Press Relations

Mary Elizabeth

I was heading to an awards dinner that could decide my fate with the New York Sentinel, a news source for hundreds of thousands of readers. If I won best reporting for my piece, it could catapult me to a position of prominence where I was allowed more creative freedom and increased resources. If I did not, I’d likely retain my status as a reliable reporter who could deliver enjoyable puff pieces and solid coverage of small-time crime.

There was one man standing in my way - Everett Whitcomb. A man bestowed a douchey name, likely because he was born with the same irritating smirk he sported in adulthood. My female colleagues thought he was gorgeous and his expressions were adorable. I thought they merited a beating. He was the odds-on favorite to win for exposing a local politician’s ties to a human trafficking ring.

After my platonic date, Herb, escorted me into the hotel, we made our way to the banquet table set aside for Sentinel nominees. My nemesis, Everett, was already seated with a date that had the appearance of a paid escort. Her blonde, curly hair framed an over-made face and cascaded to her mostly uncovered, surgically enhanced breasts.

Everett forced a smile upon seeing me. “Mary Elizabeth, I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”

Back-handed compliments already? “Thanks.”

He introduced his date as Booker, and I introduced Herb to them. Mercifully, the lights began to dim, signaling the start of the presentations and the request for silence at the tables.

The ceremony dragged through several technical awards. I felt myself drowsing during the overly long speeches by people I didn’t know, and I was thrilled when they broke for intermission.

Herb left for the bar to retrieve us drinks. Everett’s date announced she was heading to the powder room, leaving me alone with my rival. To my surprise, he shifted over closer to me, taking Booker’s seat.

 “Say it,” he half-grinned. “You can’t wait to comment on Booker.”

“Why? I have no opinion on who you date.”

“Your expressions say differently. Go ahead. You’ll feel better,” he teased.

“I’m not going to insult Hooker, if that’s what you’re goading me to do,” I quipped.

“Booker,” he corrected.

“Booker,” I repeated, pretending I had misheard when introduced. “That’s a name she must hear a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m guessing after the cops haul her in from a street corner, it’s how they’d end the conversation.”

“Cute. In your Victorian world, does every woman who shows a little cleavage merit slut-shaming?” he asked.

“A little? She couldn’t have shown more if she’d worn two strategically placed stickers. Which website did you find her on?”

“So judgmental,” he tutted. “And your date…Herb, was it? Not a very spicey one, is he?”

“Unlike you, I care about what’s inside. He’s smart. He’s an entomologist.”

“Exciting. Maybe if you play your cards right, he’ll show you a little worm later.”

I could feel my jaw tighten. “Worms aren’t insects. And maybe if you play your cards right, Booker will show you some crabs later. I’ll know you succeeded if I see you scratching yourself at work tomorrow.”

I could see the Booker-bashing was beginning to bore him. He changed the subject. “So, your report…it was interesting. A whole write-up about coyote howling calls? What was it called again?”

I felt my confidence slip. “Coyote Howling Calls.”

He grinned. “Ah, yes. Riveting.”

Defensiveness kicked in. “You know, we can learn a lot of important things from the animals around us. The communication patterns…”

He waved a hand in the air to silence me. “I read it; no need to repeat. Once was… enough.”

Okay, that hurt. “So, you thought it was bad?”

He seemed surprised by my careless display of vulnerability, then shocked me in return by responding with kindness. “No. I thought it was well-researched and well-written. It was just a bit of a niche piece. Most of our readers live here in the metro area. How many do you think care about coyotes?” he pointed out.

“Well, it’s hard to get assigned the better stories when the Chief Editor favors the privileged white guy.”

His face pinched and reddened. Before he could respond, Booker returned, seemingly annoyed Everett had taken her seat. She reluctantly took the one he vacated. “What did I miss?”

“We were just wondering about the origin of your name,” I replied, concealing that her date and I had been mud-slinging.

Booker beamed, reached her paw into Everett’s lapel, rubbing his pectoral muscle. “You were talking about me?”

Everett tweaked her nose, passing it off as affection, though I could see he was wiping cocaine remnants from her “powder” break. “We were talking about names in general,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she pouted. Then she glared at me with annoyance, probably suspecting our conversation hadn’t been complimentary. “You should tell us about your two first names. Couldn’t your parents make up their minds on what to call you?”

I had learned over the years how to rebuff jokes about my name. “They’re Medieval history buffs. My mother is Catholic and my father is Protestant. Guess they couldn’t settle on a Queen.”

Booker’s face was as blank as a freshly cleaned whiteboard. “The Tudor queens,” I added, hoping dots would connect. “Mary was Catholic and Elizabeth was Protestant.”

Booker still appeared confused, then irritated. “That’s dumb. I never even heard of a country called Tudor.”

She grabbed her glass and gulped wine, angrily looking away from me and my colleague.

I almost felt sorry for Everett. I whispered, “good luck.”

He must have thought I meant regarding the awards, because he responded in kind.

