Sell Out

Chapter 1

Shit! It's March already. When did that happen?" I raged to the messy calendar on my desk.

I worked in a cutthroat environment with a bunch of thieves. People pilfered stories, leads, sources, pictures, you name it. This was not a job for the fainthearted. Being a news reporter was nerve wracking enough, and when you added my two strikes, African-American and female, to some I was a walking two-time loser. One more strike and I'd be on welfare. I didn't care what other people thought, though. I was a damn good reporter.

Channel 5 placed fifth and sixth in the network ratings the last two years consecutively. My boss, Nate, was putting mad pressure on all of us to get the scoop of the year. He wanted to win, or at the very least beat Channel 9 in the news category at the Emmys this year. His parting words to all of us were, Beg, borrow or steal one if you have to. Just don't come back here without a story!

I've been at Channel 5 for two years, first as a freelance journalist, then as an on-air-field reporter. I loved being in the trenches digging up dirt on people. Most people relished the idea of being important, especially if a camera was jammed under their noses. And that's usually when I got the most information.

Once, I was at the scene of a quaint holiness church in South Central Los Angeles. Apparently, Standing by the River Church of God was the victim of an arson fire. It was the latest victim in a string of small conflagrations concentrated in this primary Latino and African American neighborhood. Some said the fires were reminiscent of church burnings in the South during the mid-1960s. I was hyped (got to keep those ratings up!) and looking forward to confronting the Aryan Nation and whoever else caused the little church to go up in flames. I rushed to the scene.

An indignant older man vented to no one in particular, How could someone destroy God's house? he tottered away on his walker.

This don't make no sense. This ain't Selma or Little Rock. This is Los Angeles. Another voice yelled out. We should march down Normandie Avenue!

Yeah! Three voices and three fists were thrust into the air. I'm callin’ Jesse!

I milled about the crowd listening to angry words and watching people cry and fall out. Ambivalence muffled the disgruntled voices in front of me. It was just like all of the other assaults on the Black community. I wasn't sure why today's event elicited so much drama. All of those people who were yelling and screaming weren't going to do a damn thing, but go home and talk shit about what they would've done had they caught the perps.

I hung out a little while longer, waiting for a more credible person to talk to. My cameraman, Todd Crawford, hated when I wasted time like that. I didn’t care and as a white male, he couldn’t begin to know how it felt to flick on the six o’clock news and see some ignorant brother or sister going off. At last, a composed woman stood amidst the melee.

Excuse me, I'm Tanya Leslie, Channel 5 news, would you mind telling us what happened to the Standing by the River Church of God here? I positioned my mic just below her chin.

You Miss Tanya, ain’t cha’, she hugged me tightly. I watches you ev'ry nite. Oh lord, I thought. The older woman squeezed me again. Untangling myself, I said, 'thank you' as graciously as I could. Older African Americans were notorious for inappropriate demonstrations of pride. So, do you know what caused the church to burn?

Is that camera on? she pointed to Todd's Panasonic.

As a matter of fact it is.

She patted the folds of her yellow A-line dress. Hello, my name is Miss Katydid and I used ta' be the Sunday school teacher at this here church, Standing by the River. She tugged on the belt around her waist and patted her hair. I could smell the heat from the pressing comb used to straighten her hair that morning. Miss Katydid smiled brightly.

Uh, Miss Katydid, do you know what caused the fire? I prodded her along.

Cain’t say that I do but the house of the Lawd was only burnt a lil bit. To God be the glory. You really are pretty in person, not like that other gal you work with.

Thanks, I stifled my giggle at her dis of Latrece Stanton. Any ideas who would want to interrupt religious services?

None other but the devil and that’s the truth.

Okay, I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Miss Katydid tugged on her ear. I probably shouldn’t say what I’m ‘bout to say but to be truthful, me and some of them other church folk thinks that the owner probably did it. She said confidentially. The plumbin' was bad, some of the pews was broke. He never come ‘round to fix nuthin'. She pressed a peppermint spiral candy mint into my palm.

That remark raised my eyebrows. So you believe the owner is trying to get insurance money?

Like I said, I cain't say for sho, but- she winked and let me draw my own conclusions. It's a nice church. Folks friendly. Been here 'bout ten years. Pastor Alfonso Lewis, he do a good job.

The smell of cigarettes and beer bottles interrupted us. Morning, Ms. Leslie. I seent it all, he wiped his nose. Miss Katydid and I took a couple of steps back from the young but old drunk dressed in FUBU. Some ofays was runnin’ from the church late las' night. I was gonna get them but my bike broke.

