Let the room misunderstand me

I felt the room change when the man called me the Black woman Grant pays to catch wives. Every camera found me before I finished swallowing. The laughter was not the worst part. The worst part was how quickly I wanted to become impressive enough for them to forget the sentence.

I did not correct him. Grant wanted panic, probably an indignant speech that his audience could enjoy afterward. I gave him nothing but silence and a request to speak with Lena. I do not know what my face looked like from the cameras. I know what I wanted it to look like: bored enough that they could not accuse me of being wounded.

~~Pretty enough to understand the assignment, not pretty enough to be reduced by it.~~

I have been angry about that kind of reduction since before I understood what it was doing to me. Modeling taught me how to be looked at without showing the cost. Fixing teaches me that money can buy a version of that performance, and I am still furious that Grant gets to call me outside help in a room where my history is entertainment.

But Lena is the reason I kept my mouth shut. Grant may have handed me a flattering piece of the truth, or he may have cut it into a shape designed to make me attack Lena before I hear her. I will not do his work for free.