“Have you been out there listening?”
“Absolutely. You know I gotta get the 411,” she grinned.
Victoria pictured Denise standing outside her door with a glass cupped to her ear like a detective in a 1960’s spy movie. Denise called Victoria by her given name in the presence of their colleagues, but when they were alone she affectionately referred to her as “Girlfriend.”
Denise was impeccably dressed, well-organized, and knew her job inside-out. She was an unabashed woman who could read you like last week’s news, yet be gentle as a lamb when the occasion warranted. There were three things about Denise that were constant: She always smelled of Chanel No. 5, her pretty, apple-shaped face always boasted a smile, and she always shot straight from the hip, never sugar coating anything. She had an Associate’s degree in Administrative Office Technology and a PhD in common sense. She was sharper than a J.A. Henckels carving knife, and Victoria relied heavily upon her insight.
“Denise, why didn’t you tell me that Ted Thornton was coming to my office? I was completely caught off-guard.”
“Sorry. He must’ve come by my desk while I was in the copy room,” Denise said, handing Victoria a thick stack of papers. “When I came back your door was half-closed. I was going to come in and see what was going on, but then I heard you two talking, and well . . . I listened because Mr. Thornton never comes down to anyone’s office,” she said, placing her hands on her ample hips.
“I’m shocked. I just knew that Patricia had the nomination in the bag, at least that’s what she’s been telling everyone. Can you imagine how embarrassing it’s going to be for her when she finds out that she’s not one of the ten nominees?”
“That’s her problem. This is one time she can’t throw her legs open to get what she wants. That woman is so shady, I wouldn’t trust her with the keys to the shit house.”
“Damn!” Victoria laughed. “You’re right about that. But seriously, Ted Thornton can give me a week or even a month, I’m not going to change my mind.”
“And you shouldn’t. You’ve put your dream on hold long enough. You have to make yourself happy, Girlfriend.”
“Tell me about it. I’m tired of running my business on the side and trying to maintain this job at the same time. It’s really taken a toll over the last year. I just wish I’d had the courage to make this decision sooner,” Victoria lamented.
“Things don’t always work out the way we want them to. Things happen over time, not overnight.”
“Yeah, that’s true. And it’s time for me to stop letting other people’s expectations and my own fear impede my happiness,” Victoria said with confidence, thinking about the sacrifices she’d made to please others, like when she wanted to attend culinary school after high school graduation.
She could still hear her father’s words ringing in her ear. “No child of mine with a near-perfect SAT score is going to school to learn how to cook and throw parties for a living. What kind of profession is that anyway? Your mother and I want so much more for you. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll take over the bank,” he’d hinted.
“But Daddy,” Victoria challenged, “event planning and catering can be a lucrative profession, just like any other service . . . like the bank. Besides, I’m good at it. Look how well the homecoming party turned out that I planned. Everyone said it was the best party Alexander Prep has ever seen!”
“Planning a homecoming party in a gymnasium and mapping out your future are two entirely different things,” her father cautioned. “Victoria, you’re my little Queen, and it’s my responsibility to make sure that I prepare you for the real world.”
After months of arguments and listening to her mother’s pleas of intervention, Victoria appeased her father. She enrolled at Spelman College, majored in finance, and minored in coordinating birthday parties, graduation celebrations, and any other kind of festive event she could plan. After graduation, she went on to earn her MBA from Wharton, her father’s alma mater—again, obeying his wishes. She’d surprised herself when she discovered that she actually enjoyed the curriculum, knowing that her training would come in handy one day when she started her own business. But in the meantime, she put her dreams on hold and went to work at her father’s bank, which he’d named in honor of her and her mother—his two Nubian Queens.
Victoria focused on marketing and community relations at the bank. She planned and executed promotional campaigns, community outreach events, and employee programs. She frustrated her father by doing what he called “fluff work” instead of digging into the “meat” of the bank—dealing with operations and finance. After they butted heads one too many times, Victoria decided to leave. She dusted off her resume and started looking for a new job. Within a month she landed a position with ViaTech. She packed her bags and moved to Atlanta, putting her back in the city where she’d gone to college and the city she’d grown to love.
