“So how was your first day?” Imani asked Abby as they waited for their orders to start arriving.
Abby had managed to arrange meeting up for drinks with her three closest friends on short notice, despite their varying schedules. The restaurant wasn’t exactly busy since it was Monday evening, and theirs was one of few groups there.
“Challenging,” Abby replied, thinking about various aspects of it—from dealing with Daniel Crawford’s unexpected magnetism to the self-consciousness that came with feeling vastly outnumbered in her skin; it wasn’t lost on her that she was the only black woman in the entire place.
She’d met a woman with obvious Asian ancestry, and a few with Hispanic looks, but the place was majority male and majority white. A few of the guys had cast momentary glances of interest at her, but with the strict ‘no love affairs’ rule, she doubted she’d have to worry about fending off any advances from them. But she’d gotten a vibe from at least one of the women that made her gut whisper, “Watch your back.”
Abby was new in many ways, but she was also aware that most things would get easier to deal with in time. Perhaps even her attraction to Mr. Crawford.
“Girl, I hope we’re not too late already,” Tasha said with a shake of her head. “Too bad we couldn’t have met up before you went in for day one.”
Abby sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
Tasha and Imani looked at each other, and their quick exchange had Abby registering their stark physical differences as her eyes darted from one friend to the other.
Tasha had hazel eyes and medium-brown skin like Keri Hilson and Erykah Badu, but she was what many would call voluptuous, carrying around at least a D cup on her five foot three frame. Her relaxed, dark brown hair was streaked here and there with blond. She currently wore it hanging down her shoulders in loose curls, probably from a roller set.
Imani, on the other hand, was more of a Kelly Rowland or Lanisha Cole type—slender and tall—at least six inches taller than Tasha—with smooth, dark brown skin and black hair she currently wore in a neat low bun. She was what some would call modelesque—which probably helped her career as a sports agent; having such a stunning appearance got her plenty of rapt attention.
“Well, there’s a lot to know about an environment like that, and it’s our duty to prepare you,” Tasha said. “You’ve never worked in corporate.”
“Come on—it’s not like I haven’t worked with other people before. And don’t forget the track I took to get here—I know what it’s like to be around people who are determined to underestimate my abilities. I was aware of not getting the kind of support others got, the skepticism…”
“Yes, but office environments are kind of a different beast,” Imani added. “Sure, you probably know what to expect to some degree—some ‘you don’t belong here’ vibes, for example—but corporate is a whole other world; you need to be on guard for all kinds of mind games.”
“So first of all,” Tasha said, counting out on her hand, “whatever you do, don’t let anyone in your personal business. Give up nothing that can be used against you—details about your love life, family members, hell, even car problems. Concerned Sally and Nosy Nancy will listen under the guise of sympathy, then happily share anything you’ve mentioned with others, including management. By making you look worse, they’ll make themselves look better so they can move up the ladder.”
Abby almost chuckled. Nancy Page came to mind, and Tasha had hit the name spot-on, but the gravity of the advice stopped her amusement.
“Yeah,” Imani added. “Whenever anyone asks how things are going, it’s always fine. Pretty good, even. But never ‘awesome’ or anything that’ll prompt more questions. You studied psych—you know what’s up. Find a way to throw them a bone every now and then without actually saying anything that could put you at risk. And don’t get it twisted—even a seemingly innocuous story about running out of gas on the road over the weekend can make you look untrustworthy. Who’s to say you won’t forget to fill the tank and not make it on time one morning there’s an important meeting scheduled? So whatever you ‘share,’ make sure it’s something they can’t actually hurt you with.”
“And definitely don’t show up in anything identifiably expensive,” Latoya, aka Shelly Greene, added. She was the light-skinned one of their group, the only one who would definitely pass the paper bag test. She had dark eyes, but her naturally dark hair was henna red these days. “Shoes, purses, anything like that. It’ll make people wonder how much you’re getting paid, and they’ll resent you for possibly making more than them. Basically, give them nothing to envy, and no rope to hang you with.”
“Jesus, you guys make it seem like a damn jungle out there,” Abby said. She sipped her drink.
“It is,” Tasha said. “And you’ll never know how many animals are stalking or watching you at any given moment. You’ll feel some eyes, but the best hunters stay camouflaged and hidden until the right moment to attack. As best as you can, Abby, watch your back. And for God’s sake, document everything. Get everything in writing—don’t trust anyone’s spoken agreement or promises or whatever.”
