Blinding Fear (4 page)

At exactly 8:30 she pushed through the door of her boss’s office and was cheerily greeted by Anaya’s male administrative aide.

“Good morning, Claire. You can go right in. Anaya’s expecting you.”

“Morning Tommy,” she dourly replied as she approached through the door to the Anaya’s inner office. “If I’m not out in fifteen minutes call 911.”

As the door closed behind her she heard him reply with a chuckle, “Oh, don’t be a gloomy-guss! You’ll be fine.”

Inside she found herself immersed and transported to the African continent through an eclectic, carefully arranged collection of fine art and artifacts, sculptures, murals, tapestries, exotic plants and even African-inspired music softly playing in the background. Claire had heard Williams-Jones had proudly spent tens of thousands of dollars decorating her office when she’d been promoted. It had created a bit of a stir throughout the building. Many editors preferred simplistic, sometimes even spartan offices, but Claire couldn’t help but marvel at its beauty.

As she entered, William-Jones rose from a burgundy-colored, over stuffed leather executive chair and came out from behind the zebra wood desk—cluttered with paper—to warmly greet her. “Claire, its good to see you. Please have a seat.” They shook hands and she gestured toward a much smaller but matching chair facing her desk. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

As Claire sat down she couldn’t help but notice that her boss was dressed in a riotously colored African wrap, with matching Kufi hat. In her mid-fifties, Williams-Jones carried herself with regal confidence, exuding strength, despite her diminutive five-foot frame.

Her parents, along with 10 year-old Anaya and two other sisters, had escaped to the U.S. from Uganda shortly after Idi Amin and his death squads began their murderous rule of terror of the poor African country in 1971. The family had arrived in New York City with only the clothes on their backs but had flourished through business acumen and just plain hard work. Claire knew that over twenty years Anaya had worked her way up through the Sentinel’s hierarchy, holding a variety of writing and administrative jobs while at the same time acquiring a master’s degree in journalism from New York University.

“No thanks, Anaya. I had something before I left home.”

“Ah, yes. If I remember correctly you have some sort of nutritional shake every morning.”

“Yeah. Still do. It helps when I ride my bike to work,” she responded politely to the small talk, dreading whatever it was that Williams-Jones really wanted to talk about.

“Well, I can only admire your dedication to staying fit.” She gently clapped her hands, then walked around her desk to sit back down in her chair. “Okay, why don’t we get down to business.” She paused for a moment, folding her hands carefully and leaning back into the supple leather, then taking a deep breath and slowly expelling it, apparently trying to gather her thoughts.

‘Oh, crap!’ Claire thought. ‘It’s worse than I thought!’ Her heart began to race.

“Over the past few months or so I’ve noticed a bit of a....shall we say.... decline in the quality of your work. Some of your articles have been a bit.....disorganized.....rambling; not much punch. They haven’t had the flair that the Sentinel expects of its writers. They’ve been missing the confidence and vitality that I, and of course my bosses, expect.”

Claire felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “So besides you not liking my stuff, somebody upstairs doesn’t either?” she responded, the stress causing the pitch of her voice to rise.

Williams-Jones shook her head. “No, no, no. It’s not that bad.” She held her hands up in a stop signal, gently trying to mollify Claire. “Just a memo or two, a brief comment when passing in the hall. They say it’s as if something’s distracting you. We’re just concerned. That’s all.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Claire said, somewhat relieved; her heart slowly calming. “I have to confess I’ve noticed you’ve been marking up my copy a bit more than normal lately.”

“Is something bothering you? Anything serious going on in your private life? Anything I can help with?”

Claire tried to gather her thoughts, knowing the next few moments could determine the length of her tenure at the Sentinel. “No, but thanks. It’s just I’ve gone through a bit of a rough patch in my dating life that’s got me a bit flustered. Seems like all the men I’ve seen turned out to be jerks!”

