Page 43 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Twenty-three

Jordan

“Stupid, right? Jordan broke the yolky egg atop her salmon benedict with her fork and brought the bite to her mouth. Delicious. She was prepared for Harper’s response, expecting an echoing of her own self-ridicule, but instead, he seemed relatively unfazed, like he was really consideringit.

“I wouldn’t say stupid,” he said. “I think it’s an interesting thought. Do you want to?”

Do I want to? “No. I don’t see that for myself.” She shook her head as punctuation. No, definitely not.

“Tell me why.” Harper looked at her sincerely.

Jordan crinkled her face. “It’s not my thing. Hosts are beautiful, charming, ‘on’ all the time. I have rough edges. I give it to you straight.”

“First of all, you’re beautiful and charming.

Your edges are not rough. You’re just real.

As for being on all the time versus giving it to you straight, in my opinion we need more of the real.

” Harper took another stab at his salad.

“Jordan, you have a lot to offer women and men— period. I know working behind the scenes is what you’re used to, but I think you may be underestimating yourself.

And that’s not something I’m used to from you. ”

Jordan felt challenged. As the millennials would say, she “felt some kind of way.” A sistah can’t have doubts? Maybe…he’s only seen me at my best? Jordan wondered. Had she only shown Harper her strongest side—when she was most confident? Hadn’t she been showing some of her vulnerability by now?

“Believe it or not, I do doubt myself sometimes, Harper.”

“That’s okay. That’s healthy. You’re not Superwoman.” Harper smiled.

“Is that your way of convincing me to do it?” Jordan immediately regretted the slight bite of sarcasm.

“You really want a recycled old biddie representing your show?” Jordan smiled at Harper’s old-school reference to cute women.

“Seriously, who reads more than you? Every day I see you scouring The New York Times, TheGrio, The Atlantic, NPR, The Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, The Washington Post, and USA Today. ”

“Don’t forget the BBC, The Economist, and Al-Jazeera,” Jordan teased.

“Exactly my point! You can discuss any topic at any time, and we need to see a Black woman like you do it.” Harper was animated, like he really believed in the idea.

Really? Jordan wondered. What Harper was saying, she wanted to believe, but she wasn’t at all convinced.

There really wasn’t anyone more qualified than her to speak on a wide range of topics.

But is that what the network execs, and more important, Evelyn, had really been saying?

Were Dr. Clark, Shelby, and now Harper right about this?

The people who knew her best? Especially Harper now that he’d seen all of her?

“Harper, there’s the whole thing about being on social media and always having something to say, making snappy videos and all that. That sounds exhausting and I don’t want to be a sound bite.”

“I definitely get that…” Harper said, his thinking face showing.

“Hell,” Jordan said, hoping he wasn’t seriously proposing she become some kind of influencer.

“That might stress me out more. And I’m trying to talk about wellness and how to help Black women achieve well-being.

You know, from a place of real substance.

With experts and quality content—writers and producers.

The show is a way I can bring forth my story week after week. Get others on their journey—”

“Why not just give them your story?” Harper interjected, as if making the most obvious point.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the show is your story, so why not tell it for real? You know, books were the original social media.” Harper smiled. “Why not write your memoir?”

“Me? A memoir? Harper, I’m not a writer.”

“Of course you are. Everyone has a story and yours is a good one, a great one. One that many women, and not just Black women, need right now.” Interesting, but no, Jordan thought, unconvinced.

Harper continued. “Look, the key to any kind of writing is to pour yourself into it. Maybe that’s what Shelby and your therapist are talking about.”

“Right now, the network wants to know why anyone should care. Why would they care about this? About me? I don’t have a platform, Harper. I’m a behind-the-scenes person.”

“Because you’re the one and only Jordan Motherfucking Armstrong. You’ve been through it and only you can tell everyone else what it’s like from the other side, that’s why,” Harper declared.

Jordan heard him and smiled, but her head was still shaking no. Maybe he doesn’t understand, she thought. But it was amazing that he believed in her so much. He did though, that much was clear.

Hand on the table now, he continued. “Start with a couple of articles, some think pieces, maybe even a podcast with a couple of guests that you could easily book. Get your perspective out there, build an audience. Have fun with it. You’d ease into a host role naturally.”

“You sound like Shelby.” Jordan dismissed his suggestions with a wave of her hand.

