by Unknown
Terrance Daniels, the first year teacher from New York, was the first to approach her. She’d noticed him out of the corner of her eye but had never had the opportunity to speak or welcome him to West Lansing. She’d always been too busy.
As he approached her she dismissed her students’ inquiries concerning her accident and sent them scurrying off to their respective homerooms.
“Missed you yesterday. How’s the leg, or is it the ankle?”
“It’s the ankle and its fine” Sylvia stuttered” Just fine.”
“Everyone was worried about you,” he said, “We’re certainly glad to have you back, Mrs. Stanton. I know your kids are also. Don’t think they cared too much for your sub.”
“Thanks, Mr. Daniels,” she said. “It’s only been a day.”
“Some days can seem like a lifetime, Mrs. Stanton.” He winked at her and hurried to his classroom, beaming.
Terrance Daniels had finally gathered the courage to at least speak to Mrs. Sylvia Stanton. The big question still remained in his eyes though. Could he hold his own with this beautiful Black woman?
Terrance had always been a tad apprehensive when approaching a woman of Sylvia’s stature. He was sure at this point in his life that he’d overcome this nagging hang-up but here it was raising its ugly head again, dammit!
Sylvia Stanton was certainly no Halle Berry. No she wasn’t even Lena Horne or Angela Bassett. In his eyes she was more of a Cicely Tyson. Simple black elegance. No doubt he’d dated more beautiful women in his life but Sylvia’s beauty emanated mostly from within and in his eyes she was radiant.
The fact that she was a teacher mattered little. He’d dated teachers before or at least those who fashioned themselves as teachers. Most were non-descript dates making him almost glad he’d completed his schooling when he did and didn’t have any children. Those he’d come into contact with lately made the old adage, ‘When all else fails, you can always teach,’ seem even more prophetic than usual.
Sylvia somehow was different though, having what Terrance deemed the most important quality of an effective teacher. She had a genuine love for her students, her ‘babies’ as she liked to refer to them. The feeling being mutual made her classroom more conducive to learning than most
Without giving it a second thought, without thinking he made it a point to meet her, during her planning period in the Staff Lounge. This meant giving up his usual third period cigarette in the back of the sixth grade hall. When he entered, she was sitting, leg crossed at the small round table, red pen in hand marking papers. Seating himself across from her he took it upon himself to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Been looking forward to talking to you for some time, Mrs. Stanton. The word around here is that you’re a fantastic teacher. My kids all seem to agree.”
“I’ve heard the same about you, Mr. Daniels. Not only do the children love you, it seems a good deal of the female teachers feel the same way. What have you been doing to these women, Mr. Daniels?” Sill asked, smiling broadly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Stanton. If anything I’m just trying to get the inside scoop on next year’s Teacher-of-the-Year. The word is you’re a shoo-in.”
“Only if you stop teaching, Mr. Daniels,”
“I’ve done my best to pick up pointers here and there. I make sure to keep my eyes and ears open.”
Terrance grinned widely now.
“So I’ve heard. My kids tell me everything. From what I’ve heard your interest tends to be more than just professional.”
Terrance blushed. The flirtation continued, and she did little in the way of curtailing it, suddenly feeling very much at ease in his company.
“I guess I am guilty of trying to get to know you through your students,” Terrance confessed finally.”
“Why didn’t you just come and ask me what you wanted to know. I’m forever telling my students continually that the only bad question is the one not asked.”
“You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Stanton, but you’ve got to be very careful about the kinds of questions you ask nowadays. Sexual harassment suits are running rampant.”
“I’m pretty sure a handsome young man such as yourself hardly has to harass anyone,”
“Funny thing Mrs. Stanton, I feel at ease talking to most of my colleagues but in your case it’s a little different. I’m not sure in your case my motives are above reproach. There’s also the fact that you’re married. Frankly Mrs. Stan-ton, there were times when I really wished it was an unhappy marriage.” As soon as he said that he caught himself. He knew he’d crossed the line.