“Yeah, girl—trust no one,” Latoya said, her eyes lighting up as she spotted the first of their orders heading toward them. “The Judases of the world often greet you with smiles and assurances.”
“Most of all, remember this—betrayal comes in all colors,” Imani added. “Things will get tougher in time when you start to feel comfortable and closer to everyone. But don’t be fooled by that ‘work family’ stuff—you might start feeling some sort of kinship, but never forget it’s every man for himself; they’re not really there for you. And just like some blood family members, they’ll happily stab you in the back at the first opportunity, so just stay vigilant.”
“But don’t let them know you’re on guard. Definitely be warm and friendly—distance makes people suspicious and even more interested in what you’re up to than they would have been otherwise. Plus, seeming cold or stuck-up can be used against you, so seem open, but don’t give away jack shit.”
Abby let out a long, hard breath. “Well, you guys will be glad to know I’m actually working closely with an executive; I’m pretty much only working with him.”
“Oh, good! No risk of being lulled into a false sense of security,” Latoya said before breaking off a piece of bread.
“Yeah, girl,” Imani said. “Count your blessings, but don’t let him disrespect you either; make sure he knows and calls you by your name. I once worked with a guy who botched my name all the time and seemed to think he was being funny. I don’t know if he actually couldn’t remember or didn’t want to bother since it was so ‘foreign’ to him and he didn’t want to get his tongue used to it. He’d be like, ‘Naomi? Jumanji?’ Once, when I corrected him, he even had the nerve to ask, ‘Can I just call you Irma?’”
She shook her head, her pretty face tightened. “He clearly expected me to not hold his low-key disrespect against him, and you know what? I did let it go—our interactions were totally normal. But I ended up a bit forgetful myself, and whenever I introduced him or referred to him, I could no longer get his name right. Oddly, he seemed a little upset when I was like, ‘Bob here will handle that,’ or ‘Hey, Billy, you want to get Chinese food with us?’ I think his name was Gary, but I legit tossed it from my memory. ‘Okay, George,’ I said whenever he corrected me. Magically, he suddenly started remembering my name!”
She shrugged carelessly and sipped her water while Tasha chuckled silently, her large breasts jiggling.
Abby’s mind was still processing all the advice when her phone vibrated. She saw her cousin’s name on the screen and debated for a moment whether or not to pick up. As everyone reached for the appetizer platter, she hit ‘accept.’
“I hear congratulations is in order,” Raven greeted her when she picked up the call.
Abby couldn’t help smiling. “Yes! Thank you. I’m still sort of in a probationary period, but so far so good.”
“Well, I really am happy for you,” Raven said as one of her kids protested in the background. “Guess this means you won’t be available for babysitting?”
“Probably not. The nine to five is no joke! But you know I’ll always help when I can.”
“I know it,” she said softly. “Look, I have to deal with this little rascal. We’ll talk later!”
“K,” Abby said, then disconnected the call.
Despite everyone at the table looking occupied with the food or drinks, she knew all ears had been tuned in.
But these women were her sisters, so she didn’t mind—if she’d had any qualms about them listening in, she wouldn’t have answered the call.
“So anyway, I think I figured out why I was hired,” she said. “In fact, any of you might’ve gotten the job if you’d been up for it, and had psychology degrees.”
“Well, then that makes just the two of us,” Imani said.
“In any case, I think HR figured the best bet for preventing another work romance was hiring black,” Abby continued.
One of Tasha’s eyebrows lifted. “You don’t think for a second that rich white men aren’t happy to fuck black women too, are you?”
“No, but what matters is what the guy who hired me thinks. He probably figured I wouldn’t be the executive’s type—couldn’t imagine we’d have any kind of chemistry. And instead of the office staff taking bets on when the guy gets me in bed, everyone can mind their own business for once because chances are, no one will be able to match us up romantically in their heads—you know how some people still have trouble processing interracial relationships.”
“Uh oh—here we go,” Tasha said playfully.
“You know it’s true—most times when a TV show hires a non-white woman as the supposed co-lead of a white man, you can bet they have zero plans of putting them together. They manage to keep things professional and platonic because they and the general viewing public are more comfortable with things that way; people will even beg for them to stay friends. And if the show lets them get together or the guy falls in love with her, she’s probably doomed and will be replaced by someone ‘more appropriate’ later.”
