The Other Black Girl(59)
“Which agent?” Hazel asked.
“Lena Jordan.”
“I’ve been thinking about how I need to meet with agents, but I just don’t know how to find the time in between everything else,” Sophie complained. “You know?”
Even though Kimberly had yet to return to the office post-surgery, Nella gave her a sympathetic nod. She was relieved by how much their conversation had veered considerably away from Hazel’s poetry reading.
“Is this your first agent meeting?” Gina asked, her interest in the conversation renewed.
“Yep. Only took me about two years to get someone to take me seriously enough.”
“That’s the norm for you guys in editorial, isn’t it? Really, I don’t know how you all manage to hang on for so long,” said Gina. “If I hadn’t gotten promoted to assistant publicist last year, I would have totally gone to a different publishing house.”
Everyone except Hazel nodded, even though everyone except Hazel knew that the only reason Gina had been promoted so quickly was because someone at the top had died.
“I can’t believe how long it takes to move up the ladder,” Hazel said, polishing off the last of her bagel. She paused so she could finish chewing. “But really… it’s sort of case by case, right?”
“What do you mean?” Nella asked. Maybe Hazel had known that Gina’s previous boss had died peacefully at her Wagner desk. It was, after all, still the talk of the office.
“Like, it sort of depends on the assistant? Richard was telling me that exceptions are sometimes made. Sometimes. It’s not like I have my hopes up or anything,” she quickly added.
Sophie’s eyes widened. “He told you that? When?”
Nella searched the room for Richard and found him, easily, at the head of the meeting table. With his sweeping eye, his high-collared satin persimmon shirt, and faint trace of a smile, he looked more like Macbeth eyeing potential suspects rather than a supportive editor in chief. “Did he say that to you during your welcome tea?” Nella asked, equally thrown by this.
“No, no. Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you guys…” Hazel leaned forward in her seat; again, she seemed to be addressing only Nella. “I invited Richard to an event we had a couple of weeks ago for donors who’ve supported YBL, just to see if he’d be interested in donating some money. And he bit! He’ll be coming to my event tonight, too.”
“That’s great!” Sophie exclaimed, tugging at her braid. “We really need more young Black people in this industry. We were literally just talking about how weird it is that it took so long to get another Black assistant here at Wagner. Right, Gina?”
Gina grew very interested in her cuticles. “Yeah, I think I remember that conversation.”
“Like, Hazel is so smart. And you are, too, Nella,” Sophie added. She shook her head. “It just… it sucks how white it is here.” For perhaps the tenth time, she cited the op-ed that had run in BookCenter a few months ago. This time she even said the author’s full name—a new touch, Nella noticed. “Black people just really need to be given the chance. Period. Just because we don’t see them in these spaces doesn’t mean they can’t thrive here. Right?”
Gina seemed to understand why “they” had been such an improper word for Sophie to use, because she shrank deeper into her seat. Hazel eyed Sophie, looking bemused.
Amy Davidson, the head of the marketing team, saved them all. “One more minute, everyone, and then we’ll get started,” she called out. A third of the room, including Gina and Sophie, scattered to top off their coffees and grab just one or two more bagels.
“It’s really awesome that you run an organization for young Black female writers,” said Nella, looking over at Hazel. “I would have totally loved to be a part of something like that when I was in high school.”
“Thanks! A few girls from my old high school are reading tonight, so I’m extra hyped. Half of the food and drink proceeds are going to the group’s members, by the way.”
“Sweet.”
“The girls are really dope, too,” Hazel added, gazing into the distance. “And they’re so, so talented.”
“I bet.” Nella took another bite out of her bagel so she didn’t have to say anything else. It tasted a little like onion and a little like a flavor she hadn’t asked for. “And Richard is really coming tonight?”
Hazel bobbed her head and looked to the front of the room, where Richard was sitting. “You know, I thought he was pretty intense at first. But he actually can be really, really chill. I think I broke him in with all of my tea knowledge. Manny’s obsession really came in handy for once,” she joked.
“Richard is definitely a character,” Nella agreed. She looked at the front table, too, but the tall, balding man who’d been occupying the seat in front of her had returned from the coffee station, obstructing her view. She sighed, a touch of grumpiness creeping into her spine. She hadn’t intended on going to Hazel’s reading. She couldn’t bail on Owen again. But now that Nella knew Richard would be there, and that exceptions might be made for promotions, she couldn’t ignore it.
Nella made a mental note to email Lena Jordan about moving their drinks up to five thirty instead of six thirty. It wasn’t ideal—it had taken her months to pin down this meeting—but it had to be done. Besides, how awful would it look if one of Wagner’s only Black employees wasn’t supporting another’s endeavors?