Page 6 of The Dis-Graced
“I’ve been blessed with a fruitful career.”
“What has been your favorite project?”
“It’s hard to say. I loved covering the Olympics, but to be honest, sometimes small-town stories are more satisfying.”
As we speak, he sips his coffee, his eyes never leaving me. His cup, although normal-sized, seems to disappear in his grip, and I wonder how much of my ass it would cover.
“So, I’d love to hear some of the details of the project I’ll be working on,” I say. “Care to divulge?”
“Well, first, I’d like to get one thing straight. You will not be working for me, and I am not your boss. You are being hired to document a project, and you won’t be expected to put a ‘spin’ on it. After all, I think it’s important we get back to the days oftruejournalism,” he says in an icy tone.
I feel the color drain from my face, and my breath quickens. It would have been naive to assume that he wouldn’t mention the scandal I’m embroiled in, but I hadn’t expected it to be addressed in such a crude fashion. Especially after his warm greeting.
Finally, after taking a full minute to digest his brutal words, I say, “I agree with the importance of fair and accurate journalism and look forward to working with you.”
I lift the coffee cup to my lips, taking a long sip, so I have an excuse to break eye contact.
“During your tenure with the project, you will have access to privileged information and intellectual property that I must assure stays confidential. Legal is preparing some documents for you to sign as we speak.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the practice of signing non-disclosure agreements and have done so several times in the past.”
“Furthermore, you may be called upon to work with others by either interviewing them or learning from them. It’s important that you maintain your professionalism with these men…and women…at all times. Have I made myself clear?”
A seething rage grips me, an emotion so strong I’m unable to control my response. I slam my cup down, the coffee splashing over the rim to the fine, white surface of the table.
“Listen here, Mr. Dallanger. I know how to do my job, and I’m damn good at it. Maybe, instead of jumping to conclusions, you might want to—I don’t know—ask probing questions!”
Drake cocks a grin and returns with, “You’re the journalist, it’s your job to ask theprobingquestions.”
I want to slap the condescending grin from his face, but I know he has me by my metaphorical ‘balls,’ so I’m forced to play nice.
“Mr. Dallanger, I assure you that I know how to separate business from pleasure and that I have no interest in banging you, one of your employees, or any of your associates. Perhaps you should be having this discussion with your mommy, who was waiting for me at my apartment last night.”
Well, I guess playing nice just got thrown out the window.
Drake rises from his seat and looks down at me from his towering position.
“Well, Grace, it’s been great catching up, but I have business to attend to. I’ll call you in the next couple days, and we can discuss the project.”
He smiles a smile I do not like, one that makes me feel small and insignificant.
Well, that’s exactly what you are to him—small and insignificant. You always have been, even as children.
Drake was never a peer of mine. In fact, the only reason I even know him is because my parents signed my brother up to spend a summer with a host family from within the city. Rich, affluent people take in disadvantaged, low-income children so they can learn valuable life skills that poor-ass parents like mine couldn’t teach them themselves.
No one expected that Drake and Luke would become inseparable to the point where even during the school year, Luke spent more time with the Dallangers than he did with us.
I didn’t understand it, at first. I missed my brother, but my parents seemed pleased with the arrangement. The Dallangers brought him clothes and even switched him over to a pricy, elite private school so he could attend classes with Drake.
I, of course, was left attending a school with a fifty-percent graduation rate, wearing rags.
I rise from my seat, disallowing myself from showing just how ashamed I feel.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Dallanger. I look forward to not fucking any of your employees and acquaintances.”
“And me?”
“Huh?”