I began chastising myself for letting Everett bait me. I didn’t even know Booker, and while I was reasonably certain my impression was accurate, making cruel comments didn’t exactly elevate me to a position of superiority. If only Everett didn’t get under my skin the way he did.

Herb had returned and handed me a chardonnay. I started drinking eagerly, daydreaming what it would be like if there was an upset and the presenter called my name. I envisioned taking the stage, and Everett leading the crowd into a round of mocking coyote howls while his coked-up date fell off her chair laughing.

“Here we go,” Everett whispered in my direction as our category was announced.

I received polite applause when my name was mentioned as a nominee, including from Everett. I did the same for him when his name was announced. His date started hooting; probably so high, she thought she was at a football game.

“And the award goes to…” The presenter was taking an inordinate amount of time fiddling with the envelope. “Everett Whitcomb.”

Despite her cheering in his ear, Everett turned to me upon hearing his name called. His smile almost appeared apologetic. It only lasted a second before his date swiveled his head in her direction and planted one on him.

Once he pulled away from her claws, he briskly walked to the stage to accept his trophy. He seemed genuinely touched, almost teary. I surveyed the room. Men were smiling and women were weeping. He had that effect.

“Thank you for this,” Everett spoke into the microphone, quieting the crowd. He beheld the trophy, then ran a nervous hand through his locks. Of course, they fell back into place perfectly. “First off, let me say what an honor it was to be nominated alongside such great reporters; and a special call-out to my colleague at the Sentinel, Mary Elizabeth Somers. She raises the bar for excellence each day, and it forces me to be better at my craft.”

I was waiting for a follow-up joke that didn’t happen. Everett then proceeded to thank a slew of others, finishing by acknowledging his mother. I still was stunned at his kind gesture.

As he exited the stage, I glanced at his date. She had lost her smile, shooting me side-eye daggers.

The ceremony had progressed well into the next category by the time Everett returned to his seat, fresh off numerous handshakes. He handed the trophy to Booker for examination.

She didn’t seem impressed, slamming it on the table before him. “It would have been nice if you acknowledged me in your speech.”

“You?” Everett was clearly baffled. “Why would I?”

“I’m your date!” Booker snapped. “Why did you thank her?”

“Who?”

“The woman named after queens from tooter-land.” Booker’s voice rose above an acceptable level, causing others to shoot annoyed looks our way.

“Booker, keep it down,” Everett whispered.

“Do you like her?” Booker snapped.

“What? No,” he stumbled, turning his head in my direction. I could see the embarrassment on his face.

While Booker’s question regarded a romantic interest, I wondered if Everett’s response belied a broader dislike. It shouldn’t have bothered me as it did.

“We should go,” I mumbled to Herb. I wanted to leave before more humiliation was added to this life-lasting memory.

“Mary Elizabeth…” Everett started.

I cut him off. “Congratulations on your win, Everett. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

“He’s working from home today,” my colleague and friend, Jakub, informed me. He placed a coffee on my desk, then took a seat in the side chair.

I thanked him for pouring me a cup. “Who’s working from home today?”

Jakub rolled his eyes. “The man you’ve been searching out since you walked through the door.”

 “I was just wondering if he was going to come in gloating about his victory.”

Jakub sighed, setting down his bottled water after taking a sip. “So, how bad was it?”

I ignored his question. “You know, you can tell a lot about someone by whom they date. Like Everett – clearly, he’s shallow, needs to feel intellectually superior to the woman he’s with, indulges in the basest of desires while exhibiting zero shame…”

“Wow. It’s amazing you deduced all that from meeting his date. Then again, you are the investigative reporter, so who am I to question?” he snickered.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t give me snark. I take enough from him.”

“Everett just likes to have a little fun. He won’t even remember the date’s name next week.”

“You’re not making him sound better,” I noted.

“Hey, do you think I’m a bad person? I hook up with different guys all the time. My motto is: meet them, dine them, bag them, and set up an unspecified time when you’ll never meet them again.”

“Men,” I snarled. “At least you don’t flaunt them like he does.” I paused, hesitant to reveal more of what happened. “I don’t even know why I care that he said he dislikes me.”

“Whoa, you reached the story’s end by skipping too many pages. When did he say that?”

I relayed the sequence of events, finishing with how Booker was annoyed that Everett gave me a shout-out during his speech, finishing with how Everett shared his true feelings about me.

I downed more coffee. “He’s so entitled – an elitist rich boy from Connecticut whose mommy bought him a Yale degree; and he continues to get all the breaks for all the wrong reasons.” I looked to Jakub and I could see his empathy fading. “He’s not even that attractive; and he grates on me.”

He blinked a couple of times, then became serious. “As your friend, I’ll be honest. You become crazy when he’s the topic of conversation, and I suspect I know why. It isn’t because he’s unlikeable; and he most certainly is attractive. Throw a steak on him and watch what happens in ten minutes, because he’s sizzling.”

I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Don’t any of you see his butt-chin?”

“Butt-chin?”

“Yes, that huge alley in the middle of his jaw. You could roll a ball up it to strike those ten-pin-bowling-sized teeth,” I elaborated.