Sylvia Stanton smiled politely the way airline stewardesses and hostess often do, picked up her paperwork, checked her watch and headed back to her next class.
Now he wished he’d had gone for that smoke instead. Just before he was about to curse his own stupidity, Sylvia Stanton turned and stared at him. This time there was no smile. Terrance cringed in anticipation of what was to follow.
“Mr. Daniels, every rainbow does not have a pot of gold at the end and every marriage isn’t a happy marriage.”
Terrance was stunned He stood there unable to reply. Speechless. Perhaps there was hope after all. Feeling energized, Terrance’s classes went exceptionally well that day. In fact, they went well for the next few weeks but he was no closer to luring Sylvia than he had been before their conversation.
A month and a half passed, Sylvia’s cast was removed. Spry as ever she moved back and forth between classes almost always accompanied by an entourage of students and yet still managed to maintain Terrance’s attention without so much as saying a word. When the school day ended at three fifteen Mrs. Stanton was the first one out the door. Gone. And when the one opportunity did present itself for Terrance to ask her out for a drink she hadn’t even bothered to respond.
Months passed by and Terrance was no closer to knowing Sylvia Stanton than he’d been that day in the lounge. In fact, he felt he was losing not only ground but losing face as well. Days in the classroom grew longer, the monotony made him long for Easter vacation. He still saw her from time to time in passing. And at times, he caught himself staring at her and had difficulty averting his gaze.
On the home front, things had definitely taken a turn for the worse. Sylvia blamed herself for the problems, for the lack of communication. William, in turn, began spending more and more time at the office. Regardless of who was to blame it bothered Sill nonetheless. If William wasn’t faithful that was no reason for her to take her vows any less lightly. After all, her commitment was not simply between her and William but more importantly between her and God.
In William’s case, this was the first time in his career he’d actually felt the pressure of his workload. Everyone knew the decreasing profits in the Nigerian account were due in large part to the 1998 legislation forbidding the sale of ivory. However, the current Civil War and military regime were also factors putting a damper on potential monies and investments. He had other accounts. Sure. But the combined total did not come close to this one Third World account. This was his creation, his baby. Ol’ Man Morris, one of the founders of Hill and Morris and Chairman of the Board had even taken the time to stop by Williams’ office earlier in the week to discuss the account which was the company’s third largest.
“William, it’s been quite a while,” he began. “How’ve you been? I’ve been meaning to stop by for some time now but with the misses receiving chemotherapy it’s been kind of difficult finding the time. Certainly do miss being on the frontline though. Sometimes you get too comfortable sitting in the home office. You probably won’t believe this but I really miss the selling, the different cities, the bickering—the challenge. The only thing I never cared for was the constant traveling. Nothing like being out there on the frontline, though. By the way, how’s Sill? Doing well, I hope. Good! Good! Still teaching is she? Honorable profession. Doesn’t get nearly enough recognition. I figured you’d have a couple of kids by now. Everything
O.K. at home?”
“Fine, sir,” William responded.
William wondered if the old man had gotten wind of his declining account. Was Morris, who made a fortune being able to read clients’ strengths and weaknesses in a matter of half-a-heartbeat trying to get a feel for his account losses or was this just a social visit. William knew it wasn’t. He really wished the Ol’ Man would get to the point.
“You know; William, I started this agency forty-one years ago and believe you me, there were plenty of ups and downs but the most important lesson I learned in all those years came from my daddy. God rest his soul. At his best, he was nothing more than a backwoods dirt farmer. But Poppa used to always tell me, ‘Plow to the end of the road son.’ Wasn’t ‘til I was a grown man that I fully understood what he was trying to tell me. Well anyway, it’s good to see you again, William. Give me a call from time to time son and let me know how you’re doing. And be sure to give Sill my regards.”
William got up to shake Mr. Morris’s hand. But the Ol’ Man did not rise. Instead he instructed William, “Sit down, son. Don’t be in such a rush to get rid of an old man. This old man may be able to teach you a thing or two.”