Williams-Jones chuckled. “We’ve all been there! Before Jack came along it seemed as if all the good African-American men in New York had vanished into some sort of urban Bermuda Triangle. But.....” Williams-Jones paused for a moment, steepled her fingers, and fixed Claire with a pay-close-attention-to-me-now gaze, “.....your private life is exactly that. We fully expect you to ensure that if things go bad they don’t bleed all over your ability to put words on paper. If you need some time off to recalibrate, just let me know. Unless I’m mistaken you haven’t taken vacation time in over a year. If you need more than a week or so, we’d be happy to look into granting you some extended leave.” She paused again, then spread her hands wide and smiled. “‘Nuff said?”

Claire smiled slightly in response. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I shouldn’t let things affect me so much. It’s just really......frustrating. It won’t happen again.”

“Excellent! I really appreciate your willingness to work with me. Now let’s move on to issue number two.”

‘Issue two!?’ Claire wondered. ‘How many “issues” were on Anaya’s plate?’ Again, she felt something disagreeable stirring in her stomach.

“As you may remember, one of the reasons I hired you was in response to a Sentinel initiative to bring additional qualified minority writers on staff. I’ve given you some time to become comfortable, to get adjusted to how we do things around here. But I now have an assignment that I think is just right for you.”

“What’s that?” Claire responded cautiously. ‘Qualified minority candidates? ‘Just right for me?!’ Claire felt annoyance rising up like bile in her throat. She didn’t like being used as a pawn in the game of workplace racial politics that virtually all medium-to-large companies had thoroughly bought into. During the final interview with Claire, Williams-Jones had vaguely alluded to her “representing” the minority community in her reportage. In the euphoric haze of getting the job she’d nearly forgotten about it. Now it was rearing its ugly head again.

She could also see her boss had picked up on her gut reaction.

Williams-Jones regarded her for a moment, carefully gauging a response. “I think it’s only appropriate you remember I stuck my neck out a little when I hired you. My boss wanted me to hire one of the many, more qualified candidates, but I insisted on you.”

Claire’s defensive radar began sending out even louder warning alarms. “I’m sorry, Anaya. I don’t get it. Just what was it about me or my background that represented a risk to you?”

“As you know, the Sentinel only hires the best of the best. Your GPA at USC was a bit low and......”

“What’s wrong with a 3.3? USC is one of the highest rated and toughest journalism schools in the country!”

“Normally we prefer writers who excelled in college. Typically they have been at or near the top of their classes.”

“I was 37 out of 126. What’s wrong with that!”

“Nothing whatsoever.”

“And I did some top notch work at the Sacramento Bee. I was in the running for a Pulitzer on my series about the aging dikes on the Sacramento River.” Claire could feel her blood pressure beginning to rise again. “I received the Reporter of the Year award three years in a row from.......”

Williams-Jones cut her off while making a “T” with her hands, leaning across the desk. “Look, Claire. This debate is getting us nowhere. I’m not trying to disparage how you got here. I only want to remind you of one of the big reasons I brought you all the way across the country and pay you a six-figure salary to work at the most prestigious newspaper in the world. And here it is: In
my
view, men and women of color, like you and me, in powerful and influential positions such as you and I have, are invested with a sacred duty to the rest of the black community. We
must
continue the struggle; be ever vigilant. We must do everything possible to ensure the cultural, professional and financial gains we’ve fought hard to achieve are consolidated, allowing further growth of opportunities for those yet to come. Without moving forward we will inevitably fall back. The position you hold at the Sentinel brings with it great responsibility far beyond the mere words you put on paper.” She leaned back in her chain again. “Have I made myself clear?”

Claire had heard it all before but had never fully accepted the underlying premise of so-called equal opportunity and diversity in the workplace: that to defeat hatred, ignorance and bigotry you had to discriminate against those accused of discriminating against you. She actually admired Anaya’s commitment to her heritage and devotion to civil rights. But Claire admired and wanted to celebrate both sides of her ethnic lineage. She didn’t want to be defined as “Black,” she just wanted to be known as a great female journalist. Unfortunately, she also knew that to openly express that view right now would probably be professional suicide. She would have to fight her definition of “the good fight” another day. She audibly sighed. “Yes, very clear.”

Anaya’s head turned slightly to one side and her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I have no doubt there are other writers who would be more than happy to accept the assignment.”