Oh shet up, Luther. You didn't see nuthin' but the bottom of that malt liquor you be drinkin', she covered her nose. You smell like the devil! Git on away from here and leave Miss Tanya alone. Miss Katydid folded powerful arms that had picked cotton in their youth. My grandmother had those same Mississippi hands and arms.

Dat sho is cold, Miss Katydid, Luther left without further comment. I was glad, ‘cause if he didn’t she was going to let him have it.

Finished with the interviewee and he walked around gathering more footage of the lightly scorched building. Wide as a trailer, Todd was phenomenal at telling stories with video. He also had an uncanny ability to get in and out of places, usually off limits to the press. I had learned a lot from him.

I wandered and then saw the strong back and neck of brother squatting near the charred rubbish. The officious way he made his report bespoke a title - captain or commander. Rising when he felt our approach, the man turned to confront us.

Hey Tanya, how ya doin'? asked the gap-toothed grinning man in charge.

Rodney, I didn't recognize you from behind, we embraced.

In the flesh, he posed for Todd. I see you two are still chasing ambulances.

Yeah and you're still rescuing cats out of trees, Rodney and I met one too many fires ago. Whenever there was a fire in the city, I contacted him for the 411.

"Somebody's gotta do it, may as well be me, right?

I guess. So what really happened here? Did the owner start it or is the Aryan nation in town for a visit?

Naw, the electrical system short circuited around ten a.m. Luckily, we were able to salvage most of the church. A couple of visits to Home Base, some paint and elbow grease and this place will be good as new.

I was disappointed. No arson. In fact, nothing newsworthy had taken place in South Central since the riots of 1992. Thanks. That's a wrap Todd.

Take care of yourself, Rodney called to me.

I waved behind me, see you at the next fire. Todd and I headed back toward the crowd, which had thinned out significantly. I don't guess Jesse arrived. I observed.

Todd nodded. No, he's busy saving troops in Kosovo.

Miss Katydid caught us as we were climbing back into the white news van. Ms. Tanya, I forgot to tell you somethin.

I was tempted to keeping walking, but figured that would be rude. Yes?

Is he gonna put me on TV? she pointed to Todd.

Her question was actually a request. Todd?

As soon as she saw him zooming in on her, she talked for five very long minutes. I believe that if people came to church and received the Lawd there wouldn't be so much evil in the world. People, please brang yo kids to church! She commanded. I finally had to cut her off. She was starting to sound like my bible thumpin' mama.

I saw my love later that night. Daric clicked off the television and joined me in his black and silver bathroom. A sparing match was in the works, that was half-hearted. His sexy brown eyes, a little hard around the rims, bore into mine. It's obvious that you didn't care if that church burned or not.

That's not true. I care but there wasn't much of a story there. You heard what Rodney said, it was an electrical fire, I said.

Yeah, but you could have had a little more umph about you, Daric was disappointed.

There's a church on every corner in South Central. If Standing by the River Church of God had burned to the ground, the congregation, all eleven of them could easily walk across the street to the All Saints Church of the Redeemer and grab a seat. I'm sure there's enough room for everyone.

You are such a snob.

Never said I wasn't, I pulled his striped pajama top over my head.

What kind of name is Katydid? Daric mused.

I shrugged. I didn't name her. What I look like?

Ignoring my sarcasm, he asked the obvious. Why didn't you interview the pastor of the church? He reached over me to grab the toothpaste.

He wasn't there and once arson was determined not to be a factor, there was no point in trying to locate him. In any event, talking to Miss Katydid gave the piece a personal touch. Anyway, I'm sure that Pastor Alfonso Lewis has been in front of new cameras before.

Tanya, that’s not likely and you know it.

Whatever, hand me that bobby pin. I was wrestling with the wrap cap, which kept slipping off. Baby, I want to win an Emmy for investigative reporting. I can't do that with these nickel and dime stories. I need to flex my skills. I'm not paying school loans to hear people on a soapbox. Now Miss Katydid was a nice woman, but she accused the owner of the church of burning down his own building. She could be sued for that.

I know, he said through white pasty spit bubbles. You should tell Nate to assign you juicier topics.

I will, I continued. So if during the broadcast, I came off uncaring, it wasn't her. It was the subject matter. In the meantime, I'm just doing what I have to do to keep my face on the little screen.

Spoken like a true egomaniac, he rinsed his mouth and dried the sink off with a paper towel.

Daric, are you on my side or what? I slapped my hand on the bathroom tile. I'm looking for my pay off, just like everybody else. I've been at Channel 5 two years and haven't even filled in as weekend anchor. I've got dreams, baby. I have these fantasies of being at the Shrine Auditorium. I'm dressed to kill in a sapphire blue, skin-tight Gianni Versace original and you are sporting a jet black Armani tux. Stone Phillips is reading my name from the list of nominees.