William eased back into his chair. Morris continued.
“You might want to consider taking a month or so to get away. Take Sylvia, fly to Nigeria and stay a while. Reacquaint yourself with your clients and relax. Lagos is a beautiful city, rich in tradition, yet as cosmopolitan as New York and London. I think you’ll like it. I know I did. And don’t worry about anything. I think we’ll be able to hold the fort down until you get back.”
William was at once both stunned and ecstatic. He hadn’t expected this and he hadn’t had a vacation, hadn’t even thought about taking one since joining the firm close to seven years ago. No question, he needed one. And Sylvia would die! Africa! She would literally die! Ol’ Man Morris rose from the chair. This time William followed his lead. Slowly he rose, breathing a deep sigh of relief. The two men shook hands and the meeting ended.
“You know, William, we didn’t have this as an option when I was coming up. Fortunately, we’re a little better off now, so take advantage of it and above all else, enjoy yourself.”
William was elated. Seeing the Ol’ Man exit the building, William hot on the Ol’ Man’s heels, kissed his secretary, Melinda on the cheek then headed out to tell Sill the news.
“I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day. If there’s anything urgent, text me,” he told Melinda.
CHAPTER 9
Sylvia, deeply immersed in thought, rummaged through the West Lansing High School yearbook pictures again. Coming across a picture of Mr. Daniels, she was forced to smile.
‘Handsome devil. If I wasn’t married, I might have to give him a little taste’, Sill whispered, giggling to herself as she took another bite of the pastrami and Swiss sandwich and sipped the Zinfandel. Turning up the volume on the stereo, she never heard William come in.
“Sill, how you doin’ babe? How was school?” he asked her. Sill was still leafing through the yearbook. “Got some great news, baby.”
“William, is that you? Goodness! You frightened me, 1 didn’t hear you come in. I was in another world.”
“Speaking of another world,” William said, Ol’ Man Morris dropped by my office today. Thought it would be a good idea if I got away—took a vacation—reacquaint myself with some of my clients. And then he dropped a bomb on me. Sill baby, it’s an opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to see the world. You and me baby, all expenses paid. Know what a trip like that would cost?”
Sill interrupted William,
“Whoa, whoa! Slow down, William. You’re rambling. Start from the beginning.”
William took a deep breath and told her about the huge, fledgling overseas account and Morris’ suggestion, which was really no suggestion at all. By the time he’d finished, he’d dressed it up to look like a goodwill tour. Sylvia instantly saw through the facade. This was one of the reasons that Ol’ Man
Morris held Sill in such high esteem. She was sharp and he knew it. She was also tactful, but not tonight.
“William, let me ask you a question. How many other Black males are there at the agency?”
“Not tonight Sill, Okay? Not tonight.” William was in no mood for her hard-nosed observations or a class on the racial injustices that plagued the poor and disenfranchised. “Just answer my question, William. How many African-American males are there with Hill and Morris not counting file clerks, mail boys and janitors?”
“C’mon, Sill, you know the answer to that.”
“Answer my questions, William. Better yet, how many are there in management? C’mon, humor me. William, how many African-American are there besides you and how many Third World accounts do they have?”
“What’s the point, Sill?”
“The point is they’re using you. They’re using you to do their dirty work. No longer can America just waltz into foreign countries and take what they want—especially Third World Countries. Colonialism is dead. Dead! Dead! Dead! So, now they send dumb, money-hungry Negroes to do their dirty work and call them ambassadors and envoys. But it’s the same ol’ story. Anyway, you want to dress it up; it’s the same ol’ story. It’s exploitation.”
“Call it what you want, Sill. I see it as an opportunity that may never come along again in life. It’s exploitation when you vacation in Las Vegas or Miami, and put your money in the hands of the same people that are taxing the hell out of each paycheck if you really think about it. It’s exploitation when you buy pack after pack of those cancer sticks knowing you’re being targeted, taxed and terminated all at the same time.” William smiled knowing he’d hit a nerve.
