The Wing Girl: A laugh out loud romantic comedy

Stan Harvey the feature guy couldn’t stop staring. “Excuse me, but … who are you and what have you done with Belinda Carson?”

“Just thought it was time for a little change,” I said, twirling a lock of my hair.

“Little change?” said Stan.

“I’d give you a compliment but I see Inhuman Resources lurking in the newsroom,” said Bob Evanson, spotting the troll on one of her regular spy missions. “So I’ll just ask if someone can turn up the air conditioning in here.”

“You look amazing,” said Audrey, still trying to dab coffee off her blouse.

“Thanks.” I looked through the glass and saw Harry headed our way. “Nobody say anything. I wanna see if he notices.”

Harry blew through the door as he always did, dropped a bunch of manila folders and a yellow legal pad in front of his chair, took a seat, banged his chipped red coffee cup on the table and spilled a bit of it. He pulled a pencil out from behind his ear and looked up. His brow creased as he noticed me, then he turned to his perky brunette assistant who sat to his left. “Audrey, you’re supposed to notify me in advance when we have a guest in the morning meeting.”

Audrey, who’s my age, bit her lower lip, trying her best not to laugh. “She’s not a guest, Harry.”

People snorted, laughs were stifled. Harry slowly turned in my direction, pulled his silver reading glasses down to the tip of his nose and stared over them at me. “I’m sorry, do you work here?”

“Every weekday for the last eight years,” I said. “Maybe you recognize the voice.”

His eyes suddenly widened in recognition. “Cupcake?”

I smiled and nodded.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Harry, you’re a real charmer,” said Jenna.

“In my office after the meeting,” he said.

***

I followed Harry into his cluttered office and closed the door behind me. Harry moved to the window that looked out over the newsroom and twisted the Venetian blinds shut, since the entire staff had stopped working and didn’t want to miss the scene about to take place. I heard a chorus of “Aw, shit” through the window. He started pacing behind his desk and shook his head. “I can’t believe you did this to yourself.”

“Did what, Harry?”

He started wildly gesturing in my direction. “This … this … hair, and … you’re in a dress.”

“Women wear dresses, Harry. Women go to the hair salon.”

“But not you. You always look the same. You’re—”

“One of the guys?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re a real reporter, not the eye-candy fembots management sticks me with.”

“Are you saying I can’t be credible if I look attractive?”

“People won’t take you seriously.”

“You’re kidding, right? This is television news, Harry. Or have you forgotten we work in the world’s most superficial business?”

“You just took the brass out of the cupcake.”

I tapped my head. “The brass is still here, Harry. It’s just been polished a bit.”

Harry pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, jerked it toward his head and popped one in his mouth.

“You know you can’t smoke in here, Harry.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shit!” He fired the cancer stick into the trash. “Back in the day we didn’t have these stupid rules … aw, dammit, now I’m going to have to get new promo shot, and all your billboards will have to be replaced. Your face is on a hundred city buses and subway platforms.”

“The other women in the newsroom change their hair all the time.”

“You’re not like them. And this is more than a change. This is like … like trading in a Yugo for a Mercedes.”

A Yugo? A 1980s Russian car? I looked that bad in my “before” picture? “Is that your weird way of saying I look good?”

He shrugged and looked at the parade of Emmy awards that sat atop the battered wooden credenza behind his desk. “Let’s just say it’s going to be hard to sell the best-looking woman in my newsroom as the best reporter.”

A huge smile grew on my face. “Thank you, Harry. Took you a while to get there, but I’ll take it.”

“Just tell me why you did … ” He looked up and waved his hands up and down my body. “ … this.”

What the hell, I was determined to have some fun. I pointed to myself. “This? By this you mean … ?”

“You know damn well what I mean!” His hands moved faster. “This! This! The hair is all … down and has curls and it’s shiny and … the dress … I mean, you’ve got legs for God’s sake!”

I playfully slapped the side of my face. “The horror!”

He exhaled. The man who had been like a father to me now looked at me like one for the first time. “Just tell me why.”

“Why? Because I’m tired of going home alone to my empty apartment, Harry. All the Emmys and the fame and my face on the signs in the subway and the big paycheck aren’t keeping me warm at night. My best friends told me I need to change, starting in a physical way. You said it yourself last week, that I have no social skills.”

“I said I was sorry about that. You know I’m not the most tactful person, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. But apparently I needed some female skills as well. I need to put my best foot forward out there if I’m ever going to find someone who will love me.”

“Oh, geez. Not again. Every damn woman in my newsroom.”

“What?”

“I never figured you as someone who owns a biological clock. Tick-tock-tick-tock and here’s my resignation.” He plopped down in his beat-up brown leather swivel rocker and folded his hands in his lap. “So.” Long pause. “She’s gone forever?”

“If by she you mean the sexless woman in baggy clothes who didn’t own a pair of heels and was the only girl in the newsroom who didn’t kill the ozone on a daily basis, yeah, she’s outta here. But I’m still the same reporter. And I’ll never stop doing what I do because I love it.”

He pulled a flask from his top drawer and took a sip, one of his last remaining defiant acts available in the hellish time known to Harry as the present. “Dammit, Cupcake, I never figured you for a skirt.” (It should be noted that a “skirt” was the term used by men back in the day referring to women in the newsroom.) “I’m not sure this is gonna work.”

“What?”