The List (6 page)

Cynthia handed over the mic to First Lady Stephanie. She stood and said, “Ladies, let's give these awesome women of God a hand.”

Everyone stood and applauded. After the applause died down, First Lady Stephanie spoke again, “To sum things up for the evening, women of God, it's so important that first you make sure you're prepared for marriage. It's not just about going to the gym to lose that thirty pounds so your body can be right. Some of you need to lay aside every weight and get your spirit right. Instead of going to get that new outfit that will blow his mind, outfit your spirit with the fruit of God's Spirit. Get your credit straight, your finances right, keep your house clean, learn how to cook, and get your attitude right. In every facet of your life, make sure you reflect the image of Christ.”

The preacher in her was starting to come out as well. Some people said it was just a matter of time before she would be ordained as a minister in the church.

“Ladies, make sure your heart is healed from past relationships. Take the time to clear your heart of old wounds, hurt and bitterness. And, finally, know who you are in God, what your purpose and destiny is, and where you're going. And then when you're straight, make sure you know exactly what you want and need in a husband. Make a list and check it twice, and whatever you do, don't compromise. Be prepared and then choose well, so God will have something to work with in making your marriage strong and lasting.

“To take this ‘choose well' advice one step further. The Bible says a woman is supposed to submit to her husband. Many women today are so independent and headstrong that they don't want to submit. But submit doesn't have to be a bad word. Marriage should mirror the relationship between Christ and the church. Christ loved the church so much that He gave His life. It's not about control and domination—it's about love and the ultimate sacrifice. I have no problem submitting to my husband, because I know he's completely submitted to God. I trust him with my life because I know how deep his love for me goes. Women, choose a man that you have no fears about submitting yourself to, because it's just like submitting to Jesus, the one who gave His life for you.”

She stood at the podium. “The divorce rate in this country is more than fifty percent, and the church is no different from the world, where divorce is concerned. The devil is attacking the family, God's foundational institution for His kingdom in the earth. If Satan can get rid of strong godly families, then he has already destroyed the foundation for our society. Let's fight back by making sure we become strong families of God.”

She gestured to the women on the podium. “I'd like to take some time now for questions and answers. There's a wealth of wisdom here that you single women can glean from.”

 

The four of us gathered in the parking lot after everything was over and we had spent some time mingling and talking to other friends from the church.

We were all kinda quiet. Nicole finally broke the silence. “Y'all got this marriage stuff. I may not ever get married.”

“Yeah, that was a little heavy for me, too,” I said. “It goes deeper than being lonely and wanting a man. This thing is no joke.”

Angela answered, “That's why I thought it was important for you guys to come. If we're on a mission to be found by our husbands, that was essential stuff.”

Lisa said, “Everything they said was good information. Especially the ‘choose well' and submission stuff. Girl, I don't know about all that. That seems like a bad word. I been living on my own for the past twenty years. All of a sudden, I gotta turn over my life to a man?”

“You said you wanted to get married,” Nicole reminded her. “And I know you want to do it God's way, don't you? That's why y'all got that. I'm just learning to be submitted to God.”

I kinda felt them. Even though I wasn't a neck-twisting, mouthy, headstrong woman, I had gotten used to my independence over the past three years. Submission did seem like a bad word.

Angela spoke up, “Yeah, but you guys got so caught up on submission that you missed the most important thing she said. If a man loves you as much as Christ loved the church, then it should be easy. Imagine a guy that loves you enough to die for you.”

“Girl, when you find that man, let me know.” Nicole held up a peace sign. “All right. I did my duty and came like you asked me to. I'm out.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm tired and need to take it on home.”

We all hugged and headed to our cars. As I started up my car, my phone beeped, indicating that I had a text message. I looked at the screen and saw it was from Lisa.

Oh, dear. I couldn't even imagine what foolishness Lisa had dreamed up.

O
n Monday morning, I sat at my office desk and said a silent prayer. The day had come for me to pitch my show ideas at the programming meeting. I had dreamed about them for years, worked on them for months, and refined them over the past few weeks.

I grabbed my treatments and headed down the long hall to what I hoped was a new future for me and programming for our station. I entered the room and knew all the other producers wondered what I was doing there.

Especially Rayshawn Jennings. She gave me one of those up-and-down, you-ain't-nothing, what-do-you-think-you're-doing-here looks that only a sister can give.

I ignored her and headed toward an empty seat near the head of the table. I got other glances from some of the other producers—not as evil as Rayshawn's, but still a closed-door, you-don't-belong-here type of look. Their faces made it clear—I was a promo producer that did spots to promote their shows. I had no business in this meeting.

I got a smile from the one person in the room who counted—Phyllis Carter, the VP of programming. She had come to my office weeks ago and said she had been looking over my spots and liked my eye. She mentioned what I already had heard. A large chunk of money had come to the station that would allow us to do more original programming. So, in addition to the music video shows, syndicated sitcom favorites, and church programs on Sundays, the station would be creating more of its own shows. We already had a few talk shows and news shows of our own, but now we'd be able to really create our own niche in the market. We were still a small network, but this chunk of money could allow us to enter the ranks with BET and TV One.