“Yes, I’m sure and I’m sorry. I guess sometimes I’m not a very political person, Anaya.”

“There are times when all of us have to step outside of our comfort zones to take an active part in a greater good.” She smiled broadly and clapped her hands gently again. “Enough unpleasantness, however. Let me give you the details of your assignment.” She reached into a drawer, pulling out a large manila envelope, handing it across the desk. As Claire opened it and began sorting through the stack of materials, Williams-Jones provided an overview.

“As you may know there is a growing industry in this country and elsewhere for private companies that send satellites and other payloads into Earth orbit for both governmental and commercial entities. There is also a much newer branch of the business that involves sending very-high-paying tourists into space. There are many companies trying to literally and figuratively get off the ground but so far with limited success. Sir Richard Branson, the flamboyant owner of Virgin Atlantic Airways and other businesses, has for a number of years been trying to get one started but like virtually all the rest, has run into a bevy of financial, technological and regulatory issues that have kept him more or less grounded. The Russians started Space Adventures, Inc. and have sent a modest number into orbit. Unfortunately for them their main booster rockets have proven to be somewhat unreliable and in some case catastrophically so. As a result, some customers who might otherwise want to take a trip, have been scared off.”

At that moment Claire pulled out an 8x10 head-and-shoulders publicity photo of a distinguished looking, middle-aged or older, Asian man. She could also see his ancestry probably included an African branch. As she perused it Williams-Jones continued.

“That is Kayode Seok, a Korean-African-American, multi-billionaire who seems to be making better progress in getting other multi-millionaires and billionaires into space. He’s got a very interesting life story. He’s the son of a black Korean War M.A.S.H nurse and a South Korean officer she tended at her field hospital after he was wounded.”

“Interesting!” Claire gushed. “This is way off the beaten path! Usually it’s an American soldier and female Korean civilian. The fact his mother was a black nurse is a story in itself. In the early 1950s the U.S. military nursing corps was nearly 100% white.”

She picked up a multipage document that appeared to be a biography of Seok and perused it as Williams-Jones continued to provide a summary.

“Exactly,” Anaya added. “You can see from the biography they had only one child—Kayode—in 1953 shortly after the armistice. They stayed in Korea but unfortunately, because of his mix-race ancestry, when Kayode was a boy he was subjected to vicious discrimination and prejudice that went far beyond what he might have experienced in the U.S. At that time in Korea, and other Asian countries, any one of mixed-race ancestry faced being totally ostracized from society. Somehow the family fought through it all, eventually sending Kayode to Seoul National University where he earned an MBA at the ripe old age of 20. Samsung Heavy Industries hired him, eventually becoming that division’s president at 40. He became Chairman of the umbrella corporation at 43. Along the way he married, had six kids, added a doctorate in business and made untold billions in Japanese, Chinese and US stock and real estate markets. He retired at 55, came to this country and became a naturalized American citizen. After a couple of years he got bored and decided he wanted to get into the space tourism business.” Anaya stopped to allow Claire to catch up.

Claire sorted through the other materials in the folder; finding several publicity releases from “KS Space Tourism, Inc.,” many photos of what looked like a variety of standard aircraft and others that resembled some kind of space plane sitting on an airfield with a giant hanger in the background.

She also found a pamphlet outlining her travel itinerary, hotel and airline tickets.

Anaya continued. “He set up shop for his new adventure on a long-abandoned Air Force base in Texas that was closed down by Jimmy Carter sometime in the late 70s. Seok bought the place for pennies on the dollar from the grateful developers who’d owned it for years. He then spent hundreds of millions upgrading and expanding the facilities as well as doubling the length of the runways. He hired a boatload of techy, engineering and ex-NASA types. He also bought tons of off-the-shelf, space-related equipment—some of it for virtually nothing—from this country as well as Russia.

Obviously, the main focus of your assignment is to do a feature article about space tourism generally and Seok specifically. I’d like the secondary thrust to be about how he succeeded against racial prejudice and discrimination and how it actually enabled him to be on the verge of success where others are struggling or simply failed entirely.”