A few of the lawyers grunted a “yeah” to show their solidarity with Tom’s bullish temperament. This infuriated Heath in the way that white boys get so angry that they can’t contain their composure. His voice cracked a little as he began to speak.
“The point is, Tom, that you are a leader in this company and you have, at least a corporate responsibility, to be politically and culturally sensitive. And frankly,…you haven’t done a great job at that. We are constantly putting out fires because of your indignant and asinine attitudes. That and comments like it, is why we have to have a ten man counsel to defend this company." He briefly paused fffect. "Is it that hard for you to listen to a voice of reason every now and then?” Heath asked said before a hushed audience.
He knew that he had crossed the line. Though Smith-Line was contractually bound to honor his annual $350,000 salary, he could still be dismissed. He had violated the cardinal law by going against the boys club that was established in Smith-Line management, and Thomas Paxton, was the ringleader. He knew that by crossing him in such a public way, he would be blackballed from the most important client meetings.
He knew that his name would suddenly disappear from the list of arbitrary bonuses distributed to the attorneys for their performance. Knowing all of this, he laid back, flush against his chair and watched as all of the other attorneys struggled not to make eye contact with him.
Natalie found herself moved by his brazen candor but refused to let herself show even the slightest emotion. She then thought it appropriate that a gentleman speak up, they were after all, in the presence of ladies.
Tom was visibly annoyed by the ordeal and showed it by grunting and shaking his head as he rose from his seat. Using the edge of the cherry wood conference table as leverage, he rose and began to pace the room. Shoving both hands in his pocket, he started speaking angrily.
“To answer your question, Heath, I do listen to the voice of reason. In fact it is my voice of reason that has kept this company afloat for the past fifteen years. And I realize this may pale in comparison to a shiny Harvard law degree, but I tend to think they have the right man at the helm. I have weathered employee walkouts, lay offs, the unions, two ex-wives, and hell, even a scandal or two that was exploited by the press. But do you want to know the one thing that separates me from those pricks that try to can me everyday? I’ll tell you…balls! I roll the dice and I don’t flinch when shit doesn’t fall in my favor. I don’t whine when someone doesn’t call me by the politically correct name and I don’t bitch because somebody decides that they don’t quite like me. I say fuck ‘em and feed ‘em fish. I am the leader of a multi-billion dollar organization and they eat beans for dinner.” He waved his hands emphatically to punctuate his statements.
“And you know what? It burns people that I am willing to say exactly what is on my mind. I am about results, the kind that you can cash. And public opinion? Gimme a fucking break! Those reporters are nothing more than some second rate whores willing to sell their first born for an exclusive scoop. Humph, I may be called some pretty nasty things, but what they will call me is honest. So you will excuse me if I am not politically correct. Ladies, you have my sincere apology for any perceived disrespect. I just want everybody to understand that Smith Line backs down from no one, especially those idiots filing this ridiculous lawsuit.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Paxton”, a brown nosing attorney chimed in.
Heath couldn’t allow the monologue to go unchallenged.
“Tom, nobody here is questioning your years of experience. I am merely saying that I feel like our approach should be conservative and strategic, so that we can manipulate what is put out about the company. I say stall for at least a year and then offer a settlement one quarter of what they’re asking. That gives the media time to forget about it, and it saves us the effort of defending ourselves against claims on the individual level. After a year and no pay, people usually remove themselves from a class action suit, lessening it’s strength. That alone will save us a couple of million in legal proceedings.” Heath offered assuredly.
Tom was unimpressed.
“And just what are we supposed to do in the meanwhile? I got reporters up my ass pressuring the ACLU to look into our hiring practices, not to mention the judiciary review pending with the Equal Opportunity Commission. The last thing we need to do is run scared. We might as well give them the companon a silver platter if we do that. Isn’t there a way for us to do some damage control for Christ’s sake?” Tom asked rubbing his temples in preparation for the migraine that was looming.
Natalie never understood why so many people insisted on using that term yet never so much as thought of praying when faced with problems like this. Though Tom was a bigot and a jerk, he was passionate, and Natalie respected that. She respected Heath for putting his status on the line for the sake of correcting a well-noted wrong in Tom’s behavior.
It had always been hard for her to relate to white men, ever since her days at Yale. They always made it unquestionably clear that she was there for affirmative action reasons and not the merit of her educational achievement. She competed with many of them head on academically.
She recalled receiving an A in her Applied Business Theory class for her model of a high return yielding savings and loan operation. She had studied the history of the defunct type of business entity and even traveled to New York to speak with former employees. She felt the A was well deserved and relished in the fact as she bragged to one of her classmates.
As she exited the class, she heard two of her white male classmates suggest that her grade was given to her only because she would loose her scholarship if she failed the class. That was the beginning of a future of combative relationships with men, and more particularly, white men.
She amazed herself in her dealings with Thomas Paxton, as he was the most blatant racist and sexist that she had ever countered. Heath was the exact opposite, and she struggled with herself not to be attracted to him.
The meeting progressed with the lawyers exchanging information with Tom as they etched a plan to address their latest debacle. By the end of the meeting, it was decided that the company would offer a settlement one tenth of the requested amount and if it was not accepted, they would tie the case up in legal proceedings for a couple of years before they made another incremental settlement offer.