“Girlfriend, you know I got your back and your front, whether I’m helping you with memos here or planning a party with Divine Occasions,” Denise said.
“Thanks, you’re such a good friend.”
“No need to thank me, you’re my girl. Now, you better get ready for your lunch date with Mr. Might-be-Right.”
“I just hope he’s Mr. I-Am-Sane! I’m really not up for any drama.”
“This is your first date in over a year. Just be positive. You know that saying . . . we get back what we bring forth.”
“Preach, Oprah,” Victoria teased as they broke into laughter.
You Like Adventure, Don’t You? . . .
I hope he’s gonna be worth me getting out in this cold rain, Victoria thought as she glanced at her Baume & Mercier dangling from her wrist, and realized she was running late for her lunch date.
“Victoria, I know you’ll love him,” her friend Debbie had said with enthusiasm. “Vincent is tall, handsome, and really nice. Now, he’s a little on the shy side and doesn’t talk a whole lot, but he’s very sweet. And oh yeah, he’s a consultant. I know you two will hit it off!”
Debbie and her husband Rob had met Vincent a few weeks ago at the gym, and she thought he’d be perfect for Victoria. Debbie Long was a professor in the art department at Emory University, and one of Victoria’s closest and dearest friends. They’d been roommates in graduate school, helping each other labor through insanely demanding course work. But after a semester of Probability and Statistics, Debbie decided that business school wasn’t for her. She changed her major, breezed through the History of Art curriculum, then accepted a faculty position at Emory. When Victoria had moved back to the area, Debbie was thrilled that they were in the same city once again.
Victoria was both nervous and excited as she turned her silver Audi into the restaurant’s parking lot. This was truly out of character for her. She’d never been on a blind date, let alone agreed to go out with someone she’d never even spoken to over the phone. Debbie had set up everything because she was afraid that if left to Victoria, the date would never happen. She knew her college buddy would just find another excuse for not getting back into the dating scene, and Debbie thought it was high time her friend jumped back in with both feet.
Boy, this is a nasty day. But at least it’s Friday, and who knows . . . this lunch date might be the beginning of a good weekend. Just think positive, Victoria encouraged herself, walking into the restaurant with a spring in her step. She shook out her umbrella, ran her fingers through her long, silky mane, and looked around for Vincent. Debbie told her that he’d meet her at the hostess stand, so Victoria knew that the first tall, handsome, black man she saw standing up front would be him. She saw a man coming toward her.
“Whassup baby, you must be Victoria. Damn, a sistah’s fine!”
Oh my God. How does this man know my name? Victoria wondered.
“I’m Vincent Frank,” the man said, extending his hand. “I been waitin’ about ten minutes, but now I see it was well worth it,” he grinned, looking Victoria up and down like she was an item on
the menu. “C’mon baby, let’s get our eat on.” He motioned for Victoria to walk in front of him as they followed the hostess back to their table.
Victoria was in shock and had to remind herself to breathe. The hostess seated them and gave Victoria a look that said “you poor thing” before walking away.
“Well, well, well, I hit the jackpot witchu’, baby. Debbie said you was beautiful and all, but you know how some white folks be thinkin’ that just ’cause you a sistah, that you all exotic and shit. So they think you look good, know what I’m sayin’? But baby she was right about you . . . you a stone cold killa!”
Victoria bristled at his words, feeling as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Breathe, breathe, she told herself. Vincent was talking, his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. She was too busy trying to process the visual before her eyes. He was wearing two-tone alligator shoes and a green suede pantsuit. A playboy bunny medallion dangled from a thick gold rope chain around his neck, so big she could have snatched it off and started a game of Double Dutch. His gold tooth was centered in the front of his mouth, and each time he smiled it gleamed against the flickering light of the votive candle on the table. When he lifted his hand to stroke his goatee, Victoria nearly choked at the sight of his large, diamond encrusted gold watch, accented by a gold nugget ring on his pinky finger. The crowning touch were his two-carat diamond studs, blinging loud in each ear. Victoria stared at him, feeling faint.
