White Male Page 4

  Thursday, I’d planned after-work drinks with Gerry just to touch base and be sure we were on the same page for Friday evening. There was an upscale bar, close to the office in Downtown Atlanta, where we planned to meet at 6.30pm. I knew Mr. Carter would be back sometime that evening and felt that knot in my stomach and tension in my shoulders beginning to creep in. I still hadn’t addressed the ‘elephant in the room’ and was getting frustrated worrying and thinking about it. My thoughts came back to the apology I’d considered making, just to get rid of this ‘not-knowing-what-he-was-thinking’ feeling. He was under pressure too; wouldn't I gain some Brownie points if I made it clear to my boss he had nothing to worry about going forward?

  A face to face meeting was out of a question. Perhaps I could send him an email or a text? I immediately decided against an email; that would be inappropriate and overly formal; possibly accessible to a snoopy secretary. A simple text message would be private and simpler. It was almost 6.00pm and I was meeting Gerry soon. It was best to just brave it and be done with the text now, rather than after drinks with Gerry when being tipsy might be akin to drunk-dialing my boss. After several restarts and revisions, I wrote my text:

  “Just thought I should apologize for Monday night. It was not all your fault; I accept responsibility for my part. I also apologize for raising my hand to you. I love working here and will ensure I do not do anything to jeopardize my job in future. Sincerely, Lena.”

  I quickly sent the text, realizing it was never going to be perfect. As soon as it sent, I quickly gathered my things and shut down my laptop. I was packing slightly faster than usual, worried he might show up earlier than expected and I might be forced to discuss the text in person.

  I made my way downstairs, leaving my bags in my car in the basement parking. I’d go for drinks with Gerry, then walk back to the office parking to get my car.

  As I walked to the bar, I found myself checking my phone more than usual, nervously awaiting my boss' response.

  Gerry was already there when I arrived on time at 6.30pm. He was just finishing up with a funny, theatrical male colleague of ours who worked in the Events team at the office.

  "Hey, Gerry," I said, kissing him on the cheek.

  "Lena, so glad you’re finally here," he answered, slightly flustered.

  They’d been discussing the mixer tomorrow night and Gerry was doing his research on what to expect, what to wear and everything. Normally, men just came straight from the office in their work clothes to these events. Women sometimes wore work clothes or changed into casual, cocktail dresses. I’d already picked out my dress, a little white cocktail number that was both professional and playful. I’d change into high heels and would swop my clunky work purse for a clutch. Gerry was treating this like his coming out party, nagging me on details about the jewelry and make up I’d wear.

  "It's not that big a deal," I assured him as he thanked me for the umpteenth time for hooking him up. "You’ll do fine, just be your professional self and I'm sure the top guys will like you."

  Both Gerry and I decided not to drink on a work night before a corporate event and we kept it strictly sober. Every time a message buzzed on my phone, I glanced to see who’d sent it. My mother always sent her messages split into three or four messages which drove me crazy because it meant several unnecessary buzzes. A few minutes later I heard another buzz. I glanced at it nervously. It was my friend Shereen. Gerry didn't notice my preoccupation with the phone and chatted on about the event, focused only on his desire to progress in the corporate world.

  At 7.30pm, we walked back to the basement parking where Gerry's car was also parked. We agreed to meet in the hotel lobby half an hour before the cocktail, so I could greet our guests from First Banking Trust. The cocktail was 5.00pm to 7.00pm.

  When we got to my car, I thanked Gerry for the evening and listened to him, once again, thankfully remind me that he owed me big time for ‘hooking him up’. After a quick hug, he sauntered off to his car on the far side of the basement. I watched him swagger confidently, admiring the snug fit of his slacks and his well built body. My eyes wandered to my boss’ reserved parking spot that currently stood empty and I left for my apartment before he showed up at the office.

  After a quick check of my phone and finding zero new messages, I drove home humming along to the music to distract myself from my new obsession with my phone.

