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Now Dru-Ann watches herself shriek these words in a trim sound bite on three different Twitter accounts, including one that belongs to some dude with a million-billion followers whose only job appears to be posting on Twitter.
Dru-Ann clicks out of the app and storms upstairs, where her partners—all of whom are fed up with dealing with the whims of their entitled clients—will be waiting to talk her off the ledge.
But the offices of the J. B. Channing Agency are oddly subdued. Usually at this hour, everyone is gathered in the common area in front of the 105-inch television, watchingSportsCenter. But today, the television is off. Dru-Ann blinks. Has she ever seen the television off? There’s always a sporting event happening somewhere in the world—cricket, soccer, rugby, polo, Australian-rules football—and chances are, a J. B. Channing client is participating. The blank screen is so unusual that Dru-Ann suspects a power outage—but all the lights are on.
Dru-Ann approaches her corner office with a sense of impending doom. All the office doors areclosed. This never happens. The men Dru-Ann works with love to showboat the very important conversations they’re having—with Federer, with Davante Adams, with the PR people at Emirates airlines who want to feature Dwayne Wade in their new ad campaign.
Dru-Ann’s assistant, Jayquan, has her espresso waiting as usual, so apparently the apocalypse hasn’t arrived. Dru-Ann accepts the cup gratefully and Jayquan winces. “JB is in your office.”
Scratch that—the apocalypsehasarrived.
J. B. Channing is a force in the world of sports. He founded this agency; he’s a five-time winner of Chicago’s Businessperson of the Year, and he’s perennially on theEbonyPower 100 list. Last year he appeared inPeoplemagazine’s Most Beautiful People issue; he dates actresses, and for a few months, he was sleeping with the most successful pop star on the planet. He has very famous friends. (Behind his desk is a photograph of him with Jimmy Kimmel, Jason Bateman, and Chris Rock; they were out together at the Green Door.) JB is not only Dru-Ann’s boss, he’s her champion. Like Dru-Ann, he graduated from North Carolina and then the Kellogg School at Northwestern. He hired Dru-Ann because they share two alma maters and because she has the best nose for talent that he’s ever seen. Dru-Ann is a fierce advocate for other women of color; she doesn’t tolerate nonsense, and she speaks her mind. She thinks only two things are more important than natural ability in an athlete: hard work and discipline.
JB has made it clear that he loves these things about her.
But not today.
He doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “The video is everywhere and, unfortunately for us, it’s a slow news day in the sports world.” He sighs and runs a hand over his shaved head. “There are very few hard noes in our business, Dru-Ann. But you can’t mess with mental health.”
“Right, I know. Except—”
“No exceptions. You were at the retreat with the rest of us.”
Yes, Dru-Ann was at the mental-fitness retreat at the American Club in Kohler, Wisconsin, which JB organized after a wide receiver from Baylor—a kid who had been drafted by the 49ers—committed suicide.
“I wasdefendingmental health,” Dru-Ann says. “Posey whipped it out because it wasconvenient.”
“You’ve lost four clients already this morning,” JB says. “Tamika, Winnie, Nyla, and Linzy. More are sure to follow. I’m placing you on a leave of absence until this blows over, and Jim and his team are drafting your apology statement right now. We want to get it out as quickly as possible.”
“I’m not issuing an apology,” Dru-Ann says, “because I wasn’t wrong. Posey Wofford is mentally healthy. She’s using it as anexcuse,JB.”
“You’ll issue an apology,” JB says, “or I’ll be forced to take the next steps.”
“And do what, fire me?”
“Obviously I’m not going to fire you, Dru-Ann,” JB says.
“Then defend me, please.” Dru-Ann gazes out the window at the skyline of Chicago, then turns on her stilettos. He wants a leave of absence from her, she’ll give him one.
“We’ll be in touch about the statement!” JB calls after her.
Dru-Ann retraces her steps to the womblike comfort of the Phantom and peels out of the garage (the attendantisdishing her attitude!). Like an automaton, she pulls onto Lake Shore Drive and heads north, which feels sowrong,sobackward.She owns a beautiful brownstone in Lincoln Park but she doesn’t want to hang out there during the day.
Her phone rings and the posh British voice says, “Nicholas Wofford,” making it sound like Nick has appeared on the doorstep in a tuxedo with an armful of calla lilies.
“Accept.” Dru-Ann doesn’t really want to talk to Nick—this whole thing happened because of his terrible handling (and, let’s just say it,parenting) of Posey—but the sad fact is that Dru-Ann has fallen in love with him, and also, she’s low on friends. “Hey,” she says. “Are you at the office? Can we grab coffee?”
A silence follows, then Nick clears his throat and Dru-Ann thinks,Oh, dear God, no. Not you too.
“I think we should hit the brakes,” Nick says. “And not see each other for a little—”
Dru-Ann ends the call and screams into the rarefied air of her car’s interior. Is it possible that absolutely everyone in her life has abandoned her? A text comes in and Dru-Ann assumes it’s Nick offering some feeble, patronizing words, but when Dru-Ann checks the display, she sees it’s from Hollis.Colors for our outings this weekend,it says.Dinner Saturday: black or white. Lunch Sunday: orange or hot pink.
That’s right,Dru-Ann thinks.Nantucket.She had intended to cancel. She’s pretty sure Hollis wasexpectingher to cancel—not for mental-health reasons but because Dru-Ann just plain old-fashioned hates the idea of any kind of girls’ weekend, especially one where they’re all wearing the same damn colors in public.
But Dru-Ann is so relieved that there’s a place she’s actually welcome that she calls Jayquan and asks him to book her a first-class ticket to Nantucket for the morning.
“Am I using the corporate card for this?” Jayquan asks.
