“What was I supposed to do?” I ask, already knowing her answer.
“Say yes. Shit, while we’re talking, if you still need an interview with the son, I’ll gladly do the damn thing for you with his daddy,” she says, studying his picture with a smile on her face.
“Trust, if it were under different circumstances, I wouldn’t think twice about saying yes to him, but I can’t go out like that,” I say, admitting my interest and Sheena huffs in response, like she’s put off by my statement.
“Go out like what? You think those critically acclaimed journalists got to where they are by being nice and following the rules?” She shakes her head, answering her own question before continuing. “No. The OGs had to get in the field and get their hands dirty. If I was at the game, I would’ve at the very least taken Mr. Winston up on his offer and at the most mollywhopped the bitch who pushed you in the back... allegedly.”
She pauses, throwing up air quotes when she says allegedly, to mock my recollection of how I got pushed into Vaughn Winston, and we both laugh it off even though I know she’s dead serious. It’s a running joke atThe Daily, but we all know Sheena’s hands and mouth are just as potent as her pen game. Most times, she uses all three for her benefit, but then there’re times when she throws all that out the window and acts without hesitation. She’s never been fired because of it, but after a few slip-ups, she went from writing front page articles daily to editing the weekly obituaries. So now I have to be the constant voice of reason between us.
“If I have to get my hands dirty for a story, then I don’t want it,” I say and she scoffs.
“Obviously. It’s a damn shame too because you’ve got talent.” She flips through my most recent portfolio until she finds what she’s looking for. It’s a picture I took last summer at Highland Park during a streetball tournament. The original shot is in full color and has a stark contrast from one side of the photo to the other, depicting the crowd’s obvious clothing choices, giving the photo an ombre effect.
The picture goes from a sea of green of the Bedford Homes residents to the stark black and white associated with the D-Ville Projects. The message in the photo was clear and already there. I just emphasized it. Digitally filtering out all of the colors outside of the whites, blacks, grays, and greens in a way that makesthe imagery more impactful. “You think somebody will see this and think, ‘Oh, I wonder who she had to fuck to get this shot?’” Sheena asks, still holding up the photo like I’m seeing it for the first time, and I can’t deny her logic.
“No.”
“Exactly. People always like to come out of their mouths about a woman sleeping her way to the top, but talent is talent, Cori, and a good dick down doesn’t change that.”
She gives me a look to emphasize her point, then puts the picture back in its place and begins packing up her work area well before our five o’clock stopping point.
“Where are you going?” I ask, checking the time again, and she slows down long enough to answer with a sly smile.
“We’re going to find Mr. Quid Pro Quo. I figure we can catch him on his way home from work, set up another run in, and since you ain’t have no smoke for ol’ girl at the game, I’ll gladly be the one to push you into his path again.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?” I ask, regretting I even mentioned that lady at the game.
“Absolutely not. Especially if you point her out where I can see.”
“We don’t even know where he lives,” I say, trying to discourage Sheena’s impulsive plan with a logical obstacle, or at least slow it down, but she immediately comes up with an answer.
“Use your reporter brain, Cori. Jaylen plays for Douglasville Prep, right? All we have to do is ride through Highland Park or D-Ville and ask…”
Before she can finish laying out her plan, our phones ping simultaneously with a message from our boss. When I look down at the screen, I can already feel Sheena smiling my way as I read the words that make her plan more feasible.
“See how I just manifested that? It was quick too,” she says, holding up her phone as proof, like I didn’t just receive the same message. Apparently, Jaylen Winston’s set to make an announcement in the next hour, and it’s my job to report it, putting me and his father in the same proximity sooner than I expect.
When we make it to Douglasville Prep, there’s a good number of people gathered around the gymnasium that has the usual setup for these types of announcements, and Jaylen’s in the center of it all, sitting at the table with a woman beside him.
“Is that Jaylen’s mom? She’s cute and all, but she’s got a few years on her,” Sheena whispers, sizing the woman up before I can tell her who she actually is. According to everything I read in my deep dive, Jaylen’s mother is not in the picture and the woman sitting with him today is his grandmother on his father’s side.
“Will you stop?” I mumble out of the side of my mouth. “That’s his grandmother.”
“Oh, I was about to say...”
Sheena doesn’t finish the thought and lets her words trail off after I give her a warning look, willing her to shut the hell up or at least lower her voice. It’s one thing for her to unabashedly share her thoughts with me in private, but doing it in public like this is getting tired.
Before the announcement is set to start, the MC runs down a list of Jaylen’s accolades that has everyone in the room snapping their fingers in appreciation, clapping, or cheering in some kind of way. There are even a few guys who call out DP in a low tone loud enough to carry across the room as she hands Jaylen the mic. When he takes a moment to scan the room with a smile, everyone around us gets choked up, and he soaks it all in before looking over the selection of hats in front of him. He dances his hand over the CFU hat, looking at his grandmother, thenthe one beside it, teasing her and everyone in the room before announcing his decision.
“After careful consideration, I’ve decided to follow my homie Big Kov to Crescent Falls U,” he says, grabbing the hat to pull down on his head, and I get caught in the moment just like everyone else. Flashes fill the room and snap me out of it, reminding me what I’m here for. So, I move to get a few shots for my article as Jaylen poses for the camera and hugs his grandmother. When she pulls him in tighter to murmur something in his ear, he nods, and the moment seems too personal for us onlookers. Especially when his dad joins in the hug and stares up at the ceiling whispering a few words of his own.
“Whew, they got me choked up in here,” Sheena blows out, fanning herself as the family breaks away from their embrace, recovering from the emotional moment. They’re all smiles again, and when I take my last picture, Vaughn Winston’s smile lands on me.
“If I could have everyone’s attention,” the MC says, trying to get her voice to carry over the crowded room now that she doesn’t have the microphone. “This concludes the press conference, but Jaylen will stay for questions and pictures over to the left side of the room.”
“So are you going over there… or over there?” Sheena asks, nodding her head to the line then back in Vaughn’s direction, like his offer should still be an option now that I can wait in line for an interview like everyone else.
“I’ll be over here,” I say, walking to the left side of the room, and she follows me, grumbling about manifesting and missed chances the whole way.