Daric picked up my story. A hush will fall over the audience. It's between you and Katie Couric. Stone opens the envelope. Tanya Leslie echoes out over the distinguished crowd. In slow motion, you'll kiss me and walk...

Walk? I interrupted. No, I float down the crimson carpet, up to the stage, offer Stone my cheek and snatch my Emmy out of his hands. My thank-yous will be brief and my grin as wide as Wilshire Boulevard. The applause will be deafening.

He kissed the back of my neck tenderly, I am and will always be your biggest fan. Sweetie, talk to Nate.

I felt optimistic. The sweeps are coming up, may be he'll let me pick my own topic.

A few days later, I was sitting in my cubicle fantasizing about my winning moment. I was nodding to the north, south, east and west corners of the Shrine. Thank you, thank you.

Thank me for what? Nate snapped. Irritated as usual, Nathaniel Werner was second in command in the newsroom at Channel 5. He might have been a nice guy, back when he was fifty. Now that he was one day older than God, he was evil as all hell. And it wasn’t my fault that his wife left him and his kids didn't speak to him.

Startled, oh nothing. So much for caviar dreams.

Where's your story, Tanya?

I'm still working on the right angle, I said convincingly, as I shuffled papers on my congested desk.

Which is? he asked impatiently.

I sat up straight, uh, a piece about the Mayor. Yes, an up close look at campaign fraud and spending from Mayor Washington’s office to city council. I found a slip of paper with a name and number on it. I separated this piece from the others and flipped the calendar to March second.

Nate studied me. Don't you think that's a little broad? After all, you are talking about money being spent in Los Angeles, not Rubidoux. He spat.

You know, Nate, you're absolutely right. Massaging his enormous ego had become a specialty of mine. I hadn't thought of that. I purposely focused all of my attention on the little piece of paper in my hand.

Get an idea to Lionel and me ASAP, he was abrupt but intrigued by the paper in my hand. Everybody has a package ready for the May sweeps, except you.

Sure thing, Nate. I'll get it right to both of you, I folded and then unfolded the paper and set it next to the telephone.

Pointing to the paper, that better be a source, he barked. With that, he spun on his rubber soles and crawled back into the crevice where road kill lived.

She is, I answered reassuringly, Ms. Tamyka Carter is one of my best.

I spent the rest of the day doodling on a legal pad. I was suffering from sleep deprivation and worry from spending the wee hours driving all over Los Angeles looking for my sister.

Tanya! Wake up! You won't believe it. Marcus choked and kicked Jas her face. She left and called me from a shelter! Misha’le (Me-sha-lay) screamed hysterically into the receiver.

What? Are you sure? When? Panic seized my heart. I can't believe it! Is she okay? It was two o'clock in the morning and I was up watching CNN re-runs.

I'm really scared, Misha'le was crying on the other line.

When did this happen? Why are you just now telling me this? I didn't mean to sound stank but Misha'le wasn't one of my favorites. I only tolerated her because she and Jasmin were friends.

Jas was shamed to tell you that that muthafucka had been hittin' her. She said you wouldn't understand why she stayed with him.

I turned the volume down on the television. She was embarrassed? Why? I'm her sister, she can tell me anything.

I'm sorry, Misha’le’s voice was shaking.

What's the name of the shelter? I scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen.

I don't know. She found it outta the phone book. Jas said that she'd call you, Misha'le sniveled.

I snatched the wrap cap off my head and started getting dressed. I fell to the floor putting on my sweatpants. This was a mess. Daric was out of town on business and it was too late to call Todd.

Tanya, I’m so sorry for not saying anything before now, Misha’le apologized again. I wished she’d stop that shit.

You knew he was beating her and never said anything? I snapped at her. And Jas wondered why I hated her ass.

Yeah, well she made me promise. Plus, Marcus was always buyin’ her stuff. Jas has everything. I didn't think that he'd go this far.

Misha'le, just quit while you're ahead. Thanks for calling. I'm going to look for my sister, I disconnected us. Domestic violence shelters were housed in secret locations and though I had MC’d a few luncheons, I had never actually been to one. Knowing this, I raced to my car anyway. I considered calling the police but what would I say? Hi officer, my sister’s skanky best friend told me that my sister’s husband beat her up and she doesn’t know where she went. That won’t help. I drove through L.A. anyway and berated myself for letting Jasmin marry that joker. There was something vaguely strange about him. True Marcus was charming, funny, intelligent and worshipped the ground she walked on. But, he was a little too anal, a bit too neat, almost like he was hiding something. I could never fully articulate what I felt. I tried telling mama but she nor Jas would hear my observations. In the end, I relented and now look what happened.