She thought about Debbie’s description of Vincent, and so far she was only half right. She’d said he was tall, handsome, shy and educated. He’s tall and cute, in a slick, bad-boy, hustler-on-the-street kinda way. But he’s definitely not shy, and he doesn’t sound educated. Come to think of it, Debbie never mentioned where he went to college.
Victoria had just assumed that because he was a consultant, he must have an MBA and work for one of the major firms. Her mind was swirling with confusion.
Snap, snap! Vincent popped his fingers, breaking Victoria’s trance. The server was standing at the table, ready to take their order.
“Hey, baby, I know you captivated and all,” Vincent smiled, using his hands to showcase himself like a game show prize, “but let’s get some drinks goin’ on.”
“What will the lady have to drink?” the server asked.
“I’ll have a glass of Pellegrino, please.”
“I like a woman who ain’t afraid to get her drink on durin’ her lunch hour. You like adventure, don’t you?” Vincent winked.
“It’s not alcohol, it’s sparkling water,” Victoria blinked with disbelief.
“Oh, you a sophisticated sistah,” he grinned. “I’ll have a Bud.”
Oh my God! I’m gonna kill Debbie! Victoria repeated in her head. But wait . . . slow down. Maybe I’m being too judgmental. He’s not the kind of guy I usually go for, but maybe I should give Vincent a chance.
“Yeah, I think we gonna hit it off real nice, know what I’m sayin’? You tall, dark and luscious and I’m the real deal. You lookin’ at a total package right here, baby,” Vincent said, making a fist and pounding his chest.
Can this get any worse? Victoria was beginning to think that her first impression had been right on target.
“I usually date redbones, but you look so good I’m willin’ to make you the exception ’cause that body is tight. And I love a sistah wit’ good hair all down her back,” Vincent grinned. “Yeah, I can tell it’s real. It ain’t no weave, that’s all you, baby . . . you the shit, you know that?” Vincent smiled, licking his full lips. He leaned against the side of the booth, pleased with himself, like he’d just given Victoria a real compliment.
Did his simple ass just say what I think he said? This fool is clearly hauling around a heavy load of plantation luggage! Victoria was pissed. “I didn’t know you had a hair and skin-color requirement, or was that a back-handed compliment you just slapped across my face?” she said in her best go to hell tone. Vincent’s complexion was the color of light caramel, sufficiently qualifying him to pass the dreaded brown paper bag test.
Vincent threw his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, baby girl. You fine as hell, no matter what the color. I’m just tryin’ to be real about my shit. I usually date light skinned babes, know what I’m sayin’? But wit’ all that junk in yo’ trunk, a brothah’s got to get wit’ that!”
Okay, this jackass has lost his damn mind! Victoria tried to restrain herself by taking another deep breath. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Debbie gave me the impression that you were . . . well . . . not as extroverted as you appear to be,” she said, struggling to hold back her displeasure.
“I like the way you use them big words,” he smiled as Victoria’s eyes bucked wide at his statement. “Well, you know how you gotta play the role wit’ white folks, talkin’ all proper . . . like you sound. You know, make’em feel comfortable and what-not. But witchu’ . . . you family, I can be myself, know what I’m sayin’?”
What the hell? Okay, that’s it! Victoria looked at Vincent with near disgust. She was ready to leave, but being a human resources professional she had to know what reputable firm was foolish enough to hire the asshole sitting in front of her.
“Tell me, Vincent . . . what firm are you with?”
“Oh, I work for my family’s company.”
“And that would be?”
“Franks’ Pest Control,” he said with pride.
Victoria looked puzzled. “But Debbie said you told her that you’re a consultant?”