  I entered my apartment in Atlantic Station in Midtown, lugging all my daily baggage of lunch bag, large purse and laptop. I set everything on my dining room table, taking another futile glance on my phone. Why was he not responding? Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything? No, I should have and I did. It was too late. But if he didn't reply, I could take that as a very poignant message that I was making a big deal of what was essentially, nothing.

  I had left-overs for dinner and by 9pm, decided to take a shower before bed. I put my phone ring tone back on, in case a call or a message came in during my shower.

  After a fifteen minute shower I didn't want to end, I reached for my towel on the hook just outside the shower glass door. That's when I heard a distinct "ping" as a message arrived on my phone.

  Intuitively, I knew it was him; Mr. Jonathan Carter. I forgot about drying myself as I ran gingerly, dripping water on the floor to my cell phone to read the message. It was him. I clicked on the message icon, ignoring the other messages I hadn’t read. When I clicked on his message, a jolt traveled through my core. It read:

  “I'm not sorry. JC.”

  Chapter Five

  My mouth fell open as I re-read the short message over and over.

  What was he saying? I stood there wondering if I should ask for clarification or perhaps send a follow up message of some kind. I’d formed a little puddle of water on the floor, so I rubbed myself down to dry off the remaining moisture and mopped up the wet spot, along with the trail I’d formed. I couldn't think about Mr. Carter's reply. Tomorrow was a big day for me and the company, I couldn't toss and turn all night analyzing those words and driving myself crazy. Red eyes don't look great to clients. I made the decision to try and blank my mind from all this and get to sleep before a hectic day tomorrow.

  The next day, I woke up bright and early. I glanced at my messages from yesterday and sent responses where needed. I looked at Mr. Carter's message again; or JC, as he’d called himself. I was totally confused. Here I was, suffering for the whole week, thinking I’d become my boss' biggest regret ever. Only to find out he's not sorry? Did he mean he won't apologize because it was his right to do whatever he wanted? I shook my head and closed the message. I just couldn't get myself into a knot about this. My job today was to impress my client with a successful mixer to sweeten them up to seal the deal with signatures by next week.

  After setting my phone aside, I went down to the gym for a quick free weight workout, trying to suppress all thoughts of Mr. Carter. When I got back to my apartment, I prepared my garment bag for my cocktail dress to change into at work later. In the office ladies' bathroom, beside the 3 toilet cubicles, we had a shower and locker area where I’d store my clothes. My underarms and bikini area were already recently waxed and hairless. I did a quick shave of my lower leg for an extra smooth finish since I wasn’t wearing stockings tonight.

  I dressed for work in a dove grey power suit and lilac blouse. I still had to look good today because I had a meeting with a prospective client who was coming into the office mid-morning, to understand our set up and be introduced to a few of our top decision makers.

  Friday traffic was always particularly slow, with people driving into and out of Atlanta for the weekend ahead. My year 2004 Subaru Forester was fairly decent; a third hand purchase I’d made after my first paycheck as an Account Executive.

  I drove down into the basement parking to our department's bays. And there it was; Mr. Carter's black Porsche Cayenne parked in its reserved spot, gleaming in the artificial light.

  I can do this, I reminded myself as I headed to the elevator
to face whatever was coming.

  I arrived at my cubicle to find my usual colleagues already bustling about preparing their work for the day, getting coffee and printing documents. After setting down my baggage, I went off to the bathroom to stow my garment bag in a locker before returning to my desk. Mr. Carter's office was open and I could partially see one of the Account Executives sitting in a chair chatting to him. I decided to stay focused on my schedule and after I’d grabbed my coffee, got on with the work I had to do.

  At about 10am, I sent a group email to my department colleagues including the Account Executives, Mr. Carter, Senior Managers and assistants that I expected a client at 11am and they would walk around with me, popping into the offices of some executives. I also sent the same mail to the other departments on different floors as a heads up. This was a common occurrence in our company, for a client to visit several departments to familiarize themselves with our business operations, before proceeding with any meaningful discussions on how we could be of service to them. I noted a 'this message has been read' update from Mr. Carter's email.

