Katrice Kellom
“What the fuck?” I belted as pellets of water hit my neck and hair from behind. “Did this elephant just spit on me?” The snickering from Stephen only caused me to fume as the camera remained firmly pressed on top of his shoulder. “You better hope that thing is still not on,” I threatened him. I grunted, shaking off the droplets of water that caught on to my hair.
“It’s on but not a live feed. I couldn’t help it, Trice. Shit’s funny as hell,” he sputtered, lowering the camera as he approached me. “I tried warning you that this wasn’t a great idea, but hey, you’re the boss.”
“Since when?”
I was close to crying as a zoo employee slowly approached me with a towel. It dangled in her hand as if it were poisonous. Felicia, the baby elephant, that thought it was cute to give me a bath, released a playful horn-like sound.
“I wanted to air over there,” I harshly whispered, pointing to the other side near the pelicans.
“If we’re reporting on wildlife crime, primarily poaching for illegal ivory trade, the hell would we stand by the pelicans? Make it make sense, woman.”
He slowly approached me as he gently tilted my head up by the chin.
“Besides, you’re cute when you’re all flustered and wet.”
With pinched lips, I did my damndest to keep any tear that threatened to fall at bay. I’d spent two hours this morning flat ironing my otherwise naturally thick and curly mane only for this baby elephant to play bath time with me. To make matters worse, I’d just slipped off my safari hat because he told me that I looked better on camera as my hair flowed freely. Now all of my damn hard work was for naught and his silly ass was laughing at my expense.
“Hey, eyes up here,” he whispered as I took a few deep breaths to calm down. “We took this assignment because you wanted to do something different and let’s face it, reporting on crime shit like robberies and murders everyday gets depressing as hell. Necessary but depressing. I’m out here all swagged out in my safari gear too hot as fuck... for you,” he added, laying on the guilt as my lips trembled. “Let’s take twenty. You go to the van and take a minute to yourself while I fetch us something to eat. We have another story to report on at the library across town anyway.”
I did everything humanly possible not to smack him, but Stephen was right. It was my idea. He then shot me a wink before he was off to give me time to tend to myself. I took a deep breath and shook my head as I took in that walking, dark chocolate specimen.
He was an asshole to most people due to his blunt approach but a six foot two softie when it came to me. He was right though; robberies and murders were depressing but accepting this assignment was to get Janice, our station’s head, attention.
Therefore, I needed to get out of my feelings so we could move on to the next story. It was just hair. That and my natural texture of hair would soon swell to its original state from sweat by the end of the day.
While Stephen went for food, I trudged back to the van. No sense in worrying about something unexpected, which happened more times than not given my line of work as a beat reporter. I just wanted to impress Janice. Now all we had was footage of an elephant soaking her reporter. I guess my chances of being considered for WSTN’s nighttime entertainment segment, Entertainment Live with Kev and Paula P. was becoming slimmer and slimmer.
Rumor has it that Paula P. will be departing the network after her recent nuptials and I wanted that spot more than I wanted to lose thirty pounds. Well, almost as much since I needed to lose thirty pounds. I was used to being the chunky, pretty girl though growing up but being the chunky, pretty beat reporter was getting old. I even played volleyball to drop a few pounds when I was younger and all that did was turn into muscle.
Go figure.
As for my career, I just wanted something lighter, funnier to report on like what was going on in the world of celebrities, talk about awards shows like the Grammys or Oscars and cooking segments that could be coined something like Cooking with Kat. I made a mean veggie lasagna that was an office favorite and Mexican quiche filled with bell peppers, tomatoes, black beans, cheese and topped with salsa.
I always dreamed big as a child growing up, but somehow I’d reached a ceiling in my career. Therefore, I saw that potential move to nighttime reporting as the one move that was not only lucrative but necessary to go to the next level. And hopefully, a move that would prove that my weight was a non-factor. It happened all the time from Lonnie Love on The Real to Whoopi Goldberg on The View and I could never ever forget the great Oprah Winfrey. That lady created an entire network that then created millions of jobs for others.
Goals, bitches. A hungry, black girl reporter’s goals.
“You’re ready?” Stephen probed.
He’d stuck his head into the van that was transformed into a pseudo dressing room in the rear section. Luckily I was fully dressed, but it didn’t matter. Stephen was like my trusted sidekick, and one that has helped me with more than my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions over the years.
He was also one that carried a concealed weapon to deal with all the crazies we might come across. Even when I told him he didn’t have to because we could just pepper spray their ass to death, he’d discreetly slide his weapon inside the waist of his pants and nudge me to move the hell on.
Outside of Hunter, my best friend since college, he also was the only other person to know my continued struggles with my weight all these years later, but that negro couldn't care less. How when he fed me every chance he could?
Men. Either they loved you the way Stephen loved me no matter my thick frame or wanted to screw you over because they couldn’t screw you.
“Katrice’s so beautiful. And gosh... her skin, simply glowing, her hair, thick and healthy, but what isn’t is her weight. You know the camera easily stacks on ten to fifteen pounds, sometimes more. I’m sorry, Janice, but she really could stand to lose some weight.”
That was Paul Simmons, that fat white fucker, who had no room to part his lips. I wanted to remind him that the first day I walked into WTSN, his round, rotunda ass almost tripped over his fucking feet from staring at me. I was aesthetically pleasing enough for him to drool over while his third leg rose to the occasion, but I wasn’t good enough to sit on Entertainment Live with Kev and Paula P.
It happened after I reminded him that he was married. I wanted to add not my type, but even if he were, I wasn’t fucking my way to the top.
I lived that life before, although unknowingly, being the hidden gem to a man too afraid to love me and love on me out loud because of my size. If I didn't accept it from my first love, Deon, I for damn sure wasn't laying down and accepting it from the likes of Paul Simmons. Fuck that.
Still, the insecure younger me appeared in times like these and like always, I wanted to cry.
Come on back 8/28 for another Tuckerville love story where the basketball phenomenon fights for the BBW he once let slipped between his fingers.
Comments