“Like Person of Interest,” Latoya said with a pout.
“I’m so glad I didn’t start watching that one,” Abby replied. “But Elementary, for example—I doubt things would’ve stayed completely platonic this long if they’d cast a white woman as Watson; in fact, people ship the two white male leads of the BBC’s Sherlock, despite Watson not being gay! The white leads in Lucifer have zero chemistry, yet people have been clamoring for them to be romantic since the beginning. Meanwhile, other couples with chemistry out the wazoo are kept apart and certain fans beg for it to stay that way simply because they can’t handle interracial love. Even if they claim to simply dislike romantic entanglements, they’ll want the guy to be paired with some other woman—any nearby white woman. Like…”
“Yes, we know—the-show-that-will-not-be-named,” Tasha interrupted with a light roll of her eyes. “Definitely don’t bother catching up on The Vampire Diaries—you will hate how they did Bonnie. But listen, The Flash is still solid, right?”
“Outside of the misogynist, racist fandom still trying to get Iris killed off, yes. And the showrunners still can’t figure out how to treat her like the female lead, but at least they haven’t yet bent to the will of the bigots in the fandom yelling for her to be disposed of so a white woman can take her place.” Abby took a deep breath. “Amazingly, people who usually get upset about fridging...”
“Fridging?” Tasha queried.
“You know—metaphorically putting a woman in a refrigerator. Killing or injuring or otherwise sidelining her to further a male character’s story. Anyway, when a woman of color is involved, suddenly fridging is fine—no one gets up in arms about it; in fact, some women will happily clamor for it! Most seem to be okay with women of color dying—if it means it makes way for another type of woman. Everyone will deny bias, but…” She shrugged.
“Okay! So you already know—if you have any sort of chemistry with this guy you work with, or come across as a threat in some other way important to the women in that place, definitely watch your back,” Imani said. “Some people don’t see you as a potential threat to their self-esteem and worldview until it’s too late, and once that happens… well, you see how some have been clawing at Meghan Markle, trying to drag her for all kinds of bogus reasons and knock her down to where they think she belongs. Even her white family members won’t stop gunning for her. It’s funny how some ‘don’t see color’ until someone of color is getting something they feel entitled to.”
“Meanwhile, you need to stay off those message boards; it’s not healthy!” Tasha said.
“How can I?” Abby replied. “I can’t let the toxic racism slide! If people like me don’t defend characters of color, those places become echo chambers of harmful apathy or downright viciousness. Non-white characters will continue being dismissed or harped on as annoying or useless or worse for whatever reason— irredeemable, uninteresting, and not worthy of sympathy or spending time on, so who cares if they get written off? Some of those asshole viewers even talk about killing off kids of color because they can’t connect! And I mean sixteen-year-olds, twelve-year-olds, and even eight-year-old kids. Then art will continue to imitate life and vice versa. The inability to see people of color as full human beings will persist as empathy from the bigger population remains elusive.”
The table was quiet for a few seconds. Then Tasha said, “Okay, I wasn’t going to out myself like this, but you should check out Free Rein on Netflix if you haven’t already. I’ve only seen the first season, but they sure did ‘black girl lead on a mixed show’ right.” She took a sip of her drink, her eyes down. “I mean, it’s kind of a teen show, so it’s sort of cheesy, but it’s nice to see. It’s the horses that caught my attention—I like horses. And I happened to catch it between Luke Cage and, like… The Walking Dead…”
The other women laughed while Abby smiled at her, making a mental note to add the show to her watchlist.
Everyone happily welcomed the next set of appetizers.
After a mostly restless night, Abby awakened the next day even more excited for her new job, her head swimming with all the advice and warnings—from others and herself.
Mr. Crawford seemed like a nice enough guy, so being around him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And once the newness wore off, and they got used to each other, maybe the electric attraction would melt away and they could even become real friends to some degree.
In any case, she felt more prepared to resist Mr. Crawford’s charms now. If he persisted in flirting with her, well… she remembered hearing about a popular eighties actress who became known for leading men on to get roles but never actually sleeping with them.
Abby didn’t know how true that was, but maybe she could do something similar—keep Mr. Crawford on the line and lead him around with an empty silent promise, never actually letting him in.