  My client, the aptly named Mr. Banks, was a very successful African American business owner in the Atlanta metropolitan area. He’d started his company, a fast food franchise from scratch and had built it to 35 outlets within 10 years. He was in his mid thirties, an Emory University graduate and gorgeous. He had, on occasion, flirted a little with me but it was obviously for a laugh as he never followed up with any direct personal overtures. He’d been divorced for a couple of years and was known on the social scene. I’d first met him socially at a wedding of one of my mother's family friends. He’d offered to escort me to get drinks from the cash bar and once we were alone, I recall he’d said to me,

  "You’re very pretty, for a dark skinned girl."

  He’d gone on to gush other compliments but I barely heard them. In LA, where I’d grown up in a middle class neighborhood, nobody ever said that to me. In Atlanta, skin tone seemed to be some kind of status in the black community. I knew lots of light skinned women and this classifying by guys seemed to piss them off too.

  Nevertheless, it was a family wedding; I’d managed to retain my composure and we chatted about his business and my work.

  Impressed, he’d said he’d be glad to meet to discuss business opportunities; he was looking into investing and financial management services from a respected firm. I’d done my research into his company, uncovering a net worth of about $19 million dollars.

  My presentation in front of his employees had culminated in this visit today and I’d seen why he was successful. He was able to switch his flirt mode to strictly business when necessary. He’d driven me hard on figures and specifics, requesting minute details and tracking plausible scenarios I hadn't considered. He wasn't the biggest prospect I had, but I certainly learnt valuable information and strategies from our meetings.

  Once the front desk informed me of his arrival at 11am, I went out to meet him, reintroducing him to the front desk personnel which was another practice insisted upon by Mr. Carter, to include all levels of corporate personnel in caring for our clients, regardless of how big we had become.

  I brought him into our guest lounge where I had coffee and snacks waiting while we discussed pleasantries. Of course he was flirty again today, complimenting various things about my appearance. I offered to show him around and we went through my pool office that had, in the last hour been cleared of stray coffee mugs and crumbs. I introduced him to a few colleagues he might need to talk to in case I wasn't available. Next I went to introduce him to our senior managers who were fortunately together and they shared an informal chat. I was glad to see they’d read the summary I’d prepared on his business and the short meeting went off perfectly.

  I’d intended to bypass Mr. Carter, but as I was leaving, Mr. Baker suggested we see him, since he was free and would be glad to meet Mr. Banks. I smiled nervously and led the way to Mr. Carter's office.

  While walking in front of Mr. Banks, unavoidably swinging my hips in my heels, I heard him make an appreciative sound. I knew he expected to get a reaction out of me, but I ignored it, filled more with apprehension at seeing Mr. Carter since his cryptic text message. Seeing Janice was away from her desk, I knocked on Mr. Carter's open door. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and gray tie, sleeves secured with gold cuff links. His dark gray suit jacket was on a rack in the corner, matching his well cut slacks. He was already standing with one hand in his pocket, just ending a call and placing the receiver down when he looked up smoothly; making my heart pound in my chest.

  He paused and seemed to look at me for a moment too long, before taking in the presence of my guest. Seeing me smiling while I ushered in Mr. Banks, he came around from behind his desk walking confidently and smiling genuinely, with an out-stretched hand towards our guest.

  I ignored my anxiety and cleared my throat.

  "Mr. Carter," I began pleasantly. "This is Ronald Banks, the founder of the Chicken’n’Cheese franchise. He's here for an informal visit to learn what we’re about and hopefully we may be able to offer his company investment and financial services in the future."

  I directed my attention to Mr. Banks as I’d practiced during training.

  "And Mr. Banks, this is our Chief of Business Development, Jonathan Carter."

  "Please. Call me Jonathan," he drawled shaking Mr. Banks' hand firmly.