“C’mon, William, we’ve talked about this before. Look at Mike.”
“Mike who?”
“Michael Jordan!!”
“Michael Jordan? What the hell are you talking about? What the hell does Michael Jordan have with you and me taking a trip to Africa?”
“Just humor me for a minute, William. I’m gonna tell you. Look! Jordan signs a contract with Nike for a few million and every little nappy headed little Black boy and girl runs out, buys a pair of sneakers so they can be like Mike. Meanwhile the good ol’ boys at Nike are making billions. Billions! But who’s looking at the bigger picture? It’s time we started seeing the bigger picture, William. Don’t you see what Ol’ Man Morris is doing? Can’t you see how they’re using you? Vacation, hell. Tell the old man to send Jack Thomas and let you do Jack’s bidding in Rio. See what he says. You and I both know that if it weren’t for the anti-American sentiment and military regime in power you’d probably be down on the unemployment line with the rest of the outta work brothers. Morris pays you a hundred grand a year and makes how many millions from your account? Think about it, William.”
Pouring himself a drink, William continued to listen listlessly. After all, he’d heard it all before.
“Look, William, if you can create and maintain one of the largest accounts for one of the largest, most prestigious import-export firms on the East Coast then you can certainly establish your own.”
“Right, Sill.” William sipped his drink smugly as Sill paid homage to his creative abilities and business acumen.
“Look at Magic.”
“Magic who?”
“Magic Johnson.”
“Oh, here we go again.” William was teasing her now and enjoying it. Sill, so adamant in her views, hardly realized.
“Magic Johnson led the Lakers to the championship, I don’t know how many times. A grown man running down the court in his boxers while millions watched. But Magic knew he was being used and grinned all the way to the bank. He was the one filling the Forum while owner, Jerry Buss was filling his pockets. But Magic was no Michael. He had the foresight and the common sense to get a piece of the pie. Now he’s part owner of the Lakers.
He’s got someone runnin’ up and down the court for him now. And the sneakers he endorses are his own. He
owns the company. Now everyone knows that Magic ain’t no rocket scientist. Remember his talk show? But at least he has the good sense to realize his own self-worth. I said all that to say that there is no reason you shouldn’t be looking for a piece of Hill and Morris, a partnership, William, or even better, your own firm.”
William had heard enough.
“All that’s fine until we hit hard times. I open my own company, the market changes and for the first time in your life you can’t shop the way you want, the way you’re used to shopping, then we’ll see how all your liberal self-help principles stand up. Take away those T-bone steaks and taters you’re so fond of and we’ll see what those little tight-fittin’ outfits got to hang onto. Take away the T.V., stereo, getting your hair and nails done once a week and you’ll be one evil Black woman. All those little things add up. The washer, the dryer, and all the other things you take for granted now are all that separate you from all the rest of those old beat up nags with no money and no man. So don’t tell me anything about Hill and Morris when you’re steady reaping the benefits from them. The house you live in, the car you drive, the food you stick in your big ol’ liberal mouth and settles on those big, broad liberal hips of yours are all the result of Hill and Morris, thank you very much.” William was visibly shaking now but his anger did little to deter Sill.
“Wait just one goddamn minute, William Stanton,” Sill was standing and on the verge of screaming now. “I have lived off of my own salary and it has been that little meager teacher salary that has paid for my car note and our food since we’ve been married. I took care of myself before I met you and will continue to do so when you’re dead and gone. And as far as needing washers and dryers and fancy cars to boost my self-esteem, let me tell you one thing, since you wanna be ‘lil Clarence Thomas. I have enough pride in myself that I don’t have to buy a German-made car or Italian-made suits to feel good about myself. And as far as these liberal lips and hips are concerned, you didn’t say a word last night when you were running around here panting like a dog in heat tryin’ to get next to these ol’ broad hips.”