and sighed. Had she dreamed the last few months? Maybe. Maybe there was some explanation for all of this—one that was hiding in plain sight, right under her nose.
The morning was as normal as any other one. Hazel had greeted her with her usual What’s going on? when she’d first entered the office that morning, and Nella somehow managed a lukewarm greeting in return. Vera’d asked her if she could read two new manuscripts by the end of next week. And just a few minutes earlier, she’d received an email from Donald reminding her that the Jesse meeting was at noon, and that it would take place in the small conference room. “The most intimate Wagner room,” everyone always called it.
Nella pushed herself up from her desk, smoothed her Prince-purple blazer, and started the fifteen-second walk over to the conference room. She was going to be fifteen minutes early—more than early enough, since she was sure Jesse would be at least thirty minutes late. Like he’d said in his CP Time segment: I show up when I show up.
Nella was checking her phone a third time, setting her first foot in the conference room, when she was proved wrong.
There was Jesse Watson, sitting at the far end of the table with a blue fortieth-anniversary Wagner mug in his right hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. “Oh!” she exclaimed.
He looked up from his notepad and over at her, his mouth articulating words that sounded even smoother in person than they had in her headphones, and in a flash, he was moving to greet her. “You must be Nella,” he said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Um… yeah. Yes. Hi!” He hadn’t said he’d read her email and loved it, but he didn’t need to. She was starstruck: Jesse was even cuter in person than he’d been on her computer screen. He smelled good, too, like autumnal potpourri. “It is so, so nice to meet you! Thanks for taking the time to come to Wagner.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’m always traveling, and New York is one of my favorite places.”
Nella looked around at the empty seats as Jesse sat back down. Seeing her hesitation, he gestured at the one closest to him. “Have a seat?”
She smiled. “Thanks. I wish I could,” she apologized, picking a seat three chairs down, “but I think my bosses will want those seats.”
Fuck that. White people have been arriving late to the party for centuries, and they still get priority seats.
But Jesse didn’t say this. He just shrugged. “Oh. Got it.”
“And you know how it is: probably better for us Black folk to spread out. Be evenly distributed, you know what I mean?”
She was sure she’d used the perfect amount of sarcasm, had verbally wink-wink-nudge-nudged without actually wink-wink-nudge-nudging. But Jesse was staring at her like she’d suggested they blow up the entire building… while they were still in it.
Nella swallowed, suddenly aware of the tightening in her throat and the dryness on her tongue. She’d felt more at ease speaking to Richard about the notes than she did at this very moment.
Richard.
Just the thought of his name stripped away any chance of her speaking again. Fortuitously, Vera whirled into the room at exactly that moment, pink-cheeked and positively cheery. “Mr. Watson! You’ve arrived! Vera Parini. I hope you found us okay. Can we get you any coffee? Tea? Water?” With this last question, she regarded Nella.
“I’m good, thank you,” Jesse said, shaking the hand she had stuck in his face. “Donald beat you to it.”
“Great guy, isn’t he?” Vera asked.
“Yep. He’s a hoot, too.”
“A riot,” said Richard, who’d quietly entered the room without Nella noticing. She wrapped her arms around herself, a chill burrowing into her bones as he and Jesse greeted one another. The feeling lessened only when Amy and her new high school intern filed in next. Nella couldn’t remember his name, but he appeared to have a drop of something nonwhite in him, which was why—she imagined—he’d been invited to this high-profile meeting.