Tom was visibly unpleased with the arrangement, but decided not to go against the plan. Heath sat back in his chair with his jaw tightened. He had not said much during the talks and Natalie could tell that he was purposely not investing much into the strategy. Tom adjourned the meeting as he normally did and the participants scuttled about the room as they left.
Arlinda approached Natalie and started talking to her about how ridiculous Tom was. Natalie allowed the woman to vent without contributing to the conversation. She decided that she would not engage Arlinda because it would jeopardize her own objectivity as a contractor with the company, and that was the last thing that she needed.
As Arlinda walked away, Natalie noticed Heath waiting for the elevator. She walked over glancing at her watch, suggesting, non-verbally at least, that she did not notice Heath’s presence. When the ring of the elevator bell summoned, she looked up from her notes only to find Heath watching her.
“You shouldn’t get so angry with Tom. His ignorance is not his fault. It’s many years of inbreeding with cousins.” Heath said warmly to Natalie as they shared the elevator. His smile was shy but genuine and put Natalie at ease.
“I actually knew that he was an ass, I just didn’t know how big of an ass that he was. So much for don’t ask, don’t tell.” Natalie returned in her attempt at wit.
“I hope that you don’t think all of us are white devils, some of us are okay you know?” Heath asked with the same smile and nervous attempt at racial humor.
Natalie thought it brave of him and rewarded him with a wide smile and open-mouthed chuckle. The thirty second ride lasted for what seemed like hours in a shared aw
kward silence between the two. As the door opened to the lobby, Natalie warmly told Heath that she didn’t hold that sentiment of him and began to exit the elevator. Perhaps feeling confident withesponse from Natalie, Heath rushed to catch up with her.
“So since you don’t hate me, does that mean that you will join me for lunch?” Heath asked as one the unruly tendrils of black and auburn hair fell out of its perfectly gelled coif. It gave him a wild, yet tailored look against the backdrop of his heavily starched white shirt and well tailored Oswald Boateng suit.
Natalie found it irresistible but chose not to act on her first instinct. She decided that she would not allow this beautiful white man to add an exotic looking black woman to his list of conquests.
“I would love to, but I have a meeting on the other side of town, so maybe next time, okay?” Instinctively, Natalie reached for her purse and handed him her card.
Noticeably shocked by her refusal, Heath nodded in agreement and accepted the card. He wondered if the fact that he was white, by her definition, influenced her decision. As he watched her exit the building, he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to travel to the roundness just beneath her waist. He smiled to himself as he thought of her in a lustful way and made his way to the garage to his most recent German engineered bonus from Smith-Line.
Chapter 11 Ilene
Who knew a tropical island could be so dreadful? Ilene had convinced Charles to leave for St. Lucia two weeks after he presented her with the tickets. Her haste was brought on partly by a need to reconnect with a husband who was growing tired of her ways, but predominantly by a brief encounter she had with Paul Cummings. She struggled to maintain the jubilation that Charles felt with his new found lease on his marriage. Ilene thought it nothing more than an obligatory situation that required the occasional maintenance. This trip was exactly that.
She was relieved that her husband was still otherwise ignorant of her dealings with Paul Cummings. Her fear that he would catch on to her barrage of lies and absences fueled her fervor to maintain absolute order with Paul.
One week before the trip to St. Lucia, Ilene had an encounter with Paul that made her question if she could continue to keep secrets from her husband.
She checked the account activity that Paul usually made discreet payments to on a monthly basis. After noticing the deposit amounts were growing smaller and smaller, she decided that she would pay him a visit to remind him of his obligation.
As she waited in her car, across the parking lot outside of his office, she sank down into the bucket seats, careful not to look too obvious. After about an hour of waiting, Paul emerged from his midtown office and headed straight to his car. Ilene figured that he was on his way home, so she had planned the intersection where she would pull up next to him and demand an impromptu meeting to discuss their arrangement.
As Paul approached the anticipated intersection, he made a left instead of proceeding straight, suggesting that home was not his next destination. Thrown off a bit, Ilene cautiously followed him to a cigar parlor in Buckhead called Bailey and Banks and parked in a nearby parking space across the street from where Paul had parked his BMW 745 IL.
Ilene thought the establishment a bit pretentious for Paul, since he claimed an indignant disdain for the affluent black establishment in Atlanta. She decided that she would enter the establishment without hesitation and walk directly to Paul. She would demand that the agreed upon payments resume or she would reveal his secret to the world.
As Ilene entered the establishment, she was quickly greeted by the stench of cigars and a dimly lit mahogany encased seating area. The bar was expansive and had crystal accents that suggested that it was handcrafted just for that venue. The letters BB were tastefully monogrammed onto cloth napkins that were perfectly folded on the china that sat atop the tables in the private dining room. A massive crystal tear drop chandelier centered the room and gave everything a look of radiance. As the witers and waitresses hurriedly prepared the space, Ilene suspected that there would be a meeting of some important dignitaries and wondered if Paul would be included.
