by Turner, Xyla
My vision was blurred suddenly and that was when the waft of cologne assaulted my nostrils. Another man joined him, well, he squeezed by the crowd to stand next to intrusive one. This one had a clipboard in his hand had several pens placed flat under the silver slip at the top. He was shorter, had a little more of a belly to him than the other physically fit one that was dressed in a dark suit on one of the hottest days on the East Coast. This guy was black and looked as if he was D.C. born and bred. Neat locs were pulled in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, his light blue shirt was tucked into his khaki shorts, black socks that stopped at his mid-calf and black tennis shoes.
“Who’s asking?” I asked but kept my gaze in the general direction of the men.
“If you live around here, this man will be your next Congressman.” The second man replied and entered the conversation, causing me to turn around. “This is the future Honorable James Klinger, the fourth.”
“What party?” I asked, since I was actively involved in community politics.
A smirk formed on the groomed but handsome man’s face.
“What party do you think I would be lobbying for in Landover?” He scoffed, as if I was a mind reader.
“Beats me.” I scoffed back. “Politicians these days are often delusional.”
A serious look passed across his face, when he said, “I want to change the face of politics.”
“Yeah, says everyone.” I retorted. “It’s about what you do with the power. People say what they want about Marion Barry, but he was for the people. Despite his transgressions.”
The man nodded his head in agreement.
“Mr. Barry was one of my mentors. I truly admired him, and he changed the face of politics. He had his vices, but he’s still one of the most highly respected members of the community, even now.” The man acknowledged.
“So, you’re running for the what in Prince Georges’ County as a Democrat?” I lifted an eyebrow. “What do you think your charm and charisma is going to get you there? What are your thoughts on housing, immigration and school reform? School choice? The ravine over in Upper Marlboro is contaminated. What are your thoughts about free tuition beyond state schools? Special Education and the decline of services offered in the state and students are not able to attend special schools to get the services they need. What are your thoughts on all of those items?” I threw some of the top news items at the man, because if he wanted my vote, I needed to know where he stood.
When I was younger, I used to just vote without understanding what people believed in, but after the election of two-thousand and sixteen, I stopped all of that. I researched, read and was more diligent when it came to selecting candidates to represent me at the local, state and federal level. I no longer gambled with my future, my community or my future kids, if that was something I planned to do. The man looked at me for a moment, but then tilted one side of his mouth up in what could have been assumed as admiration, amusement or just plain curiosity.
“I have a lot of thoughts on these issues. Have dinner with me and I’ll lay out my two, four and eight-year plan.”
One of my eyebrows rose involuntarily, and I scoffed at the man.
“Are you serious, right now?” I countered.
His face grew somber, with no smirk or even a semblance of a smile.
“As a heart attack,” he replied.
My gaze moved towards the board and I thanked God, the orange line, said it was arriving.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shared with him.
His partner was long forgotten until he chimed in and said, “Well, would you at least show your support, by signing that you would want Klinger to be your next Senator for the great state of Maryland?”
Slowly, I moved my eyes to his and shook my head in the negative.
These jokers were actually serious.
Klinger’s, as he called him, hand shot out, waving his friend off and said, “No, she’s not signing, Gerald. She doesn’t trust me, but I want to show her that she can. One dinner. I promise, to give you my plan.”
He stepped towards me which put him directly in front of his friend.
I repeated the same motion from earlier, by shaking my head again. Did they play this game with every woman?
“So, you won’t even give me a chance to give you my plan?” He asked.
“Sorry, not over dinner.” I replied and took a step towards the platform.
The train rode up and I would have sworn it was too packed to get on, but not so much that I couldn’t squeeze. This was perfect.
“Doors are opening.” The operator chimed.
“Lunch, then.” He moved closer to me with the crowd as I stepped onto the car.
“Sorry,” I shrugged. “Good luck with your campaign, though.”
“Doors are closing,” The operator dinged again, despite people piling on the crowded car.
“Breakfast. Shit, a name,” he yelled over the people that separated me and him as the doors slid closed and I smiled at him.
His professional demeanor quickly slipped, which I found to be rather comical. The man was outrageously gorgeous, but he was no Zac Efron. However, he was a politician. Hell, no. They lied for a living, because they had to be politically correct. They couldn’t come out and just be honest or real with anyone. Then, when you finally had someone be honest, they were racist douchebags, that caused division.
What a combo.
My ride into the work was tight, but I made it, almost an hour and a half later. Working at Bridgetown University was the best decision I made and in the political science arena, even better. I didn’t want to be a politician, but a lobbyist.
Those were the people that really made things happen.
By the time, I arrived back home around ten in the evening, after a long day of meeting our goal and the celebration afterward. The college students across the hall were blasting, Staying Alive by the Fugees and the paper-thin wall served as no real barrier, but I liked that song. However, I just wanted to go to bed a little bit more than jamming to the song.