As Jasmin’s big sister, I was supposed to protect her. How could this happen? Jas was so sweet and easy going. Seems like I was always getting into trouble by talking in class, talking back at home and just running my mouth in general. Jas, on the other hand, had to be coaxed into a conversation. She was painfully shy, possibly because she was the youngest. Or may be because I was boisterous enough for the both of us. Eventually, she grew out of her shyness and I learned not to be such a loud mouth.

After hours of driving around, I pulled over and rested my head on the steering wheel. Jasmin had disappeared.

* * * * * * *

Once Nate stopped harassing me, I slipped my silver-plated Mary Kay mirror out of my desk and finger-combed my dirty hair. Jasmin used to do my hair. Then she got a couple of singers for clients and kicked me to the curb. I frowned into the mirror. I was tired and getting pissy all over again. I still couldn’t believe that Jas told Misha'le that Marcus beat her and not me. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. After Jasmin and Marcus started dating, she went mute on me. We used to hang out, but our dates became few and far between. I chalked it up to love.

I sighed into the mirror. My bombshell beige highlights have bombed elsewhere. I sure hope Tamyka can take me today.

Before I called Tamyka, I paged Jasmin one last time. Finally, she returned my call. What happened? I haven’t been able to concentrate all day. What did that bastard do to you? My breathing came in short quick gasps.

Silence.

Jas - are you there?

Yeah, she whispered. You know how particular Marcus is about his clothes. The white clothes can only be washed with other whites, along with a capful of bleach on the warm/cold setting. Well last week I forgot to use bleach and he went psycho. He threw the clothes outside in the mud and made me crawl on my hands and knees in the rain and pick them up, kicking me the whole time. Then, he made me hand wash the entire load in a bucket filled with bleach and hot, soapy water. Marcus stood over me and watched. Because the water was so hot, he said I ruined his undershirts and threw them in the trash. I've got second degree burns on my knuckles and calluses on the tips of my fingers. Jas whimpered. How am I supposed to do hair?

Chapter 2

Three hellish weeks later, I lay comatose in bed. Daric woke me earlier getting ready for his 5:30 a.m. golf-tee time. I cussed him out soundly and then rolled back over and thought about Nate, who was worrying me to death about my nonexistent story. I could hear his whiny voice in my dreams, I will not lose to Channel 9 another again! Ray and his rag tag group of reporters don't know a lead from their assholes! We're better than they are. If we lose to that bunch of losers, I will hold each and every one of you personally responsible. He neglected to mention that we lost to Channel 9 every year.

I wanted something juicy. Something on the order of Monica Lewinsky and her silly self. Or, even that numbskull Ken Starr. His investigation cost the American public forty million dollars, not to mention he tied up local broadcasts with his Sexgate drama. I didn't know about the rest of the world, but I wanted my money back. Hmm, I should write a story about how he plans to repay me. I could see myself with an exclusive of Ken signing checks. Other states would live feed my feature to their local stations my feature. I'd call it Independent Counsel Ken Starr Repays Sexgate. My story would air during the five o'clock news broadcasts all over the country, even Robert Lyles in Albuquerque, New Mexico would ask me to toss my story to him!

Alas, I was wishful thinking. I had no story. Ken Starr and I would never meet. Well, not until I unsat Peter Jennings on the Nightly News. And, unless Ken reconsidered the offer at Loyola Law School, I'd probably never write a story about him. I covered the local news in Los Angeles, and Ken was a national star. Pun intended.

I relished the opportunity to sleep in on my off days, Thursday and Friday. The sandman didn't usually unmask me until eleven a.m. or noon. Needless to say, I had an altitude when the telephone jarred me out of a deep slumber at seven-thirty a.m.

If this isn't an emergency, you're gonna die, I didn't bother to open my eyes, because I wasn't getting up.

Tanya, its Jas, She was in good spirits.

Jasmin Wendi Leslie Armstrong, what the hell do you want? I wanted to hang up the phone.

Accustomed to my early morning assaults, Jasmin ignored my fussing. Today is our day to go to IVRP and Ms. Wilson said that we could invite a family member.

Where? What's IVRP? Damn. Damn. Damn. I felt like Florida Evans. I was beat down tired from frolicking with Daric last night. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out at the crack of dawn.

Inner-City Voter Registration Project. We volunteer twice a week and mail out information about the importance of voting, as well as register people who are new voters and encourage those who haven't voted in the last five years to go vote.

I could hear the enthusiasm in her voice; there was no way I was going to be