He shook his head. “You mean that tiniest of chin dimples that most people find sexy?”

“Please. It means his jaw didn’t form properly when he was a fetus.”

“Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Jakub pressed.

 I sighed with exasperation. “Unless you grow long hair and dye it blonde, and get a boob job and lobotomy, you aren’t his type.”

He eyed me calmly. “You know what I think? He upsets you because you want to be his type. You can’t understand why he chooses women like this Booker chic over you – someone smart, accomplished, and beautiful. That’s why him saying that he didn’t like you was bothersome. You know full well that it was a question of whether he likes you romantically, and you wanted him to say yes.”

“Pff,” I exhaled. I didn’t dare tell Jakub that I had, in fact, thought about Everett that way on occasion. The desire left me embarrassed because he was the opposite of what I thought made for a good man. I had tried to dismiss those musings as me craving emotional power over my rival so I finally could have the upper-hand. Jakub had me wondering if I was being honest with myself.

Jakub sensed my resistance lessening. “Maybe Everett does have privilege. But some here might think you do, too, because of your race and good looks.”

I was shocked. “I work so hard for everything I get. I give everything to this organization.”

He nodded. “So does he. Maybe that’s why he dates the women he does. He’s probably too competitive to get distracted by a relationship. But he’s missing out on something special.” He gently placed his hand on mine. “I think you are, too.”

***

I reluctantly agreed to accompany Jakub to the after-work get-together at a local club. The team wanted to celebrate the Sentinel’s couple of victories from the previous evening. I figured since Everett was one of those winners, he would be there, too. Sure enough, I saw him talking to a co-worker at the bar upon entering the establishment. I excused myself from Jakub, and Everett looked over with worry as I approached.

“Mary Elizabeth,” he greeted. “About last night, Booker took me by surprise. I didn’t mean I dislike you.”

I nodded. “Thank you. But I wouldn’t blame you. I’m sorry about what I said about her.”

He smiled with relief. “It’s fine. She’s history.”

I swallowed hard. “You sure go through women quickly.”

He shrugged. “They weren’t long-term women for me. They were a distraction from…someone else.” He sighed regretfully. “But we can’t always get what we want.” It was hard to imagine that being true for Everett. “By the way, the boss came to me with a great lead for a story. I told him to give it to you instead.”

I gasped. “Why?”

He frowned with embarrassment. “I thought about what you said last night. I felt pressure all my life to achieve; I lost sight of how I might be hogging the opportunities. These last few years, I’ve tried so hard to impress someone – to show I wasn’t some lucky pretty-boy. But I think my achievements backfired on me. Anyway, you deserve the lead. You’re a better reporter than I am; you just need a chance at the big story to prove it to others.”

I felt my eyes begin to well. When did his face become so handsome? I suppressed an urge to brush my thumb over that cute little chin dimple. “Everett, I don’t know what to say.”

He grinned slightly. “Say you’ll dance with me.”

Okay, that was unexpected, but I nodded numbly in surprise. After he pulled me close on the dance floor, I dared to wonder if I was the person he had been trying to impress. “Everett?”

“Hmm,” he murmured in my ear, his strong hand on my back, guiding me around the floor.

“Why did you feel a pressure to achieve your whole life?”

His dance movements became less refined as he shared with me a story of his single mother struggling to raise him in one of the poorest Connecticut cities; praying for him to elevate himself in life. He did his best to excel at academics and sports, and managed to secure a Yale scholarship. Everett now helped his mom financially and strived every day to make her proud.

I backed from him, shocked and shamed. “Everett, I’ve been wrong about so much. Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

He exhaled a soft laugh. “I don’t tell many people. You get looks of sympathy. Lots of people had it worse than me. Besides, I want to be recognized on my own merits.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. I mustered some courage. “Everett, who were you trying to convince you are more than a pretty boy?”

He smiled, revealing those perfect teeth. “You think I’m pretty, huh?”

I slapped his arm, but I was snickering. “So arrogant.”

“You,” he replied intensely. “I was trying to convince you.”

I think my lip was quivering. “Why?”

He pulled me back to him, speaking softly. “Because you’re a long-term kind of woman.”

Suddenly, my eyes were opened to what everyone else saw. “Everett….”

He cut me off. “Do you think you could give me a chance?” His expression was simultaneously wary and hopeful.

 I grinned, surprising myself. “I believe I could.”

He pulled me into a kiss, and I forgot about my previous fantasy of holding emotional power over him. He was the sizzler; and I was charbroiled from his heat. Game over.

He pulled away, looking at me sweetly. “I wasn’t expecting this tonight.” His smile turned mischievous. “Maybe if you play your cards right, I’ll show you my coyote call later.”

I re-slapped his arm. “Will it always be like this with you?”

He embraced me once more and giggled in my ear. “Yup.”

“Fine,” I laughed back. “But remember, I can go toe-to-toe with you.”

He righted himself, looking at our facing bodies. “I know; I hope you never stop.”