“That’s scary, but she’s not wrong, J.” Harper smiled at her reassuringly. “Let the people know you. You have so much to give.”

Harper took a bite of blackened chicken from his nearly forgotten salad, and then seemed to remember an important point.

“But it’s got to come from you. You have to be raw.

And vulnerable. Your story can be inspirational to people.

They’ll listen. You just have to be the one to shepherd it and birth it and mother it and…

fight for it, to slay all the dragons so that it can survive.

Because everybody tries to kill your dream when you have one. That’s the nature of dreaming, Jordan.”

“I’m not…a dreamer like you, Harper.”

Harper looked deflated for a moment, but then seemed to regain his conviction.

His belief in her was always contagious.

And now it was no different. Jordan wasn’t dreaming, but she had started to wonder.

To his credit, Harper wasn’t giving up. “It’s in you though…

” he said, reanimated. “You just haven’t had the support to do it.

Yeah, you been dogged in your pursuit of reaching that corporate mountaintop.

And that was a dream and you achieved it. ”

“And it nearly killed me.”

“Then whose dream was it? Yours? Your parents’? The Black community’s?” Harper asked. “Who’d you do it for?” Jordan shifted in her seat and looked west toward the horizon. It was a big question; one she had no answer for at the ready.

Harper contined. “Remember in undergrad, I was determined to become the next Bryant Gumbel? I wanted to be a broadcast TV star? And when it came time to step up, I didn’t have the ‘it’ factor.

You helped me come to terms with that. It was all I thought I wanted and tough to have to figure out another way, but it forced me to find my voice. ”

Jordan remembered that time well. Harper had been heartbroken when his dream was shattered. But that had just been his first dream. Tough love taught him and brought him around to becoming the voice of a generation. Jordan not only had the right advice for Harper once, but several times.

Jordan took a deep inhale, let it all out, and then turned back to him. “Just because you became a world-renowned novelist doesn’t mean that formula works for everyone.”

“Okay, have you ever journaled, kept a diary?”

Jordan chuckled. “ No. ” Harper looked surprised.

“My therapist has encouraged it…But it’s not really for me.

I’m not even good at having a verbal discussion of my inner thoughts.

Now you want me to keep a record that someone else can discover?

No thank you.” Jordan’s shoulders slumped.

The conversation was leaving her feeling vulnerable and defeated.

She sighed with resignation. “I don’t know.

Maybe I should forget about the show for a while…

just keep consulting. I’m making money; I have a good, virtually stress-free life.

Maybe the show thing just isn’t for me anymore. ”

“Bullshit!” Harper’s eyes burned, lit from within. “You want something of your own. Not just working to make other people’s ventures better. You want fulfillment. I know what that’s like. You’re just afraid.”

Afraid? “I’m no punk,” Jordan corrected him. “I’m just not a writer.”

“More bullshit. Try.”

“Try what?”

“Write down the thing you’ve never shared with anyone. A childhood memory. A memory that scares you.”

“I’m not doing that,” Jordan said. No way.

“Take a chance,” Harper encouraged her. He handed her a pen.

Meanwhile, her food was getting cold. This conversation had consumed them.

Why is he doing this? Jordan wondered. Why can’t we just finish eating, take a walk, go back to my place, and…

Sigh. But she knew Harper wouldn’t let this go.

This was their dynamic. They always pushed each other. Always. She gestured to her phone.

“Fine. I’ll just do it on my phone.”

“No. The brain-to-hand-to-paper is more powerful and emotional. You’ll get something great.”

I can’t stand it when he makes logical sense… Jordan sighed.

“I don’t have anything to write on, Harper.” Harper patted down his pockets, surfacing with only a receipt and half-folded napkin. Then he ripped a long piece off the paper tablecloth and handed it all to her.

“Here, it’s paper,” he said. “You don’t have to share it with me. It’s just for you. Take five minutes and just write. Don’t think.” Don’t think? Jordan’s heart started racing. Her leg bounced under the table, making the water glasses jostle. Harper noticed. A look of concern crossed his face.

“You don’t like this, right?”

“No.”

“Good. You should be uncomfortable. Growth doesn’t come from doing easy things.”

“Okay, Confucius.”

“Do you trust me?” Jordan studied him through her sunglasses. “Not the twisted lips,” Harper teased with a charming smile.