  "Pleased to meet you, Jonathan. And please call me Ronald," he answered confidently. I stood to the side watching Mr. Carter's tall, lean, muscular frame looming over Mr. Banks shorter but more stocky build. Mr. Carter released his grip and ushered us to the sitting area of his office. He had one of the most amazing views of Atlanta’s Downtown skyline.

  "Nice view," Mr. Banks said, clearly impressed. Mr. Carter nodded, taking one of the single seats. I took the seat opposite him while Mr. Banks sat on the double couch between us.

  I adjusted my legs to one side, a stance I’d learnt in my grooming classes back in LA.

  I noticed Mr. Carter glancing at me, making brief eye contact, before he redirected his attention towards Mr. Banks, offering coffee which was declined.

  "Ronald, I trust that you’ve been well taken care of?"

  "Yeah, Lena has been great. You have one smart cookie here," he said, nodding towards me.

  "She's one of our very best," Mr. Carter agreed, looking at me while I smiled nervously at Mr. Banks.

  "Don't I know that!" Mr. Banks said with a laugh.

  Mr. Carter glanced at me sharply, with an unreadable expression on his face and I smiled back. I knew Mr. Banks was referring to our tough discussions on finance and investing, but I could tell from Mr. Carter's reactions he thought it was something else, outside of business.

  After an informal chat and a brief discussion on the franchise, I suggested Mr. Banks should meet other employees in other departments.

  We stood together and I lead the way to the door, hardly able to stop myself from running.

  Mr. Carter offered his hand to Mr. Banks and said goodbye, offering his assistance, should it be needed. He was noticeably cooler but maintained an air of professionalism in his demeanor.

  Mr. Banks thanked him and we left.

  We went to the Finance floor where he met with a few senior executives and briefly argued good naturedly with Mr. Parker on markets and trends. After meeting all the key personnel and giving him a few brochures on investing with us, I walked him down to the lobby, thanked him and we said goodbye. It’d been a successful meeting.

  I made my way back to my floor and noticed Mr. Carter's door was shut as though he’d left; I felt relieved as made my way to my desk. It was almost lunchtime and I needed to call Events to ensure everything was on track. After I got off the phone with them, I called Gerry to confirm our date that night.

  "Lena, I’ve already sent you three texts this morning," he complained, sounding annoyed. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly scrolled through his messages. He’d sent me three pictures
of three different ties and needed my opinion on which one to wear. When I’d seen him while touring with Mr. Banks he’d looked a little flustered but was professional enough to know I was with a client.

  I rolled my eyes and chose the dark gray tie, over the dark blue and the dark purple ones, ignoring the little voice at the back of my head telling me I’d chosen the one that looked similar Mr. Carter’s.

  After I relayed my choice and confirmed our times for later, I settled in to eat my lunch early, so I could dash for a quick blow wave at the beauty spa located in a building two blocks’ walk. It was an expensive area of town, so the salon prices were premium; their clientele mainly female executives who worked nearby in major corporations. For my regular hair treatments, I preferred to go to Midtown or the freelancers where my mom lived in Rockdale County, where the prices were more reasonable for amazing work.

  During lunch I grabbed my walking flats and took off for the salon. Thirty minutes and $80 later, I made my way to the hotel to check on the cocktail preparations. Our Events team was handling everything smoothly and I made my way back to the office. The afternoon was spent responding to business emails and making calls to our First Banking Trust guests, to tell them I looked forward to seeing them later.

  At 4.00pm, I shut down my computer and packed my desk before heading to the bathroom to get ready. I took a quick five minute shower and washed off my make up for a full reapply. By 4.30pm, I was bathed and dressed in my white cocktail dress and my make up was freshly applied. As I was slipping on my black, strappy high-heels, my female colleague, Betty, who was also attending, entered the bathroom to get herself ready. She was in her mid-forties and was nicknamed Big Betty by the guys due to her six feet tall, thick, stocky frame and pudding bowl haircut, but that did not deter her from bringing in top clients into our portfolio. Whenever I was out of the office, she handled my clients and I handled hers. We were good friends but only at work and never interacted socially unless it was work related.