“Damn! I almost got one, again.” But now I was even more determined to make it happen.
Chapter Nineteen
Zack
“Dean Cabot, please.”
“Mr. Cabot is in a meeting. Would you like his voice mail?”
“No, I’ve already left him a message, thank you.” I’ve left him several messages. Actually, I’ve left him two messages a day for the last few days. All of my phone calls go unreturned, all of my e-mails are answered with the same “Your proposal is still being considered by management.”
I’ve gone over every minute of my presentation a thousand times, and for the life of me, I can’t find anything that I could have done any better. I knew what was going on. I knew it from the moment I set foot in that office. It began with the look I got from the sister at the receptionist’s desk. She looked at me like she’d never seen a Black man before. From there it only got worse. When Dean came out to greet me, he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth wide open. And the look on his face said it loud and clear, “My God, you’re Black.”
It was a done deal over the phone. The presentation was just a formality. But in person, his entire personality changed. There was no more talk about meeting women, going to the beach or having a drink to close the deal. Dean’s conversation was polite and formal, no more “dude, this,” and “dude, that.”
We sat in his office and talked for a while. Whenever he could get by with a one-word answer, he did. Then he escorted me back to the lobby to wait until it was time for my presentation. I sat in the lobby the better part of an hour, waiting. Every once and a while Syeda, the receptionist, would smile and make conversation.
Finally, Dean returned and escorted me to the conference room where I was met by the sight of twelve angry-looking white men. No introductions and no handshaking, just get this over with. Which I did; got right down to it. While I spoke, they sat and listened attentively. Some made notes, others just nodded. I’d done enough of these things to know they were all paying attention and were interested in what I had to say. Once I’d finished my presentation, I asked if anybody had any questions. There was complete silence in that room.
Finally, Dean asked one question; one that I’d answered for him in one of our more interactive conversations. After which, he thanked me for coming and said they’d be in touch. Before he got the “you” in “Thank you,” out of his mouth, half the men were on their feet, headed for the door.
While I gathered my materials together, the sister from the front desk came into the conference room.
“How’d it go?” Syeda asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Didn’t exactly bring the house down, huh?”
I shook my head no.
“Well, don’t take it personally, they’re a tough crowd.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as I continued to pack up.
“I’m here to show you out.”
“Make sure I don’t steal anything?”
“It ain’t like all that.” Syeda looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I just thought that somebody should see you out. Show you some respect.”
As we walked to the elevator, she asked me how long I would be in town and made it known, without actually saying it, that she was available for dinner that evening.
I took the bait.
After dinner and her second margarita, she felt comfortable enough to tell me that she was their “Token Negro. There are no other Black people working in the corporate office. Just little old me. And I’ve only been there three months. It was hard when I first started. I got the same looks you got—whispers and shaking heads, you know. I walked in the bathroom one day and overheard two women talking about me. I was so mad I didn’t know whether to kick their asses or quit. Or kick their asses and then quit. But I talked to my father and he reminded me what I was there for.”
“Why do you put up with it?”
“I’m in school working on my masters at night. It’s close to campus and besides, they pay damn good. And I need the money.”
That was great for her, making that mone,y I mean. But I was sure now that there would be no money for me.
After dinner, I accepted Syeda’s invitation to come by her apartment for a drink. After the second drink, and very little effort, I talked Syeda out of her clothes and in to bed. I thought sex would make me feel better, but my heart wasn’t in it.
That was a week ago, now every day Al asks me if I’ve heard anything from Bandexx. And my answer is always the same: “Still waiting for their board to approve it.”
But I knew better, there would be no deal because I’m Black. And without that deal there’s no chance of me being salesman of the year. Ben was cruising to a comfortable lead. And to top it off, I had a meeting this afternoon with Al to discuss it.