AnaBGR
I’m actually scared right now.
StanleyP
I stand at your service, milady. Go forth and conquer.
AnaBGR
Did you manage to fix that complication slowing you down?
StanleyP
I think I have a better handle on the situation. I plan to implement my own plan of attack soon. Stay tuned. I anticipate success.
Chapter Fifteen
Ispent the commute to Radio Toronto brainstorming ways to subtly, anonymously sabotage Wholistic Grill, according to StanleyP’s three-step plan.
After I had come up with a few options, I focused my attention on ideas for the show Thomas and I would be pitching to Nathan Davis. We had worked out a plan already, but I wanted to have a few extra ideas ready to go. Perhaps an episode on public schools versus private schools and how students from marginalized backgrounds navigated both worlds. Or we could do a show about the way government census data was used to set policy that impacted everyday life for Brown, Black, and Indigenous populations.
A tiny flare of excitement ignited in my chest. Maybe our show would actually change something or start important conversations. And any of those stories would help secure my place as a respected journalist, not just another token ethnic voice repeating outdated, same-old narratives.
When I arrived in our office, Thomas was at his desk, twirling a pencil. He straightened when he caught sight of me. “Davis arrived early,” he said. “We have a window in about fifteen minutes. If youhad arrived any later, I would have had to pitch without you.”
“Why didn’t you text me?” I asked, scrambling to gather my notes.
“Things move fast in the world of broadcasting, Hana. There’s no point in having your habitual tardiness ruin our odds. We have a real chance here. You know how rare that is.”
Radio stations—and media in general—had been facing criticism lately for their lack of diversity. As Thomas had said in his initial proposal, a writer-producer duo who looked like us would have a greater chance of attracting attention and funding. So why wasn’t he meeting my eyes?
I made sure my voice remained calm. “Great timing. I came up with a few other ideas for episodes that I think will add to our pitch.”
A knock on the door, and Marisa joined us in the office. She was wearing a crisp white blouse, her hair straightened and blown out for the occasion. A cherry-red Hermès scarf was draped around her neck and over one shoulder. She squeezed my arm. “I have a good feeling about this! The outline Thomas put together is stellar.”
Her words gave me pause, but I decided to share my own story pitches before asking what Thomas considered “stellar”—and why he hadn’t included me when he drafted this document.
Marisa and Thomas listened to my ideas, brows identically furrowed. “Sweetie, I think it’s great that you want to do some serious investigative journalism, but I’m worried you don’t have the expertise or the name recognition to go after those issues,” she said when I had finished. “When you go into a pitch meeting with a senior executive, you must have an idea that is truly exceptional.”
“What exceptional ideas does Thomas have?” I asked. My co-intern still wouldn’t meet my gaze. In a distant corner of my mind, alarm bells were sounding.
Marisa placed a hand on the door handle. “Similar to what you twodiscussed, only with wider audience appeal. We should go. They’re waiting for us.” Her heels were loud in the hallway as she walked ahead, Thomas close behind. I followed, trying to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach.
THE CONFERENCE ROOM WAS LARGEand airless and resembled a basement bunker. Metal filing cabinets surrounded a large oval desk banked by a dozen executives in black leather swivel chairs. Nathan Davis was listening intently to a man in front of a projected Excel spreadsheet, and I took the opportunity to study him.
Davis was in his fifties, dressed in a dark suit, striped shirt, and muted tie. He looked like a career executive, a man who had spent most of his working life carefully marshalling other people’s ambitions to meet shareholder expectations. His business acumen was legendary; he was responsible for a portfolio of profitable regional and indie radio stations all over the province.
When he met my gaze, I realized I was staring. “Marisa, I hear your interns have a proposal for us,” he said, voice gravelly.
Thomas stood up immediately, clutching a tablet in hands that trembled slightly. I had thought we would be pitching together, and I experienced a moment of sinking realization. A quick glance at Marisa confirmed my suspicions. She was looking at Thomas the way a parent does their child at a school play, practically willing his success into being. Thomas and Marisa didn’t want me to speak at all.
“Dear members of the executive group, thank you for this thrilling opportunity to present our exciting ideas. My name is Thomas Matthews, and I am an intern at Radio Toronto. My partner, Hana Khan, and I have a proposal for a new show that will explore race,religion, and identity in the Greater Toronto Area. We are both South Asian and have unique backgrounds that will allow us to delve into this topic. I am eager to discuss Indian food, Bollywood movies, and cultural traditions. In addition, as a Muslim woman, Hana’s stories will allow listeners to ‘peer behind the veil’ and learn about important Islamic issues such as radicalization versus assimilation and why Muslim women wear the hijab.”
I stared at Thomas, speechless. He had designed the pitch exclusively around everything I had said I didn’t want our show to be about. I had been so intent on sharing my ideas that I hadn’t pushed Thomas on his game plan—the plan that didn’t include me as anything other than a mute figurehead.
Marisa leaned forward. “Nathan, Hana and Thomas have a unique perspective that reflects the changing demographics of our city. They’ll bring in new listeners and new stories.”
Davis’s eyes started to gleam. Corporate loved the idea of untapped markets.