I sat down at the table, a few seats from Phyllis Carter. She nodded to acknowledge me.

Clearing her throat, she indicated that the meeting was to begin. “Okay, everyone. As you all know, we're getting ready to produce more original programming for our fall line-up. I've asked each of you to come up with at least two show ideas to pitch. Let me hear what you've got.” She looked over at one of the senior producers. “Mark, you first.”

Mark presented a sports talk show idea and a sports reality show idea. I didn't particularly care for either one of them, seeing that I wasn't into sports. The guys around the table seemed to like them, though.

It was hard to read Ms. Carter's face. She simply nodded and said, “Thanks, Mark. Sounds good. Rayshawn?”

Rayshawn put on her best fake smile. She was such a brown-noser. She was evil as a snake to her production assistants and editors to the point where no one wanted to work with her. Around Ms. Carter though, she was sickeningly sweet. I had to admit she was a great producer, which I guessed was why she thought she could get away with her diva, serve-me attitude. Right now, her shows were the highest rated at the station, and she made sure no one forgot it.

“In looking at the market right now, reality shows are hot. I think we would do well to continue to ride the wave. They're cheap and easy to produce. They're also quite engaging for the audience because they appeal to the ‘anyone can be a star' in all of us.”

She pulled out her treatment. “My first idea is a reality show about girls who want to become music video dancers. In the tradition of
American Idol
and
America's Next Top Model
, we get girls from all over the country who want to be dancers. They go through the audition process, learning how to dance and dress to fit the videos. They'd compete with each other, eliminating one person per show. At the end, the winner gets to be in the latest video by the hottest rapper at the time. We can have rappers as the judges, which will increase our ratings because of the star factor. I've already got connections with Nelly, Young Jeezy, and Ludacris, who could be potential judges.”

I looked around the table to see if anyone else was as disturbed by her idea as I was. Just what we needed. Another television show to degrade black women. What would we call it,
Pimping My Hoes
? I shook my head in disgust.

“What?”

I looked up to see Rayshawn looking straight at me. My eyes widened. Nicole always said I needed to learn how to have a poker face. I hoped my look didn't express what I was thinking. “Huh?”

“You look like you have a problem with my idea.” I could tell Rayshawn was having trouble keeping her nasty attitude in check. She glanced at Ms. Carter and smiled a little.

I shrugged and shook my head, hoping to deflect everyone's attention from me.

No such luck. Ms. Carter put me on the spot. “Michelle, if you have some thoughts, don't be afraid to speak your mind.”

Should I lie and pretend I liked the idea to keep the peace and avoid the wrath of Rayshawn? I could almost see the Holy Ghost glaring at me, arms folded, tapping His foot, saying, “Speak
My
mind. I put you here for a reason. I got your back.”

I took a deep breath.
Then help me, Holy Ghost.
“Well . . . I . . . I'd have to say . . .” I took another deep breath and pretended my sistergirls were around the table rather than cutthroat producers vying to have their shows picked up. “I think music videos have done a lot to affect the way black women look at themselves. And the way society looks at us. We've become sex objects dressed in scant clothing, dropping it like it's hot. No brains, just sex. Our value is in having big booties and boobs and being able to shake them until a man loses his mind. And young girls are buying into it. We owe it to our youth not to continue to promote these images. I volunteer with a church ministry for inner city youth, and the way some of the young girls dress is ridiculous. Sometimes I have to stop them from imitating dances they see on television. They're twelve years old and want to dress and dance like strippers. And I think black television is responsible for it. So, to have a television show that promotes it . . . I don't think . . . I think we have to be accountable for what we put on TV.”

Silence. I could almost hear crickets.

Rayshawn glared at me. None of the other producers said a word. Ms. Carter didn't say anything either. Which made me most nervous. I guess her silence gave Rayshawn the confidence to speak.

“I appreciate your concern for the youth, but I think it's important at this stage of the game to go with what sells. BTV is at a point where we need to break into the market to compete with the well-established Black stations. And regardless of your opinion, black music videos are hot. I don't think it's smart to bring your personal, religious, holier-than-thou views into decisions we make about programming.”

Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned volunteering with the church youth ministry. Even though that was my foundation, it didn't have to be a Christian issue. Just plain old self-respect. Respect for black women.

I could tell, from Rayshawn's holier-than-thou slam, that I had offended her. I studied her. She probably didn't think there was anything wrong with the girls in the videos. She was the only woman I knew who could make Prada look sleazy.

“Any other thoughts?” Ms. Carter looked around the table.

No one even breathed.

“Rayshawn, your other idea?”

Rayshawn glared at me as she pulled up her other treatment. “My second idea . . .”

I tried not to pay attention. That way, if I didn't like it, it wouldn't show on my face and I wouldn't be forced to voice my opinion. I blocked out her voice and reached for the Holy Spirit on the inside.
Did I say the right thing? What did Ms. Carter think? Will she like my show ideas? Should I just leave now?

