A couple of months ago, I took a part-time job, working three days a week. My mother and mother-in-law take turns watching my daughter. My son is in school.
I love being out and about, putting on makeup and dolling up, just being seen. And I'm acquiring some interesting anecdotes to write about.
Anyway, in the office, there's this guy, "Brad," who is about 6'4, as tall as a basketball player. He works out, so he's muscular with luminous chocolate skin. He has a face of a male model. The man looks positively yummy.
"Brenda," a white woman had her eye on him. She flirted outrageously with him. "Hey, handsome," she called to him several times when he entered the office in the morning. She even asked to squeeze his muscles.
Brenda is married with three kids. And her husband looks antediluvian. He has dry skin the color of an eggshell, thinning hair, an unattractive smile. She said that he was fifty and he's an old looking 50. The man is a wreck. I've seen many people, men and women in their fifties who look sexy and desirable.
Brenda is in her mid thirties, not exactly a knockout, but she could do better than that old thing.
She told me about her various vacations and showed me jewelry that her husband has given her.
I think she married him because he cossets her and provides her with security.
At a Christmas shindig the company hosted for the employees, Brenda met my husband, who is white, successful and handsome (For those who are unfamiliar with me, I am black and my husband is white).
"How did you meet him?" Brenda asked.
I told her.
"Girl, he's nice looking," she sang. "And I can tell he's crazy about you. Better hold on to that one." It was so clear by her expression that she was envious of what I had. Brenda couldn't pull a young, attractive white dude, who was educated and generous. So she settled for that tired ass man. And to spice up her sex life, she sneaks around and has sex with good-looking black dudes. She wouldn't marry a black man or openly date one because that would taint her.
Despite her bland looks, she knows that BECAUSE SHE'S WHITE, she can attract fine looking black men.
But she tried to get her hands on Brad and it didn't work.
And the poor dear has been moping around the office, not cracking jokes and not talking animatedly like she normally does. She's been looking depressed. She thought because she was/is white that all she had to do was bat her eyelashes at Brad and he'd jump at the chance to be with her.
Well, it didn't work.
Also, Brad pretends to admire me. He often tells me"”"You look nice today."
Or, "You smell nice." My favorite perfumes are Intuition, White Diamonds and Obsession and the scents are delightful.
Brad gave me a heart-shaped box of Hershey kisses. "It's not much," he said, handing me the container of chocolates. "But it's something sweet for a sweet lady."
The gesture was supposed to make me feel wonderful, but I think Brad is up to something.
A couple of times we went to lunch and his apartment is close to the office, so one afternoon at his request, we dropped by there. "I want to get your opinion on something," he said, standing by his stereo and stack of CD's. "I'm going to play two versions of this song and I want you to tell me which one sounds the best."
He put on Close The Door by Teddy Pendergrass' and after it played, he slid in a CD of Montell Jordan singing the same melody. After the second one played, he asked, "Now, which one sounds best to you?"
"Teddy, of course," I said. "The original is always the best."
"You got good taste," he said. And some of the lyrics made me wonder if he was trying to tell me something.
I had always been curious about him and Brenda. "Brad, I want to ask you something," I said.
"Sure," he replied.
"Well, it's kind of personal."
He frowned. "What is it?"
"Have you ever been intimate with Brenda?"
I believed that she approached him and he told her no. My intuition tells me that was what happened. But there was also the possibility that he had sex with her. So, I asked him that because I wanted to see his expression. If he were lying, I would have picked up on it.
He shook his head. "I wouldn't do nothing with her."
I wasn't convinced that he was telling the truth. "But she'd like to do something with you," I said, keeping it sweet. "I can tell by how she looks at you, the things she says to you."
"Look, this is just between us, okay? Don't be puttin' no shit out in the office."
"I won't say anything," I said.
"She suggested that we have some no-strings sex," he revealed. "I ain't feelin' her like that."
"Why?" I questioned. "She's beautiful." I was being nice. Brenda is not beautiful. She is loud, coarse and undignified.
He shrugged. "I ain't into white women. And they always tryin' to holler at me."
Brad is quite the actor. He seemed to be telling the truth, but I knew he was lying. A white woman throws herself at a black man and he turns her down.
You see Brad is out to exploit and psychologically abuse a woman. Brenda is white, so he is fearful of toying with her emotions. It could possibly cost him his job. Now conversely, I am black, so he probably thinks he can mess over a sista and there will be no ramifications. Black men regularly respect white women and show blatant disregard to black women.
But I'm going to keep an eye on Brad just to see what he tries to do.
Since he and I have become chummy, Brenda has been sending gusts of arctic air in my direction, scarcely saying two words to me. A few mornings, when I entered the building, carrying my customary cup of hazelnut coffee from 7-11, she didn't even speak to me.
I didn't care, though I was curious to know why she was behaving in such an immature manner.
I mentioned it to Lashawn, a co-worker. "Fuck her," Lashawn exclaimed. "She's just pissed cuz you're cuter than she is and you managed to snatch homeboy's attention, something her ass couldn't do."
Brad and I haven't done anything, except shared a few passionate kisses, but I'm not going to give him any. He suggested that I come over one evening, so he can cook for me. "My evenings are reserved for my family," I explained, offering a gracious tone.
No way would I neglect my kids for a man.
"I got an idea," he said.
"We can take off on the same day. And spend all day just chillin' in my crib. Get into a little something, something."
"I don't take adultery lightly," I said.
"Yeah, but something ain't right at home. If everything were kosher, you wouldn't have given me the time of day. You should stop being Miss Goody Girl and do what you want to do."
He's a black man, so he's a playa and he doesn't mean any black woman any good. His objective is to screw up my life; play head games. I keep telling myself that.
And he's very Machiavellian. When I first appeared on the job, I would "catch" him looking at me the way men eye women they admire. And when our eyes would meet, he'd break into a gigantic smile and turn away. A few times he came by my desk, acting like he wanted to talk, but he didn't utter a word. Eventually, he engaged me in a conversation.
And when we began to communicate, he got tongue-tied a few times. I think it was all put on. He was trying to make me think he was so taken with me.
One day in the break room, he told me, "I know this woman. She's real pretty. She has nice skin, nice hair and a nice shape. I can tell she likes me. But she's not the type to approach a man. I believe home girl is used to men runnin' behind her."
Of course, he was talking about me.
He said, "Now, I don't chase no woman. If a woman wants to do something with me, she can come to me."
That was his way of telling me, ˜If we get involved, you will instigate it.'
I suppressed the desire to burst out laughing. "Well, I can't speak for any woman but myself," I said. "But I like men to pursue me."
"Is it an ego thang?" he questioned.
"No. I simply admire aggressive men. Men who go after what they want. That arouses me."
So, girls, the lesson in this anecdote is extraordinarily simple, don't get pulled into any black man's games. You'll end up confused and violated.