The Do-Over(35)
Author: Suzanne Park

 

What’s for lunch?

 

And am I just a random token non-white person to go on a tour with, or do they actually see me as their peer?

 

Is there compensation or reimbursement for expenses?

 

Maybe it’s paranoia, but . . . is there an underlying motive for them?

 

Offering my most gracious smile, I said, “No questions at the moment. Let’s start the meeting and I can get a feel for what they’re thinking.”

 

She opened the door to reveal the massive O’Hara publishing entourage. Other than Mary O’Hara, everyone else around the long, oblong table was male. Ten people in all, including the O’Hara twins. It was like an executive meeting at my last male-dominated corporate job all over again. Aside from below-market pay, I left there for a few reasons, and let’s just say that dealing with this particular demographic in the highest ranks of the company was among them.

 

My marketing lead and publicity assistant lined up at the door behind me. We greeted the O’Hara team as we entered the room. My eyes widened as I looked past everyone and saw the lunch buffet against the far wall: some blessed saint had ordered a three-tiered dessert tray. My mouth watered as I shook hands with everyone.

 

We quickly took our seats so the meeting could begin. My team was not only outnumbered by the O’Hara party, we were out-everythinged. Out-marketed, out-publicized, out-budgeted, and even outclassed: they had partnered with all the finest spirits companies, fashion designers, and top business schools across the country, they announced. It appeared the O’Haras’ You Go, Girl! book was going to be a hit no matter what, whether it was organic or devised that way, and by targeting so many aspirational brands, they were clearly going after a specific type of clientele who had probably never heard of me. And honestly, I’d never heard of half of them either.

 

So why was I here again? Especially compared to all the name-dropped celebrities and influencers in their marketing presentation, I was a big ol’ nobody.

 

After their publicity director covered event outreach, they finally cut to the chase. “Lily, we would love to pitch you with Mary and Cameron for some of the more urban opportunities.”

 

“Urban?” I had no idea what they meant by this. I’d never considered anything about me urban. I wore clothes from Urban Outfitters sometimes, that was it. And maybe listened to Keith Urban on occasion. I ate from dining establishments that were cash only, did that count? I wore J.Crew flats and Madewell dresses for God’s sake. What was this urban nonsense?

 

Kylie, my publicist and fast friend, scribbled something in her spiral notebook and pushed it over to me. “URBAN—MAYBE SHE MEANS NOT RICH OR WHITE?”

 

Oh.

 

Silence took over the room. I bit back cutting words that teetered on the tip of my tongue, knowing what I really wanted to say about the O’Haras’ perception of race and class. It would certainly lead to the end of this so-called partnership. But just as I opened my mouth and found the courage to speak my mind, Mary O’Hara surprised me by being the first to say something after the uncomfortably silent stretch. “Lily, I adore your writing, and your book inspired me to become an author myself. I’ve talked about your book a lot in interviews because it’s a must-buy for anyone trying to make it in the business world, for anyone, but especially women of color.”

 

I took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you.” I met her gaze without glancing down, because my therapist had worked with me a lot about accepting compliments and not dismissing them as being “no big deal,” as I was always apt to do. It was a combination of being a modest people pleaser for so long, plus the humility stemming from my Korean heritage, with my parents instructing me to downplay all of my successes, while they were allowed to brag and talk them up.

 

She continued. “It was my idea to bring you into our marketing plans, but I didn’t specify when or how.” She turned to her brother. “Can’t we just ask her to join wherever she’s comfortable rather than dictate what type of events are best—”

 

Cameron interrupted. “We have more than adequate coverage in our core market, and the press releases are already out. It’s this larger, more urban reach I’m interested in pursuing. With her credentials and streetwise advice it seemed like, synergistically speaking—”

 

He’d said “urban” again, and anyone who used the term “synergistically speaking” was not worth my time. It was my turn to steer the conversation.

 

“Actually, I’m pretty busy today, so maybe we could wrap up sooner rather than later. I can look through the list of opportunities in your appendix and let you know the ones that interest me once you’ve sorted out your targeting strategy. We can go from there.”

 

Mary nodded. “Thank you, Lily. Any time you can offer is very much appreciated.”

 

I responded, “And I’m still on board with the in-person event sponsored by LBS alumni. I’ll email you the interview questions after the meeting. Shall we eat? This looks wonderful, thank you to the people who ordered it.”

 

Kylie beamed and grabbed a plate. “I ordered too much, you all might need to take some home!”

 

My editor leaned over and whispered, “Thank you for being open-minded about this. We can just do the LBS alumni event for now and evaluate their other ideas. It’s a great way to promote your book series.”

 

I nodded. I hadn’t agreed to much, but it was worth it to investigate opportunities open to me that I couldn’t otherwise afford. One of the points in my book was about self-advocating and self-promoting, and how women need to do more of it. This was something I always had trouble with too.

 

Another thing I firmly believed in was for women to develop relationships and networks, even pushing outside of their comfort zone. I would need to run this O’Hara quasi-partnership by my personal board of directors—aka Mia, some former work friends, and Beth. They had my best interests at heart while the people in this room might have their own agenda. If the exposure and platform the O’Haras provided would be worthwhile, my trusted friends would help me see the true value and risk of this opportunity.

 

I took a turkey and Brie sandwich, Caesar salad, chips, and a weighty cupcake back to the table as the O’Haras’ publicist confirmed that The Wall Street Journal ad would be running soon, and that the publisher would be promoting the event in social media leading up to that day as well.

 

Mary O’Hara said, “Thank you for that update!” just as Cameron barked, “I hope you can do better than just The Wall Street Journal. How much is it for The New York Times? The Washington Post? Have you even thought about going bigger with our brand?”

 

Cameron’s handlers, all three of them, whispered among themselves, and although it was too low to hear it, I caught snippets of “too expensive” and “looking into it.” Mary offered me an apologetic glance and forced a smile. She did seem grounded and genuine, but I’d been burned in the past by people who seemed one way and turned out to be another. I wasn’t going to let my guard down so easily. At least not until I’d had lunch and my hangriness subsided so I could think clearly.