Uppity

By Jannelle Moore

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DEFY WHAT OTHERS THINK ABOUT YOU AND REALLY BECOME A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH?

 

Fighting for respect is what Kenya Blades does every day as the Greensboro Sun Times’ talented multimedia reporter. Her fighting spirit is the reason why she’s one of the best reporters in the city.
But when that same fight triggers a brawl at a media gala, Kenya is transferred to a sister paper that is trying to solve a diversity problem and close out an investigation on their hiring practices.
Despite Kenya’s efforts to make the most out of a fresh start, Inquirer editor Randy Krause does everything in his power to break Kenya’s spirits and drive her out just because her presence threatens the newsroom. During her stop at the Inquirer, Kenya is forced to question her place as a black woman in the media and whether she wants to continue to fight discrimination and marginalization at every turn or be the change that she’s been wishing for - to cause the effect instead of being affected by what the media conglomerates cause.
Uppity is a raw story told with style, brash wit, and an ounce of humor—a novel that captures the conflicts and politics of the workplace which African-American women may face at times. It marks the emergence of a new voice in fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DC Bookdiva Publications
• Release date: Apr 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513025360

Book preview

Uppity

Jannelle Moore

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Acknowledgments

Copyright

About the Author

Chapter 1

The raw stench of shotgun residue and the swirls of blood splattered on the walls overpowered me when I stepped into Room 5275 at Moses Cone Hospital. I felt my nose burn on every inhale while my eyes struggled to ignore the image of the hollowed-out body lying in front of me with half of his skull caved in and fragments of his brain oozing along the tile floor.

Once again, my regularly scheduled sleep was interrupted to cover breaking news. While a story about some poor fool offing himself after another argument with his girl was the type of story that most reporters, editors, and other professional busybodies dream about, this didn’t excite me at all.

Why couldn’t Julius find someone else to cover this? Don’t get me wrong, I love the flexibility and excitement of general assignments, but I’d been feeling very confined lately. Months of writing stories steeped in drama, trauma, collusion, and crime had me on the verge of not walking out the door with anything less than a bulletproof dress, a bulletproof bra, and the finest in semi-automatic accessories.

For once, I wanted Julius to say, Kenya, thanks for your hard work on these tough stories, but you really need some light ones to balance you out. Here’s a board of education piece. Here’s one on the Grasshoppers and their playoff run. Hell, cover a story on tiddlywinks. It’s time for you to fall back on this hard stuff for a while. But the likelihood of that happening was the same as me shopping at Belk’s, which would be zero to zilch.

Covering breaking news was my hand in the game right now, and I planned to play it until I couldn't anymore. For some reporters, it's the greatest hand in the deck of news coverage. Yeah, I get the allure. It's exciting and sexy to be among the first on the scene, among the first to break a disaster or any other bits of tragedy to thousands, and sometimes millions, of people. All that's fine, but a story about a man blowing his head off in front of his girl hours after she gave birth to their third child together, was way too much for me to take.

Why did you do this to us? Why did you do this to our baby? I trusted you and loved you. I was good to you. I didn’t deserve this!she yelled.

The mother’s cries and shrills tap danced on the little bit of poise I had left. My emotions were making an appearance at the worst of times. I wrapped my palm around my face just in case I couldn’t hold back any longer. I was not about to let anyone see me cry on this job. It was bad enough to see the scene, but it seemed worse than that to hear the aftermath. My stomach and eyes were strong while I viewed the scene. I got through that easily with no problem, but there was nothing I could do to ease my pain of witnessing that woman’s grief and emotions.

I looked to an adjacent room across from the scene and saw her rising out of her bed, reaching to her original room, and repeatedly yelling her man’s name. That was it for me. I took what was left of my professional veneer and ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, and banged my fist against the wall before sliding down the tile. It wasn’t as if I had never been here before, but that didn’t mean that I ever stopped feeling.Long after I quit this business, or if this business quits me, this moment and this story would be the story and moment that would leave a permanent scar on my heart and psyche.

Forget the story. Forget all of what I'd been taught in J-school about objectivity, about being unemotional and detached from whatever I was covering. How could I not be emotional about this? How could I not be affected by that woman's wails and what went through her mind after her man hit the floor in an unrecognizable, bloody heap? Other than hearing this woman cry and carry on, the toughest thing for me to do was to ask her a bunch of cold and stupid questions.

