Page 170 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“The job posting is live, but I wanted to put it on your radar and let you know that I would love to have you apply if you’re looking to transition,” she explains. “I’ve been following your column, Lucy, and I meant when I said you’re good. I know you were quoted for that story on sex work; I read the transcript, and you brought an insightful perspective. You’d be a great addition to the news team.”

“Nadia, wow,” I say. “That really means a lot. Thank yousomuch.”

“Of course.” She starts reading something on her screen. I’m not offended in the slightest; Nadia is a busy woman. “Take a look at it and let me know if you have any questions.”

I stand up and head for the door because I can only imagine how many things Nadia needs to get done. “I will. And, um, out of curiosity. Who would this role be reporting to?”

“Sandra Choi,” Nadia says. “She’s one of our senior writers.”

A breath of relief escapes me. “Got it. Thank you, Nadia.”

While writing forThe Journalwould be huge, I can’t pretend that it’s what I want. What I want is what I’ve worked toward since the day I got hired: my promotion. I can’t pretend that Nadia reaching out doesn’t mean anything, though. Perhaps this is some kind of sign…some kind of leverage.

Instead of heading to my desk, I hasten through the office. I feel heat in my core as I try to track down Eman. Finally, I spot her in one of the conference rooms with a few other senior staff members. Once her meeting ends I wave her down.

“Eman!” I approach her as she’s walking out. “Are you free right now?”

“Hey, Lucy!” she says. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to quickly chat if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she says and gestures to the room she just came out of. “Let’s go in here.”

We take a seat and I take a deep breath. “I’d really like to talk about my promotion.” Eman’s poker face is stronger than anyone’s I’ve ever seen because she doesn’t look fazed in the slightest that I’m bringing this up. So I continue talking. “I’ve proved that I’m capable of writing for a different audience and that my column is successful. I think I deserve a senior writer title. I know you submitted my name and we’re already at the end of the quarter. I wanted to see if there was an update.”

“Lucy, I agree with you one hundred percent,” Eman says, and I have a bad feeling of what’s coming next. “But…given the recent layoffs, there just won’t be any promotions happening this year.”

My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I’m aware this is how things in a corporate workplace go, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. I wonder how long Eman knew this. When she would’ve told me. If I never asked, would she have ever brought it up?

I ask my next question already knowing the answer. “Are there any guarantees for the new year?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say that, Lucy,” Eman tells me, remaining unbiased, as if she were being recorded by HR. “But trust me, when the time comes, things are looking good.”

“They’ve been looking good for the past two years,” I say, defeated.

“I know,” she says regretfully. “I’m so sorry.”

I sigh, feeling helpless. “I puteverythinginto those relationship stories I did over the summer. You have no idea.”

“And those stories didnotgo unnoticed,” Eman says. “Leadership knows about them and is aware of your work. They know you by name, that’shuge.”

Respectfully, I don’t give a shit if they know me by name.

“Eman, I’ve been here for four years and have worked my ass off. Ilovewriting my column…but I can’t keep doing this if there’s no payoff in the long run.”

“I completely understand, Lucy. I’ve been trying to get people on the team promoted longer than you and it’s just not that easy.”

All I hear from that sentiment is that there are more people in line ahead of me. If there are people Eman is pushing for sincebeforeshe promised me my promotion, I sure as hell won’t see that new title in the coming year.

“I hear you,” I say. “Thanks for vouching for me.”

“Of course.” Eman smiles. “You know I have your back, right?”

“Yeah.”

Eman takes her laptop under her arm and then leaves the room, and I’m left sitting by myself. I feel defeated, and hurt, and used. I’ve given everything to my job and unfortunately the reality is that it sometimes doesn’t give you anything back.

I pull up the job posting forThe Journaland scan in detail the requirements. My eyes scroll past the description to the bottom and that’s when my heart sinks deeper than I thought was possible. The salary is almost half of what I currently make atThe Rue.