Scanning the room for Paul, Ilene was disappointed that she could not find him in the room of distinguished looking businessmen. Perhaps she should return here another day to do some prospecting.
She settled into a corner table in the parlor and quietly looked for Paul. Struggling to make out the faces of the men in the dimly lit atmosphere challenged Ilene. The bar offered a mysterious ambiance of hushed conversations and million dollar business deals, legal and otherwise.
Ilene reclined in the plush velvet seat and eyed Paul engrossed in conversation with a white haired black man dressed stylishly for his age. The men did not look up, not even when the bar maid attended to their cigars or refreshed their aged brandy. The intensity of the conversation suggested to Ilene that there was a relationship between the men, sexual or otherwise.
Pretending to be a visitor to the Atlanta area, Ilene engaged one of the bar maids in mindless banter about the parlor. She feigned an interest in the dignitaries that frequented the establishment like the former mayor of Atlanta and the pioneering president of Morehouse College.
From the hapless waitress, Ilene was able to discover that the white haired man was William Bronteau, a club owner and well known businessman in the area. It was rumored that he was one of the backers of the infamous Gold Club, a high end strip club in Atlanta that was raided. The club was prime property in the heart of Atlanta and soon was acquired by the city which quickly converted it to office space for the Department of Housing and Urban Development.
Ilene struggled to figure out the relationship between the two men, but could not find anything to link them. She assumed that the relationship wasn’t sexual because both men stood to loose substantially if the rumor mills were fed such salacious evidence.
Ilene renewed her dedication by walking in the direction of the table. Paul’s back was facing Ilene. She did capture the attention of Bill Bronteau, who eyed her suspiciously as she approached. Distracted by his company’s distracted glare, Paul instinctively turned to see what drew his attention. When Paul saw Ilene, his otherwise pleasant facial expression morphed into an uncomfortable growl that begged to know why she was present. He quickly adjusted his glasses as he did when he was nervous and rose to offer an in genuine greeting to Ilene, in the hopes that she would not make a scene.
“My, my, my. Hello Ilene. How are you?” Paul asked attempting to mask his nervousness and using his infamous political voice.
Recognizing this, Ilene knew that she capitalized on her powerful position and wore an expression that proclaimed her knowledge. She allowed Paul to hug her as she whispered in his ear that they needed to talk immediately. The urgency in her voice prompted him not to toy with her. Paul was careful. He quickly introduced Ilene as a business associate and excused himself so that he could speak with Ilene.
He whisked her away to the one of the private dining rooms and closed the large mahogany door for added privacy. “So what the fuck do you think you’re doing Paul?” Ilene angrily quizzed.
Clearly assailed by Ilene’s comment, Paul threw up his hands like he was blocking imaginary bows speared in his direction. “What are you talking about?” Paul asked, looking genuinely miffed by Ilene’s comment.
“Don’t fucking play with me, you faggot. You know exactly what I am talking about. You stopped making your installments and I know you don’t want me to let your dirty little secret out of the bag.” Ilene scoffed.
Seemingly unmoved by her perceived power and in a symbolic gesture, Paul rolled his eyes as if she was boring him with what she was saying.
“You know Ilene, this shit has become a bit juvenile, een for you. I don’t know what kind of bullshit you are trying to sell, but I aint buying. Not with another dime of my money. You seem to have a little dirty laundry yourself, so I would suggest you rethink the theatrics. Okay?” Paul then painted on a false smile and patted Ilene on the shoulder.
Ile
ne seethed as Paul threatened not only to permanently stop her income, but to also expose her lifelong secret to her husband. She had clearly lost control of the situation and Paul knew it. She was not willing to allow the tables to be turned on her. She stood absolutely still until her mind was clear and she could return the venom that was being launched her way.
“You fucked any young boys lately, or have you just let them eat your dick, daddy?” Ilene asked while laughing cynically.
Paul could no longer contain his anger and struck Ilene across the face. The blow shocked Ilene as she fell helplessly to the floor.
She was incensed and immediately grabbed the crystal vase that sat on the buffet that she fell near. With all of her might, she launched it at Paul, who in turn, ducked at the projectile coming towards him. The vase smashed against the wall into a thousand radiant pieces that resembled tiny diamonds against the dark hardwood floors.
Laughing at Ilene’s feeble attempt to injure him, Paul walked over and knelt where Ilene cowered on the floor, grabbed the front of her blouse and forcefully jerked her close to his face.
“You spoiled little bitch, you can’t destroy me. See, I ‘m not the dumb niggah you think I am. I did a little homework and found out a few less than stellar things about you Ilene. Funny, I never pictured you for a thief. But then again, like momma said, when you lie, you steal…By the way, how are the kids? Oh yeah, I know about that little thing.” Paul uttered while staring Ilene in the eyes.
Neither one of them flinched as Paul continued talking.
“Now we can go on and live nice lives drama free or you can make this hard for yourself. Yeah, you can blow the whistle. I’ll have my spin people down play the story and make you look like a fucking raving idiot. Your husband will leave you and then what? One of your friends will take you in? Doubt it. You better play nice, bitch, or it will be more than your husband you loose.” Paul said in almost in a whisper.
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