Quickly checking my phone, I saw that I had no calls, which caused my heart to ping just a bit. Jeff hadn’t contacted me in a few days after our last conversation about settling down. Well, more specifically, becoming exclusive. We’d been seeing each other off and on for a few months, but now that we were spending more time together, I asked him about becoming exclusive and well, I guess the lack of response was his answer. That was fine, but somewhere deep down, it hurt. It was very much like rejection and I guess every time he did his disappearing act, I just felt the hit more and more. The feeling was getting old, if I had to be honest and I was moving more towards our entire relationship, being off. Even as a friend.
He just was one of those types, though. He was always friendly and everybody’s friend. The man didn’t have an ill word to say about anyone, well, never to me, but he was the most wishy-washy person I’d ever met. His thoughtfulness, which I figured out, was actually, indecisiveness, which made me respect him less.
My nightly routines included a face mask, as my acne was still bad, a shower, time to relax and clear my mind and then I would hit the sheets. Wariness almost seemed to settle in my bones, but it was okay. At thirty-three, I had acquired my bachelors and masters and could barely make ends meet. The work of a nonprofit was brutal on a person financially, but also very rewarding. I knew what I had to do and although, I lived across the way from college students, it was temporary. It was cheap to rent, near a metro, since I didn’t have a car and it was what I needed to do to survive. The DMV was expensive, so to supplement my income, I decided to work in the political science department. This worked out great, but the right-wing folks had me rethinking all my ethics and attitudes towards non-violence. The superior and entitled attitudes drove me crazy and they all seemed to be a certain type. Same hairstyle type, preppy with that faint smell of privilege that clenched to them like a birthmark.
These were the people, I neede
d to learn, and these were the people that I had to convince. Through the power of words, passion and downright facts. That was my personal thing as a lobbyist. It is what I decided to do in order to right the wrongs of the world.
Influence the lawmakers because the fact is, sometimes they were just as misinformed as the citizens, yet they were the people that made the decisions for us.
Not me.
By Chance, No Choice: Ch. 1
Tess:
Type A is what they called me. I didn't quite frankly care what they said, I had a job to do and I intended to do it, despite what anyone said about it.
They being my co-workers, colleagues, and clients. My type is what they reference me with, yet when there was a crisis, they appreciated my personality. Why? Because while we may be meticulous, we did it and we made sure every “t” was crossed and "i" was dotted. We ask the hard questions and we may probe a dead corpse, but we were the people that others referred to when there was a crisis. Often, I wanted to say, "Ah, now you want me to come in and fix your mistake."
I guess that was the job of the Vice-President at LIT Technologies, Incorporated.
The President and Founder, Michael Owens, was a solid man. In the midst of adversity and negative backlash that he received for considering me as a candidate for this VP position, he still hired me. He looked them all in their faces and said, "She’s my choice. Tess can run circles around the lot of you."
They were from the good old boys’ club. Surprisingly, so was Michael but I'm sure his membership was revoked or at least questioned. They stuck together, hired their friends and kept everything within the club.
It was probably water under the bridge now because I had been in the position for five years. Lately, my job included traveling more since LIT, had expanded. This included conferences and all types of professional development in the hopes to network, grow and expand the business. Hence, why I had on my little black dress about to go to the evening formal event of the three-day conference in Arizona.
The attendees were housed at the Ligula Resort and all food and drinks were free. I was the only one from my company because Michael didn't trust many people to represent him and still maintain some common sense. It made sense since he learned the hard way.
One time, Craig, one of LIT’s associates, went to an event that had an open bar and he drank so much, the hosts had to escort him home. This was Michael's good friend, so it was equally embarrassing on a professional and personal level. Another time, Dick, another LIT associate, tied one on so bad, he accidentally tucked in a corner of the tablecloth, fell asleep and when he was jolted away he pulled the contents on the table on the ground with him. The worst part was the fact that it was the head table and our host had food all over them.
Michael had enough and only I was sent out to represent him or the company. This pissed some folks off initially, but they still played golf and did what the good ole’ boys did in their spare time.
As I stepped into the ballroom with my four-inch heels, off-black stockings that had the black seam running up the middle on the back of my leg, little makeup, small diamond studs and my hair pinned up to display my neck, I was all alone. The single life I had grown to love and embrace because it was what I knew and I have found great comfort in my zone. The truth was, my colleagues were not completely off about my personality type. I was, indeed, impatient, competitive and a chronic multi-tasker. There was no room for a relationship, if I were to be honest. And that was okay with me.
There was not one soul in that room who knew me but it was my job to put aside my resting bitch-face, cloak myself with a pleasant disposition and meet new people. That was fine with me even in a male-dominated industry like technology. Most guys underestimated me until we began to talk shop, then they were intimidated because I always made it clear that though I was a woman did not mean I didn’t belong at the table. They usually received the point.
“Drink, madam?” The waiter asked as I crossed the threshold of the medium-sized ballroom.
