Never Too Real Read Free Page A

her brief correspondent gig at a rival network. What, did they think she’d crossed the border yesterday? Stereotyping was just too easy for these people. This mistake had been costly for everyone.
    Cat’s English-only policy came through the first week of taping when she was asked to appear on AltaVision to promote her new show.
    “I don’t speak Spanish on air.”
    “What do you meeeeean you don’t speak Spanish on air?” Heather had wailed, grabbing at her parched hair as she paced her office.
    “But—but you’re Hispanic!” From the couch along one wall of Heather’s office, the muscled, miniature research director croaked.
    “And?” Cat replied with a smile, doing her best to make light of what she realized was a lose-lose situation. “We don’t all speak Spanish that well, you know. More than half of us don’t. I was born here, just like you.” She turned to the bald research director with an Italian last name. “Can you speak Italian?” He averted his eyes. She continued. “I can talk to relatives and give people directions on the subway, but I’m certainly not going on TV with it.”
    The room went silent. One side was panicking at their mistake. The other, recalling many mistakes along the way, including being forced to take eight years of French in school.
    Approaching her pod of cubicles, after what felt like a long walk through the desert, Cat found her staff quiet. She realized that they were probably all out of work, too—or, hopefully, just reassigned. She wouldn’t be. She was now an embarrassment to the network. The Great Brown Hope who failed them. She kept her head down, maintaining face.
    Rich, the Canadian, popped up by her side as she dropped into her chair, the cubicle walls shielding her from sight. “Cat, I’m so sorry.”
    Without looking up, Cat replied, “I’m sorry, too.”
    She hustled phone chargers into her bag and grabbed a favorite coffee mug. Behind her hung a poster made of a national full-page ad created for the show, Cat’s face and body taking up two-thirds of the space, her arms folded for authority. Heather said that poster was to go up in Times Square. Well, that wasn’t happening. The image already felt nostalgic. “I gotta go. Can we talk later?” Cat needed to clear her head. She wasn’t close to breaking down, she was just roiling inside, still baffled by the murmuring of glee vibrating in her gut. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
    “Yeah, yeah, sure . . .” He sidestepped her gently. “Just call me, okay?” Rich was legitimately concerned for Cat, but he also had to deal with the rest of their staff, and his own future.
    “Yup, I’ll call ya.” Cat, shifting a packed bag onto her shoulders, put out her hand for a shake.
    Rich took it and sighed.
    One more walk down the halls. At least for today.
    She’d come back for everything else, her clothes, her handwritten notes from grateful guests. Cat still had time on her contract, and they’d surely find a way to make their money off of her once the fog cleared. She’d be back in some capacity, she hoped. But as Cat strolled out, lighter this time, not one person looked up—she was an instant nobody. Folks who always had time to throw out a “Hey, C!” her way kept their heads down, watching her out of the sides of their eyes. Protective bubble in place, all Cat could think was, Everyone knew but me.

Chapter 2
    “N o POTUS today? Not even FLOTUS?” The deep voice belonged to a tall, slim woman with a Leonardo DiCaprio haircut circa Basketball Diaries, standing ardently dapper in a custom-fitted, designer pantsuit. Magdalena Sofia Carolina Reveron de Soto not only cut a sharp, gender-bending figure in the room—contrasting with the handful of women around her who glistened in colorful dresses and jewelry—she was the only blue-eyed blonde, male or female, in a sea of brown and black faces.
    Magda, as she preferred, was mingling among the bustle of handpicked business-owning insiders jammed