Jonathots Daily Blog
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Manning the desk as weekend program director at a television station is an honor for an up-and-coming reporter, but also an acknowledgement that this particular individual does not have enough seniority to escape weekend work.
At thirty-three years of age, Raoul Matteen was the youngest person to be given the position at WCNC, the NBC affiliate in Charlotte, North Carolina. He was permitted a skeleton work force of about seven other people, in order to, as they say, “keep the home fires burning.” But he was fully aware that if any home fires in Charlotte, North Carolina, actually did start burning, they would usher in the real staff.
Arriving back from lunch on Friday, Raoul, who insisted on being called Matt to simplify matters, was informed that he had a visitor. The receptionist rolled her eyes in a seductive way and announced that there was a tall young woman with long, brunette hair waiting to meet with him. Matt decided to act miffed, as he had seen his mentors do many times before. But after putting up the illusion of “being too busy,” he asked the receptionist to send the young woman in.
In walked Jennifer Carmen.
She was wearing a beautiful black dress and black patent-leather shoes. She had been in town for three days, spending most of her time out at the Soulsbury Campgrounds. (She had purchased three identical navy-blue jogging suits with white piping for her visit to the revival park, hoping not to draw too much attention to herself.)
Yet she needed to know. Or he needed to know.
At no time did Jennifer Carmen forget that she was really Jubal Carlos with an extensive–and expensive–makeover. He walked around for three days, greeting people, introducing himself as “Jennifer,” and was even able to pull off his disguise to people who should have known him–Jo-Jay and Soos, primarily, who just welcomed him as “another one of the girls.”
He was confident he could pursue his plan.
The idea was simple. He decided to go to WCNC on the Friday, knowing that the young manager would be willing to meet with Jennifer, and that he could make an impression as Jennifer, to set up a scenario to meet with the higher-ups on Monday.
When Jennifer walked into the room, Matt stepped back, a little surprised, his eyes widening. Jubal smiled inside. He extended his hand with as much feminine grace as he could muster, and daintily shook Matt’s nervous paw before sitting down elegantly in a nearby chair. The budding executive decided to speak first.
“My name is Raoul Mateen, but everyone calls me Matt.”
Jubal cleared his throat to ensure that the voice he had rehearsed was fresh and ready to go.
“Well, Matt, my name is Jennifer Carmen, but everyone calls me Jen.”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Since Matt had never had a meeting with anyone, he wasn’t sure how to conduct one. Sensing his inexperience, Jubal (Jen) continued.
“I don’t want to take too much of your busy time, so let me cut to the chase. Please forgive me for saying that. It’s such a cliche. As a writer, I’m always fighting cliches. You know what I mean?”
Matt nodded his head, totally fascinated.
“Let me phrase it this way,” continued Jen. “Let me tell you what I have, which you might be able to use.”
Jubal purposely paused for a second to see the wheels turning in Matt’s brain. It was deliciously devious. He then commenced his ‘Jen plan.’
“I am good friends with Jubal Carlos. I have been since youth. We grew up in the same neighborhood. We were always best buddies, and I know him like I know my own soul.”
Matt leaned forward in his chair and picked up a pen, fiddling with it in his right hand.
“Why haven’t you come forward earlier?” he asked slowly.
“Jubal asked me not to,” replied Jen flatly.
“And why did he ask you not to?” asked Matt, doing his best to interrogate.
Jen crossed her legs, tilted her head upward as if thinking, took a Kleenex and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
“Because there’s so much to tell. It’s difficult to know where to begin, and often in the world of the press, if you begin and even tell it all, they think there’s something being withheld.”
Matt tilted his head to the side, then stretched his neck and nodded his head, agreeing.
Jen resumed. “What I am suggesting, in the light of the Soulsbury phenomenon, is a series of articles–interviews, if you will–between Jubal and myself, enlightening the American public about this secretive man who has come on the scene to bring music and joy.”
Matt scrunched his face in displeasure. Even to a novice such as himself, the whole thing sounded crazy and contrived. He decided to present Jen with what he considered to be an insurmountable difficulty.
“Tell you what,” he said. “This is beyond my pay grade. My instinct is that our station would want one of our top reporters to conduct the interview, since we know nothing about you. No disrespect. So if you just come back on Monday and ask for the program director, and present your case to him the way you have to me, we can see about putting one of our award-winning journalists on the matter.”
Jen smiled. “Did they train you to say that, or have years of caution made you careful? Is it because you’re a foreign national and you don’t want to make waves, or does your upbringing tell you to be nervous with the white elitists?”
Matt stood to his feet, pointed to the door and responded angrily, “I think I’m going to ask you to leave. If I have problems, they’re certainly not going to be discussed with some stranger walking into my office and insulting me.”
Jen remained seated, but lifted her hands as if surrendering. “I’m very sorry. I guess I’m a little bit energized with the possibility of seeing this story get into the right hands, and maybe a little jumpy, or shall we say, defensive, about it?”
Matt put his arm down and eased back into his chair. “What was your name again?”
“Jennifer Carmen, but you can call me Jen.”
“Jennifer,” Matt concluded, “I am just not willing to be the fool. Do you know what I mean? When you’re working your way up the ladder, it’s a dangerous thing to try to skip rungs to get to the roof quicker. That’s when your foot can slip. And if you slip, you fall. And if you fall, there’s nothing or nobody to catch you. I’m doing real fine without your assistance. If this is a great thing, let somebody else determine that. But if it’s a setup for an asshole, I am not interested in pursuing the position.”
Jen leaped in. “Exactly. I wasn’t asking you to make a decision. I was asking you to allow me to go this weekend to the camp, meet with Jubal, do an interview and bring it in on Monday morning and let you read it. And if you think it’s good, take it to your bosses and see if we can’t make a deal.”
Matt leaned forward. “Are you telling me that Jubal is in North Carolina?”
Jen replied, “I’m telling you that I know where Jubal is. I’m not about to tell you where he is until I can strike a deal on these interviews. Let’s just look at it practically. You want to do something good for the station; the station wants first dibs on a great story. Jubal has things to share with the country, and I want a Pulitzer.”
Matt laughed. “A Pulitzer, huh? A Pulitzer about a cabana-band-leader who travels the world, hyping joy and handing out hamburgers.”
Jen stood to her feet, as if to leave. “Laugh all you want, Matt. But he’s the one changing the world. Not you.”
Jubal headed to the door, confident that he had sunk the hook deep into the guppy’s lip. As he was about to step through the door, Matt rushed to his side.
“Listen, Jen. I think you’re reading me wrong. Yeah. What have we got to lose? Monday morning bring me in, uh-h…” Matt paused, thinking. “Let say fifteen hundred words. Let me soak it up, pass it around to some copy-writers. If everyone’s hot on it, we’ll take it to the brass. That’s the best I can do. I can’t pay your expenses.”
Jen turned slowly, stuck out her hand for the shaking, and inserted, “I didn’t ask you to.”
Matt reached out and shook her hand. Jen turned on her heel and walked out the door. Matt called after her, “Where are you staying? In case I want to get ahold of you?”
Jen kept walking and without turning around, threw over her shoulder, “I’ll see you on Monday morning.”
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