There were tables in the center of the room, a stage up front with a live band, food scattered around the outskirts of the room and it was extremely bright as every light and chandelier were turned to the highest watt.
“No, thank you.” I smiled at the waiter.
Briefly, I looked at my card that was securely stuck in the front of my clutch purse which provided my seat number. Confidently, I strode to the seat and gathered the gift that was on the chair. There was a pair of video glasses in the box from a company that wanted one of the attending companies to adopt. We always received expensive gifts in an effort to spread the word about various products. If the technology representatives were sporting a new product, it must be good, was usually their motto. In a way it worked, except this was my fourth pair of video glasses in the past year.
“Tess, Tess, look at you?” I turned around to see the guy that was in one of my seminars I attended earlier.
It could not be.
He did not resemble the man that I saw earlier, at all. The guy that was in the seminar had on khakis, a plaid button-down shirt, cowboy boots and his hair was feathered back in a semi-Mohawk. The man that stood before me had on a tailored-made black suit with cufflinks, a white pressed expensive shirt with the most intoxicating cologne. To top off his ensemble, he had on a cowboy hat.
Hats on men, weren’t necessarily my thing and though I’d visited the south on many occasions, it was not a favorite of mine. I like New York with the hustle and bustle of things. It could get overwhelming, but I thrived in that atmosphere. However, that cowboy hat lowered over the top of his head did not only say sexy, but I wanted to try it on.
What?
In the seminar, he did not stand out even though he was in my group and we shared a brief moment of comradery because he and I had similar situations. His former co-worker was older than him and felt he belonged in his seat and I had a similar situation. We briefly discussed the woes of being leads in our fields but that was all. Nothing spectacular. Now he was calling me by my name and I didn’t have the slightest idea of his.
“Hey, yourself.” I smiled and half-turned in my seat.
He pulled out the empty chair next to me and sat down. “You look. I mean, wow. You look beautiful.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” My smile was still plastered on my face as I attempted to see if he had a ring on his left hand.
Some guys made it a habit to have all types of fun when they were away and I surely did not want to be a victim of that.
Nope.
There was no ring.
“No, you do be it all,” he said with a thick Iowian accent.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“The good ole’ state of Iowa,” he proudly replied with a huge grin. “I know you’re from the big Apple. Written all over ya face.”
I laughed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “It’s a 10-foot banner that says BEWARE,” he raised his voice, “I’m from New York,” he drawled.
My teeth were showing with my mouth opened as I laughed at his assessment. The man was funny with his charming self.
“It’s not that bad,” I managed to say. “I’m just a serious person.”
“That you are, but my God. A sexy one too.”
Whoa.
Okay, he just crossed the line from silliness to flirty. This was where I stopped him.
“So, where are your colleagues?” I asked.
“Ah, ya getting rid of me that fast, huh?” He nodded as if he understood his transition did not work. “Okay, Ms. Tess. You enjoy your evening, alright?”
Wait. I wanted to give the brush off, but in a polite way. Yet, when he called me out on it, I wanted to deny that is what I was doing.
Dang.
“You enjoy yours too.” I turned around and began to fidget with the video glasses.
This was single life at its best and to top it off; I happened to like my comfort zone at the wor
st possible time. Love the comfort of being alone and the familiarity it brings. What I didn’t like, was the possibility of someone, even a gorgeous man invading that for me, especially some Iowian brute who wears a cowboy hat to a banquet, no matter how sexy it may look on him.
The rest of the evening went by fairly well and I made numerous contacts and turned down a couple of ‘meet me in my room’ proposals. While the thought of having a man in my bed was appealing for the night, it was only our first night which meant I had two more left. I had no intentions of dodging a guy I had a one-night stand with at a conference for more than two days. That was not wise and I would never give Michael the opportunity to band me from representing the company.
When I returned back to my room after the event was over, I felt on edge. This often happened, which only meant, I needed to relax. I thought about the hot tub that was outside, the bath that was inside and my vibrator in my carryon bag. There was no shame because it was something I often used as I stayed on edge but since I was at the extravagant hotel, I could indulge a little.
My room bath won and I could get off at the same time. I usually thought about Idris Elba or Omari Hardwick when I relieved myself, but this time, as I was in the tub soaking and rubbing my hard nub, the cowboy popped into my head and I could almost smell his intoxicating cologne.
I was getting close. I thought of his accent, that hat, and taking off that tailor-made suit with my teeth. He was extremely tall, maybe six-foot-five and he took great care of his body. My hands would roam his hard chest until I had enough and then I’d lick each nipple.
It was coming, I felt the sensation rushing down my spine and heating my scorching center.
“That you are, by God. A sexy one too.” I remembered him saying with his Iowa accent and his deep voice.
That was the nail that sealed the coffin and my climax almost paralyzed me causing my toes to curl. That was a first, confirming that he was someone I’d need to avoid for the rest of this sales conference.