After the sobs, I was ready to get dirty. I swung open that door, marched down the hall and into the woman’s room. I knew that this woman didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. She wanted to be left alone in her shock and grief over what happened and no one with a heart would blame her for refusing to talk to me or anyone else. I should have been in the bed right now, resting up for my regular shift. No one told Demetrius to go in his baby momma’s room and blow his own head off. So either I was going to get some quotes or get screamed at by Julius. After crossing the doorway, Greensboro’s finest felt the need to intercept me.

Miss... Miss! the officer said as he put his hand on my chest. You can’t go in there yet because that, too, is considered part of the crime scene.

"First of all, I’m not just a ‘Miss’! I’m Kenya Blades, reporter for the Sun-Times, and thanks to this crime scene - which is behind me, by the way - I have a story to cover, I said while I pushed his hand away. The mother had to move away from her original room to that room so you all can investigate. So there’s no reason why the room that she’s in should be off limits too. The way I see it, the only person who can tell me not to go into her room is her, and she’s talking to you too. You have to ask her questions as well. I will be done shortly."

The officer pulled into my personal space and pursed my lips together with his hand.

Miss Blades, you’re out of bounds here. You don’t dictate to me how to run this investigation and my job.The folks you need to talk to are at the nurses’ station and there will be a press conference later on this morning. If I were you, I’d just move along, keep it cute, peck those little notes on your iPad, and move along.

I pulled his hand from my lips and sank one of my nails into his cheek, ready to carve.

Do you feel any more like a cop now? If I say that I respect your authority, would you be satisfied? If you’re ready to stop playing cop and listen to me, both of us will be able to talk to her and ask the right questions to get what we need out of her. You and I are in the same boat, okay! She doesn’t want to talk to either one of us, and if it were up to her, she’d never talk about what happened here. The gag is this, though! She will have to talk eventually. She can’t afford to keep something like this in and be sane. I bet that she may vomit to us and get it over with. It’s worth a try. Now you keep it cute, be quiet, and let me handle this, because prancing your mechanical ass in there and saying, ‘Officer so-and-so from the Greensboro PD, and I have some questions for you’ will get you nothing but yelled at and a bedpan full of piss thrown at you.

Since you know so much about the art of negotiation, I’ll let you have this one.

You won’t let me have anything. I take what I want and need, thank you very much! I scoffed as I walked past him.

The officer mockingly rolled his neck, put his hands on his hips, and sucked his teeth as if I did that. For his sake, I hoped the chief of police would let him off the desk once in a while so he could get the action that he craved and therefore act like he had some sense of decorum and protocol.

I circled the bed and was relieved that the woman had settled down and tempered her grief enough to be coherent. She kept rocking back and forth repeatedly to ease the pain of what she witnessed. Anything was better than her wails, and my job would’ve been easier if that smart-ass cop beside me investigated the actual scene, instead of trying to flex his muscles with me. Dude thought he knew it all, but he had no clue about having compassion for people and how to communicate properly with them. Now was the best time as any to get my answers. It was worth the risk to ask my questions now, and besides, there was a certain bit of joy I felt when I proved people wrong.

Ma’am, I began. "You are one brave woman to witness what you did, and I understand that you’re not in the mood to talk, but you will have to talk sooner or later. I’m Kenya Blades from the Greensboro Sun-Times, and this is…what’s your name?" I asked while I tapped the officer on his shoulder.

Curtis...Curtis Carrier, he responded.

He’s Detective Curtis Carrier of the GPD, and we are willing to get you whatever you need to make this as smooth as possible. Whatever you need, I’ll get it for you. Once again, I do apologize…

Miss Blades, there’s no need to apologize to me. I don’t mind talking now. Actually, I welcome this because there’s no way I could hold this in, move forward, and be sane.

Is there anything either I or Detective Carrier could do to make you okay? I asked.

Give me my baby, the woman replied.

Okay, Miss...?

Shellow. Rozlyn Shellow.

Okay. Rozlyn. That can and will be arranged. Nurse! I called, jogging down the hall until I got someone’s attention. Rozlyn wants to have the baby by her side as Detective Carrier and I talk to her. We won’t take up much of her time and the time of the ward.

Ms. Shellow, Detective Carrier began, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. What was supposed to be another joyous occasion, with you and your husband—

Demetrius wasn’t my husband, officer. He was my boyfriend of eight years, she said.

My eyes grew to the size of one-dollar coins as I muffled my groans. I tried with everything that I had to offer not to put my opinion in, but Rozlyn had the drop on me. She knew what I thought without me saying anything because I did a suck job of trying to restrain my disapproval. It’s hard to erase feelings once they’ve been scribbled all over your face in the boldest and loudest of colors and sharpest of angles, but at least she was cool about my expressions.

