out of ten
are,
especially the men in this business!” Janet said. “Over the last two years I’ve seen more drama at this station than on a
Jerry Springer
marathon.”
“But you don’t even know me. How could you—”
At that moment her phone rang.
“Yes, sir, he just walked in. I’ll escort him down to the studio myself. Bye.” Janet came from behind her desk and began walking toward the back offices.
“This way, Mr. Payne.”
“Don’t be so formal. You can call me Julian,” I said as I followed a few feet behind her.
“‘Mr. Payne’ will do for now. I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”
On the way to see Mr. Harris, we passed by the studio where Terri was doing her spot. Our eyes met through the soundproof window. I didn’t want to appear too interested, so I tried to look away, but I couldn’t, and neither could she. I was about to wink, but decided not to. It seemed too childish. So I did what came naturally. I smiled. Once I passed the window I turned around to see where Janet had gone. She was already down the hall watching me watch Terri. When I caught up to her she directed me down a narrow corridor to a corner office.
“Thank you, Janet Jackson.”
“You’re quite welcome,
Tito
!”
As I was about to head down the corridor, Janet cleared her throat, loudly.
“Is there something else you wanna say, Ms. Jackson?”
“I know this is none of my business, and you were right, I don’t know you from Adam.” She had one hand on her hip. “But I do know Terri and she’s a very special person. Not only is she my mentor, I consider her to be a friend.”
“And you said that to say … ?”
“If you ever hurt her, I’ll make your life a living hell! Have a nice day.” Then she strutted back to her desk.
I stood there for a second thinking to myself,
Did I miss something?
But I quickly shrugged it off and refocused on my meeting with Mr. Harris. I wanted to find out if his attitude had changed since we signed the contract. Sometimes white folkswill kiss your ass to get you to sign on the dotted line, but once you do, they show their true colors. I tried to be optimistic as I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a smooth masculine voice said.
When I entered, Mr. Harris was seated in a high-back leather chair facing away from me.
“Hello, Mr. Harris. Sorry I’m late.”
“Well, if you paid more attention to the time and less to Dr. Ross’s ass in that tight skirt you wouldn’t be so late. I saw you staring at her on the security camera!”
“Excuse me?”
“Surprise!” He spun around in the chair and revealed himself. It was my producer Mitch from WTLK. “Whassup, you outspoken, talented, and arrogant son of a bitch?”
“Mitch! What the hell you doin’ here!”
“I told you I was workin’ on a big deal. Well, this is it!”
“Man, this is too good to be true, the Green Hornet and Kato in Houston, Texas. Aw, shit, we can’t lose now!” I rushed over and put him in a bear hug.
“Just remember, I’m the Green Hornet and you’re Kato! Now let me go, boy!”
“I guess these white folks aren’t all bad after all,” I said. “Check out this studio!”
The room was laid out with stylish furnishings, high-back leather chairs, solid oak countertops, and a console that was state of the art.
“If you think that’s something”—Mitch opened the blinds—“check out this view.”
The studio was located in the corner of the building, which provided views in two directions through windows that extended from the floor to the ceiling. On one side was the overcrowded 610 freeway. On the other was Westheimer Road where the Galleria mall was located. I could read the Neiman Marcus and Lord & Taylor signs as if they were right in front of me.
“WTLK never had a view like this.”
“WTLK didn’t have a view, period. Didn’t have a microphone that worked or a toilet that flushed, either.” Mitch laughed. “I’m just glad I can stop sticking those damned
are,
especially the men in this business!” Janet said. “Over the last two years I’ve seen more drama at this station than on a
Jerry Springer
marathon.”
“But you don’t even know me. How could you—”
At that moment her phone rang.
“Yes, sir, he just walked in. I’ll escort him down to the studio myself. Bye.” Janet came from behind her desk and began walking toward the back offices.
“This way, Mr. Payne.”
“Don’t be so formal. You can call me Julian,” I said as I followed a few feet behind her.
“‘Mr. Payne’ will do for now. I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”
On the way to see Mr. Harris, we passed by the studio where Terri was doing her spot. Our eyes met through the soundproof window. I didn’t want to appear too interested, so I tried to look away, but I couldn’t, and neither could she. I was about to wink, but decided not to. It seemed too childish. So I did what came naturally. I smiled. Once I passed the window I turned around to see where Janet had gone. She was already down the hall watching me watch Terri. When I caught up to her she directed me down a narrow corridor to a corner office.
“Thank you, Janet Jackson.”
“You’re quite welcome,
Tito
!”
As I was about to head down the corridor, Janet cleared her throat, loudly.
“Is there something else you wanna say, Ms. Jackson?”
“I know this is none of my business, and you were right, I don’t know you from Adam.” She had one hand on her hip. “But I do know Terri and she’s a very special person. Not only is she my mentor, I consider her to be a friend.”
“And you said that to say … ?”
“If you ever hurt her, I’ll make your life a living hell! Have a nice day.” Then she strutted back to her desk.
I stood there for a second thinking to myself,
Did I miss something?
But I quickly shrugged it off and refocused on my meeting with Mr. Harris. I wanted to find out if his attitude had changed since we signed the contract. Sometimes white folkswill kiss your ass to get you to sign on the dotted line, but once you do, they show their true colors. I tried to be optimistic as I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a smooth masculine voice said.
When I entered, Mr. Harris was seated in a high-back leather chair facing away from me.
“Hello, Mr. Harris. Sorry I’m late.”
“Well, if you paid more attention to the time and less to Dr. Ross’s ass in that tight skirt you wouldn’t be so late. I saw you staring at her on the security camera!”
“Excuse me?”
“Surprise!” He spun around in the chair and revealed himself. It was my producer Mitch from WTLK. “Whassup, you outspoken, talented, and arrogant son of a bitch?”
“Mitch! What the hell you doin’ here!”
“I told you I was workin’ on a big deal. Well, this is it!”
“Man, this is too good to be true, the Green Hornet and Kato in Houston, Texas. Aw, shit, we can’t lose now!” I rushed over and put him in a bear hug.
“Just remember, I’m the Green Hornet and you’re Kato! Now let me go, boy!”
“I guess these white folks aren’t all bad after all,” I said. “Check out this studio!”
The room was laid out with stylish furnishings, high-back leather chairs, solid oak countertops, and a console that was state of the art.
“If you think that’s something”—Mitch opened the blinds—“check out this view.”
The studio was located in the corner of the building, which provided views in two directions through windows that extended from the floor to the ceiling. On one side was the overcrowded 610 freeway. On the other was Westheimer Road where the Galleria mall was located. I could read the Neiman Marcus and Lord & Taylor signs as if they were right in front of me.
“WTLK never had a view like this.”
“WTLK didn’t have a view, period. Didn’t have a microphone that worked or a toilet that flushed, either.” Mitch laughed. “I’m just glad I can stop sticking those damned
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