“Yeah, I am. You see, I go to a client’s house and evaluate what kinda pest or rodent problem they have and then I consult wit’em on how to treat it. Know what I’m sayin’ . . . I’m a consul’ant, baby.”
Oh, hell no! Victoria couldn’t take it any longer. Vincent’s racial snides, profanity, misrepresentation, and flashy jewelry had all pushed her well beyond her limit.
“Mr. Frank, my name isn’t baby, it’s Victoria . . . Ms. Small to you.” And with that, Victoria grabbed her belongings and started to slide out of the booth.
“Where you goin’?” Vincent asked with surprise.
“Anywhere you’re not!”
“I can’t believe you snooty, educated bitches! Y’all sistahs always cryin’ the blues ’bout how you want a good black man, but when you get one you can’t handle us. Don’t know how to ’preciate a good brothah. I got a good job, ain’t got no kids, ain’t never been arrested, and I got a top of the line Sentra parked out front . . . fully loaded. I got females sweatin’ me left and right tryin’ to get wit’ this,” Vincent said loudly, pounding his chest again.
People sitting at the surrounding tables and booths began to look in their direction. Just then, the server came back with their drinks as Victoria pushed past him and stood. “Your stupid ass is crazy,” she hissed, just loud enough for Vincent to hear.
“Go ’head then, step off. I’m tired of dealin’ wit’ sistahs that be trippin’ anyway. That’s why I’ma get me a white woman. They know how to ’preciate a good man,” Vincent sneered, taking his glass of beer from the server’s tray.
Mortified, Victoria let out a small gasp. She looked over her shoulder and saw a gray-haired older white woman put her hand to her mouth in shock. She wanted to grab her glass of sparkling water and throw it in Vincent’s face, but instead she simply held her head high, walked away and never looked back. The server just stood there—speechless.
Isn’t It Incredibly Cool? . . .
“What were you thinking, setting me up with that jackass?” Victoria asked Debbie, speaking into her hands-free headset as she drove back to work.
“What’re you talking about? Vincent is a really sweet guy.”
“Yeah, about as sweet as strychnine! He was putting on an act for you. He’s not shy at all. He was just quiet around you so you wouldn’t find out how crazy he really is.”
“I don’t get it . . . what did he do to make you so upset?”
“Well, for one thing
he was wearing a green suede pantsuit, and tons of jewelry. He looked like a reject from a low-budget rap video.”
Debbie shook her head on the other end of the line. “God, Victoria. You’ve always been picky as hell when it comes to clothes and men. Loosen up why don’t you?”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Victoria nearly screamed. But what did she expect from a woman whose wardrobe consisted of tie-dye shirts and broomstick skirts. Debbie was a free spirit and liked guys with an edge. She’d stunned her family and friends when she settled down and married a guy as straight-laced and normal as Rob. The truth was, the only reason Victoria had agreed to the date was because Rob had given Vincent his stamp of approval. Victoria loved her friend, but she knew that she and Debbie had very different tastes.
They were complete opposites. Victoria was tall, African-American, and refined. Debbie was short, Caucasian, and a wild, artsy-fartsy kinda gal. Victoria wore heels, while Debbie wore Birkenstocks. Victoria ate sushi, while Debbie preferred Ramen Noodles. Victoria sipped mocha lattes, while Debbie drank hot water and valerian root. But over the years they’d become as close as any blood sisters could be.
“When I met him he was wearing the cutest t-shirt and shorts,” Debbie countered, trying to defend Vincent.
“That doesn’t count. It’s hard to foul up workout gear!”
“Okay, so what if he’s not the best dresser? You can’t just throw out the baby with the bath water!”
“Debbie, he had a gold tooth.”
“I know, isn’t it incredibly cool?”
“I don’t believe you just said that,” Victoria strained. She had one hand on the wheel and the other on her head. Things like this brought up their differences. To Debbie, a gold tooth was incredibly cool. To Victoria, it was the equivalent of the grim reaper’s kiss of death.
Unexpected Interruptions Page 2