I know, Miss Blades. It’s okay, because I’m used to those looks. Family and friends looked at me the same way that you’re looking at me. I know they mean well, and I assume that you do too. This wasn’t the plan for me, not at all, but when you get complacent like I have over the years, you’re likely to put up with anything, Rozlyn said as she cradled her two-day-old son in her arms.

Tell us what happened in the room. Take us through this unfortunate situation, if you will. Detective Carrier asked.

About a month before delivery, Demetrius had an affair, and after that he felt guilty for it. He’d blow up my phone and stop by the house all the time to apologize, but he’d continue to see her. Like a cycle, he’d creep and then grovel and tell me how sorry he was. Just two days ago, hours after I gave birth, he sent me a letter. Even in my condition, I talked to him and tried to find out what his problem was, Rozlyn said.

Did that letter indicate that he was thinking about suicide? I asked.

Yes. The letter was written in past tense. He was talking like someone on the verge of it.

In your thoughts, why did he decide to kill himself in front of you?

Rozlyn bit her lip to stop the quivering. I saw her losing a battle to keep her composure at that point. I grabbed the Kleenex from the windowsill so she could catch those few drops of tears she shed.

He did this to make me feel guilty. He has always been manipulative like that and this is why. This is the reason why I’ve been in the relationship as long as I have. Now I have to live with the guilt when I didn’t do anything but be a great girlfriend to him. I didn’t cause his pain, she said.

I hope that you don’t blame yourself, because it’s truly not your blame. You didn’t do a thing wrong, and it was selfish and cowardly of him to do this, Detective Carrier said.

I felt my tears rush along the curves of my cheeks. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I was in that situation. I also couldn’t begin to understand the range of emotions that Rozlyn felt and was feeling now. For her to endure this and still want to talk to me and Detective Carrier in my eyes, that was a testament to her strength and resilience. But I couldn’t help but wonder if Rozlyn knew just how touched Demetrius was in the beginning of their relationship.

He was a coward - a straight coward to bow out from me and our children. We were done before I gave birth because I was fed up with the cheating and the whiny guilt trips afterwards. He just couldn’t take it, so he decided to try to make me feel guilty forever by coming in here and doing what he did. But you know what? I don’t feel guilty because I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m not going to allow it. May he rot in hell. My babies have me and we all will be fine. The hell with him! Rozlyn yelled.

I heard the booming horns of my NFL on Fox ringtone erupt from my purse.There was no need to wonder who it was because I already knew it was Julius. That was a given. What he wanted now was the mystery. I knew the deadline was tight and I was on it - or I thought I was. Julius probably wanted to let me know that the deadline had changed and I had missed it. If so, he couldn’t have sent me that memo while I was talking to Detective Carrier. If it wasn’t the story, was it some drama with Noah that could have waited until I was in the newsroom to address? Whatever the case, I was ready for what was next and what was left.

Excuse me, Roz…Curtis, I said while I made my way outside.

Kenya! Julius spoke.

What’s up, Julius? There’s a presser later today about the case, and Detective Carrier and I are talking to the mother of the man’s children. I’m so close and I can get you the story now and follow-up this afternoon with the conference if you like.

Damn, you on it! Julius said. I should know by now that nothing gets past you. I just called to tell you about the Moses Cone press conference at noon. You sending in what you have would be fine and you can follow up with that presser later. Matter of fact, since I chose you to cover this story, being late as it is, you get to come in after the presser, edit this piece and your footage, and you’re good for the day.

Whew! I thought that you wanted to hold a meeting with me and punk-assed Noah for something. I swear he has it out for me and has had it out for me from the start, and I haven’t done anything to him - not as a student nor as a co-worker.

Kenya, what did I tell you months ago? There are some people who won’t like you for the way that you put on your shoes. You don’t really have to do anything for people not to like you. Now I’m not saying that you are totally innocent, because we both know that you can be quite the diva in the newsroom.

No I’m not, and you know I’m not! So, have you been hanging around him, now? Is that why you’re saying this? You must have forgotten how I even made it to the S-T! I had to talk shit to get this job, and four years later, I’m still talking shit to keep it! I’m high strung in this newsroom most of the time because I have to be. Julius, you of all people should know that and understand where I’m coming from. If I have to be a diva to stay here, so be it, and you all just have to live with it.

