Page 1 of Pride and Protest
MAN SHORTAGE
A red light blipped on the top left of the control board. Liza B. had a caller. “Hello and good evening. You are live with Liza B., the only DJ who gives a jam. Tell me what’s on your mind...”
The producer mouthed a name to her.
“...Keisha?”
“Girl, we are in a man shortage. I’m broke! I can’t be buying my own steaks,” a cheery woman’s voice buzzed over Liza’s headphones. Liza pressed a flashing orange button on the control board and slid the dial all the way to the top. This washerpulpit. Instead of airbrushed paintings of blond Jesus, posters of Afrobeat stars, Punjabi crooners, K-pop idols, and reggaeton bad boys competed for space on the cork wall of the small booth. Instead of scripture, someone had graffitiedMegaRadio Suxon the table. Her parishioners called in with their “confessions” and she gave them the good word. She wasn’t saving orphans in Soweto like she always imagined, but it was akindof service to the community.
“Itisa man drought, girl,” Liza agreed. “What do you plan to do about it?”
“You know those new buildings that they’re putting up at Netherfield Court?”
“You mean the overpriced luxury apartments that will force us out of our neighborhood and change the fabric of DC forever?” Liza said.
“Um... yeah, those...” Keisha stammered. “Anyway, there are a lot of men working construction. I’m just going to walk past there in my shortest shorts!”
Liza remembered why she liked this job so much.
“So they can catcall you? Whoop and holler? What areyougetting out of this deal?” Liza pressed.
“Do I need to spell it out, Alizé Bennett?” The woman dragged her whole government name out like an old boot. Being named after an alcoholic drink popular in the nineties wasnota fact Liza wanted broadcast across the nation’s capital. She had job applications floating around.
“That’s Liza B.Leesawith aZto you.” She kept her name explanations ready. People saw aZin your name and lost their damn minds. She could not count how many times she had been called “Lizard” with a straight face.
“Well, Liza B., I’m a woman. I have needs.”
“Excuseme, I thought it’s a kind of truth universally acknowledged that every broke woman wants a rich man, not just vitamin D!”
“Times are changing, honey,” Keisha told her. “The construction company is having a get-together over at Netherfield. Will the radio station be there?”
“I have to pass,” Liza said. She couldn’t begrudge people for wanting to get fed and dance on someone else’s dime. But she had her principles.
“Good! Maybe the rest of us will stand a chance without you and your sisters showing up looking snatched!”
“The worldstillain’t safe withyouon the loose!” Liza pressed the button and said good night to Keisha. “You heard it right here, fellas. Come check Ms. Keisha out! She’ll be dressed to kill at the Netherfield Gala. Remember to drink up their champagne,nottheir Kool-Aid. We’re not selling this city to the highest bidder! Liza B. is out of here, folks! If I’m not in the studio, hit me up on the ’Gram. I’m giving out prizes to my thirty thousandth follower, and it could be you!”
Liza swiped the overhead mic away and twirled in her spinning chair. No matter what the future held for the radio station, if they let her go, she could take pride in what she’d done. Liza never meant to be a local personality. She’d taken this job three years ago out of sheer desperation and worked her way up to airtime. Slowly, listeners tripled under her voice. Booth G was cramped, overflowing with leftover radio station swag and advertising scripts for Busboys and Poets. The pay was on the low side of moderate, and not even an entire can of Febreze could get the sweaty smell of the sports jockey out of the seat. But it was home to Liza. Peoplelistenedto her here. In Booth G, she was never a disappointment.
“Deya is the only child of mine who still bothers to come to church with me.” Liza’s mother, Beverly Bennett, slapped her heavy purse down on the rickety table. Liza raised her eyebrow but otherwise didn’t stir. A saltshaker rolled off the table, and her older sister, Janae, absently caught it before it hit the peeling linoleum floor. Their apartment in LongbourneGardens had had the same decorations, furniture, and even saltshaker placement for twenty-seven years. Granny, Bev, and now Liza, sometimes her brother Maurice, Janae, and her baby sister, LeDeya, all called the sprawling three-bedroom apartment home. Bev kicked at the boxes in the hallway, a reminder of Liza’s recent eviction from her own apartment.
“When you say ‘church,’ you still mean Operation Snatch-a-Pastor right?” Liza shifted her laptop and checked her email for the third time. She was supposed to be hearing from USAID about an international project manager position at a bank for women in Malawi. It had several things going for it: she could use her international studies degree and women’s studies master’s, she would have someplace to stay without fear of her rent rising above her ability to pay, and she would be thousands of miles away from her mother.
“Yes, Mother, whatwasthe sermon about?” Janae chimed in, in a rare moment of fun at her mother’s expense. Bev ignored Janae’s tone and zeroed in on Liza.
“Liza, I want these boxes out of my hallway. This ain’t the UPS Store.” Bev pulled at her wig. The cascading platinum blond tresses shifted slightly to the left, then right. “What Iheardin Bible study is that you were out there picketing forthe gays,” Bev informed her.
She made it sound like a Motown girl group. “Mom, you can just say ‘gay,’ ” Liza said.
“Correct me again, and I’ll correct your behind!” Bev spat out impatiently. “I don’t want you involved in anything that’s gonna ruin the family’s reputation, you hear?”
Liza’s mouth twisted sideways. “Mom, ‘birthing the three prettiest daughters in Southeast’ is not a reputation, it’s an opinion.”
“Southeast? My Janae was almost Miss DC—the entire district—for three years straight. And if you’d stop wearing those no-prescription granny glasses and put on a high heel every once in a while...” Bev didn’t need to finish. This was a well-traveled conversational tributary that would eventually lead to her wailing that Liza didn’t try hard enough—for a job, for a man, or for herself.
Janae sighed. “ ‘Three-time runner-up’ will be on my gravestone.”
Bev eyed Liza again. “Your foolishness almost made me forget the good news. Where is your granny?” Bev stepped out of her shoes and handed them to LeDeya. “She’s on the Longbourne Gardens Green Committee, and those nice little people next door at Netherfield Court invited all the gardeners to their groundbreaking gala.”
