The Other Black Girl(20)
Nella did, of course. She and Malaika had text-dissected it to death immediately after they’d each seen it, wondering about the Black people who’d played a part in making the commercial happen. It was highly likely that there weren’t any Black decision-makers at Pepsi, which explained its inception. But what about the Black people who hadn’t been in the drawing room, but had been a part of getting the commercial made? That chance Black person who’d maybe helped find the shooting site, or held a camera, or styled some hair? Surely some Black people had to have been nearby; some might have even watched the ad bloom from a germ of an idea into a full-fledged campaign. Had something felt a bit wrong, a bit off to the hypothetical Black camera guy as he watched Kendall Jenner rip off her wig through the lens? Or had he been pummeled so frequently by the industry that he hadn’t seen anything wrong with it?
Nella and Malaika couldn’t decide which was worse: knowing and not acting on it, or not knowing at all. But Malaika’s own position was that she would have kept quiet. If the pay was good enough—and it was—she didn’t see the point in blowing up her own spot. It was the twenty-first century, after all. If white people couldn’t navigate politically correct waters on their own, that was their own problem.
Nella had sent a row of side-eye emojis to Malaika in response to this, and nothing more. She hadn’t yet found herself in such a situation at Wagner, one in which she had to choose between going along with the machine or sticking a foot in its gears.
Not until now.
Hazel was carefully studying Nella, clearly trying to decipher whether she would voice the apprehension that was written all over her face. When she didn’t, Hazel slowly eased up out of her seat. But before she went to dispose of her trash, she leaned forward and placed a fist on the table between them. She didn’t bang on it as she had before, but the agita from earlier had returned to her timbre. “I know it’s scary. But remember your thesis? Just think about it. You know as well as I do how hard it is for a Black female writer to find a Black female editor in this industry. And how special it is when it happens. How else are we going to make that happen again? We have to make it easier for Black people who decide they want to work in publishing after us, right?
“Right?” she repeated when Nella didn’t part her lips soon enough.
Nella nodded fervently. “Yes! Yes. Right.”
“We need to break down some of these barriers for them,” Hazel declared.
Nella stood. She felt energized; she felt liberated. She felt ready to go to a rally—or, ready, at least, to grow some Black-bone. “You’re so right, Hazel!”
“Damn straight! That’s what I like to hear, sis.” Hazel gave Nella a hug no longer than the length of a dap before grabbing her things. “Hey, this was so fun! Can we do this again soon?”
Nella nodded, prepared to joke that if they got lunch too many times, their white coworkers might start to worry. But Hazel was already several feet ahead of her, too far away to hear her joke, so she swallowed it whole.
5
August 28, 2018
Nella held the cup up to the light for the third time and turned it around. It didn’t feel quite right, so she set it down and added a pinch more Sugar in the Raw before shaking in two and a half drops of almond milk.
She was contemplating whether that half drop was suitable when Shannon from publicity entered the kitchen, an empty Pyrex container in hand. She eyed Nella with the same wariness Nella was using on the cup.
“You’re working entirely too hard for this time of the summer,” Shannon observed on her way to the sink. “You don’t have an author coming in now, do you?”
“I do.”
“Rude. It’s the last week of August! Doesn’t Vera normally go to her vacation home in—where is it?”
“Nantucket,” Nella said, unflappably focused. “But she drove back to the city last night. Cut her trip short.”
Shannon let out a low whistle. “Vera did that? Wait,” she said suddenly, seeming to finally notice that Nella hadn’t once looked up from her task. “Are those ice cubes in there?”
“They are indeed.”
“Which means that drink is for…?”
“Yep. It’s for Colin Franklin.”
The sound of glass striking metal finally broke Nella’s intense concentration. Shannon had blanched and she was peering in the direction of the elevator bank as though Colin himself might suddenly appear. “Oh. Shoot. Today is Tuesday,” she whispered, turning on her heel and walking in the other direction. “I completely forgot he was coming in. Seriously, who comes in the last week of August?! If he asks—”
“You’re in meetings all day.”
“You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nella, envious she couldn’t proffer the same excuse. With a sigh, she opened the Ziploc bag Colin had asked her to hold on to at the beginning of the year and poured its mysterious contents on top of the coffee. She needed to keep her spirits up, but it was hard as she watched the black powder dissolve into the liquid, turning everything an unseemly shade of gray. Colin was due any moment now, and she could already feel Shartricia’s presence lurking nearby, watching, waiting to see if Nella was going to save her.
Colin and Vera were giggling at something on Vera’s phone when Nella entered Vera’s office five minutes later. She set the coffee down in front of Colin, hand-crushed ice cubes and all.