Kenya, you know I know. I understand, but you have yet to learn how to politick and keep it smart when it comes to interacting with some of these people. For whatever reason, Noah doesn’t like you and I know that you don’t like him, and I don’t expect you to like him. What I expect from you is well-written and reported stories on time with eye-catching footage to go with them, and that’s what you have been doing. I also expect for you to have a cohesive working relationship with other reporters in that newsroom. It’s a team effort, and it seems that you get it with everyone else but Noah.

I don’t have the problem. Noah does. That same speech about getting along and having a cohesive working relationship that you’re ripping off to me should be for him. He’s a catty-ass bitch who’s mad because I’m doing my thing, and that’s something that he needs to get together because I’m in the newsroom in spite of him. I’ve earned the right to be in said newsroom. I don’t care what he thinks and I don’t care what he says and does. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m thriving.

Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re the star here and Noah sucks. I get that. But you have to be respectful to those mere mortals.

You said it, not me. All I’m saying is that I’m not the one that you need to be directing this to. Noah is the one with his ass on his shoulders because of my presence. Now, with that said, I have a great idea for you when I see you later, and save that for Noah, man, because that’s where the problem is.

Whatever, Kenya. Just have my story in and I’ll see you in the office, Julius said as he ended the conversation by the beep of his phone.

Detective Carrier emerged from the room and I wasn’t about to let him leave without talking to him again.

Curtis! I called.

His hulking figure made a U-turn back to the door and back into my view. He may have been an obnoxious ass, but his obnoxious ass was also fine. His butter pecan arms were a mountain range unto themselves. He had the kind of eyes that could reach into your soul and hold it hostage while he stared at you, but they also carried a warmness about them.

I want to apologize for acting up, and I’m sorry for disrespecting you and accusing you of being a toy cop. I had no idea you were a detective, I said as I reached and touched his biceps.

Miss Blades, he said as he stared at the ceiling and smiled before locking his eyes in. You’re something else. Don’t worry about it. I love your feistiness and spirit. I like a woman who has enough confidence in herself to stand up to anyone or anything that dares to cross her. He pulled a pink ticket from his back pocket, scribbled his cell number on it, and planted it in my hand. So can our feisty spirits link up over drinks or hang out sometime?

I hesitated, and not because I didn’t want to take Curtis up on his offer. I hesitated because I couldn’t believe that he not only tried to get at me, but he did so with such boldness. His smile was as white and narrow as piano keys. I wished I could do some time for about a couple of hours. Hopefully, our schedules would align one day.

Whenever you’re ready, Miss Blades. In the meantime, enjoy today’s conference, he replied as he glided down the hall and stopped short of my mind.

The sounds and sights of flickering cameras filled the midday sky while we gathered to the freshly cut lawn outside of one of the hospital’s newer additions. See, Moses Cone’s P.R. team thought they were smooth and slick. Instead of the black and drab background behind a bland and basic podium and any other press conference cliché imaginable, the team chose to have the presser outside, taking advantage of the balmy Carolina sun of early spring only to distance themselves from the tragedy and seducing us in the media at the same time, as both sides addressed it.

Whatever. It didn’t change the facts of the tragedy in room 5275. You could try to lighten up the mood and divert from the fact of the matter, but it wasn’t possible. We were here because there was a security problem in one of the places where you should feel the safest.

I wished the spokesperson would tell me something I didn’t know. I wished they would give us some concrete solutions so that something like this would never happen again. But that was too ambitious, so I could only hope that they would hurry up and tell us something so I could get the hell on and write this follow up.

"Good afternoon. I’m Todd Winnick, and I want to personally welcome you to Cone Hospital. I thank you all for your presence here. I understand that you have to crank out your accounts of this morning’s tragedy, so I promise you that I’ll try to be as brief as possible. At this point, we are all aware of the events of this morning and we don’t need to address the tragedy any further. My heart goes out to Ms. Shellow, her newborn son, and the family of Demetrius Grant. What I want to discuss today is the safety of this hospital. Contrary to this morning’s events, Cone is still, and will always remain, a safe healthcare facility. I have no reason to believe otherwise, and neither does our patients. Just last year, we upgraded our security system. Our changes in security protocol included sophisticated electronic surveillance and an increased presence of security staff 24/7. There has been speculation about whether or not we are going to change our system. Absolutely not! This was an isolated incident and our security is more than sufficient. Our patients are secure and they are being treated with world-class care. Right now, I’ll take this time to answer a few questions.

The cameras resumed the flickering as reporters jumped from