He didn't answer with words, but I felt His peace wash over me. My soul was flooded with confidence.

“Michelle, you're up next.” Ms. Carter nodded at me. The Holy Spirit graced me with one more wave of peace, and it was on. “My first idea is also for a reality show. As Rayshawn said, it's what's popular in television now and it's cheap and easy to produce.” I smiled at Rayshawn as if to say I appreciated and respected her wisdom. She fake-smiled back.

“My first show is called
Destiny's Child
. We would go into the inner city and audition youth who would normally be at risk for teenage pregnancy, drugs, gang violence, and highlight their talents. We would have them compete in the areas of dancing, singing, music, producing and allow them to be mentored by some of the best in the industry. The show would go in-depth into their lives and the obstacles they have to face to make it. Deal with their difficult family issues, poverty, drugs, but show their strength in being able to overcome it to succeed at their dreams.”

Ms. Carter nodded, as did some of the other producers around the table.

Rayshawn was, of course, the first to speak. “I don't know. It's . . . it's kinda . . . .” She wrinkled her nose and frowned. “It's cliché.”

Like video hoochies weren't.

She went on, “I mean, it's a sweet little idea and all, good bleeding-heart stuff, but I'm not sure it would be strong enough to grab and hold people. They might watch it once and think it's cute, but it may not draw them enough to want to watch it every week.”

Mark spoke up. “I disagree, Rayshawn. It could be gripping. Show some kid whose mom is on crack and father is in prison but he has this dream to sing or be a producer. A young girl who wants to dance, but instead of wanting to be a video girl, she wants to do ballet or dance on Broadway. I think it could work. I would watch it.”

I wanted to hug Mark. Not only was he supporting my idea, he was also agreeing with my dislike for Rayshawn's video girl show. In a subtle way, but clear nonetheless. Other nods around the table assented as well.

Ms. Carter nodded. “Michelle, your second idea?”

I squared my shoulders, more confident since my first idea had done fairly well. “When I first moved to Atlanta, one of my favorite things to do was go out to listen to live music in some of the jazz and neo-soul clubs here. There are a lot of independent artists who are extremely talented—better than some nationally released artists—but who haven't gotten that big deal to put them in the national limelight. I'd love to do a show called
Indie Artist
to highlight independent artists. We'd have them perform live before an audience then do brief interview segments—what made them choose music, their struggles with making it and whatever else makes their story unique. We could start with artists here in Atlanta, but I'm sure they have underground enclaves in Philly and DC and other metropolitan cities, as well. The show would have a real artistic, eclectic vibe to it.”

This time, I got nods from almost everyone at the table. Even Rayshawn looked interested, in spite of herself.

“I like it,” Ms. Carter said. First opinion she'd expressed all day.

Thanks, God.
I tried not to smile too big.

There were a few other producers to present after me. A couple of them had cool ideas. The other sounded like a Rayshawn disciple. Stick with what's already selling in the market and promote negative black stereotypes.

When we all finished, Ms. Carter spoke, “I like some of what's been presented here, and I'm confident that we'll have more than enough good ideas for our fall lineup. I do want to say that I'm not necessarily looking to duplicate what's already out there. I'm looking for fresh ideas that will give our station a brand different from the status quo. I'm also not looking to propagate already existing stereotypes of what black television is. I think we should be cutting edge. This is the vision of our CEO—to do something different. Know that some things will be changing around here.”

My ears got hot. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? I looked up to see Rayshawn glaring at me. Apparently, she'd heard the same thing I did. I looked up at God. What had I done? I was
not
trying to be enemy #1 of the station's top producer.

But then again, if I got a chance to represent God and change Black television, maybe I was.

Jason and Erika were waiting for me in my office when I got back. I closed the door, sat down and took a few deep breaths.

“How did it go?” Erika put a cup of chamomile tea on my desk.

I inhaled the sweet, tangy steam. I could tell she had put the perfect amount of lemon and honey in it. “I think okay.” I picked up the mug and blew on the tea.

“You think okay? What happened? What did they say? Did they like your ideas? What did Rayshawn pitch?” Erika seemed exasperated at having to pull the information out of me.

“Give her a sec, Erika. I'm sure it was a tough meeting.” Jason sat in the chair across from my desk. I could tell he was as anxious to hear about the meeting as Erika was, but knew I needed a minute to calm down.

I gave him an appreciative smile and then ran down the details of the meeting, discussing the different show ideas and people's responses. “Ms. Carter collected everyone's treatments and will get back to us in a few weeks.”

Erika sat on the edge of my desk. “That Rayshawn is such a skeez. Video hoochies? She looks like she may have taken a dance on a pole in her early days. And no telling how many people she slept with to get to where she is now.”

“Erika . . .” I gave her a disapproving look.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “What? Girl, I'm just saying what you know. I know you a Christian and can't say bad stuff about people, but think about it. How did she get to be top producer around here?”