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“By the way, I’m Shanice Davison, Mr. DePaul’s executive assistant.” She taps on a glass door. It’s a conference room. I can see Mr. DePaul sitting at the end of a long conference room table. She throws up a hand, and he waves her – us – inside. Shanice instructs me to sit at the opposite end of the table. There must be at least twenty chairs – ten on each side – putting distance between us, which is fine by me. From this far away, there’s a good chance he won’t see my stained shirt.
Shanice says, “Mr. DePaul, this is Ms. Quintessa Bailey. She’s interviewing for the…um…accounting associate position.”
Shanice sounds nervous, and she knows the man. If she’s this nervous, what am I to expect?
Mr. DePaul rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, looking at a watch that probably costs more than my whole life. And my mama’s life. And my mama’s, mama’s life.
“Thank you, Ms. Davison,” he says in an abyss-deep tone that has me trembling slightly, as if caught off guard by a rumble of thunder on a day with no forecasted storms.
He has manners. That’s a shocker.
Before now, I’d never met Mr. DePaul, but I’ve heard things. Women like him because he’s smart, wealthy and handsome. Dresses well, like he has a personal tailor. He probably does. He’s your typical I-made-it-to-the-top-now-bow-down-to-me CEO who wants everything done his way. He’s aggressive. Dismissive. A formidable, autocratic leader. His wealth makes him clueless about the plight of common people like myself.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Shanice says. She flashes a wry smile before she leaves the room. When the door closes, I’m more unnerved than I was when I first learned it would be Mr. DePaul doing the interviewing. It’s just me and him. Shanice has left me alone with the wolf – the pack leader – the black man in charge of this impressive accounting firm.
In his presence, I feel like I felt the first day my parents dropped me off for kindergarten – abandoned and clueless. I didn’t know how it was going to go. I just knew I was some place strange. That’s where I am now – a place that’s foreign to me – a place my gut tells me I don’t want to be.
But a sista needs a job. What choice do I have? And, everything I’ve learned about him is hearsay. The rumors may not be true.
Mr. DePaul doesn’t say a word. He glances up at me and carries his dark eyes back to his laptop screen.
O-kay…this is awkward…
What am I to do? Just sit here? Mr. DePaul ain’t paying me no attention. It’s like I’m not even here. Was there some kind of mix-up and he thinks I’m here for something else other than a job interview? That can’t be the case. Shanice just told him I was here for the accounting associate position, so this has to be legit. I just wonder why he’s avoiding me.
“Hello,” I say to break through the barrier of coldness in the room that has us icebergs apart – his fault.
His brows furrow at my greeting, but he’s still more attentive to what he’s doing on the computer, like he didn’t hear me at all. It has me questioning whether I said anything. Did I say hello aloud? I thought I did.
I’m completely losing it.
That’s the power this man wields. I knew that already – I just never expected I’d be so close to him to be influenced by the overwhelming potency of his demeanor.
I say, “Um, excuse me, Mr. DePaul, I’m here for the—”
“Be quiet,” he says evenly, his fingers moving across the keyboard like a skilled typist.
I snap my head back. “Excuse me?”
Who is he to tell me to be quiet? He’s the CEO and all, but my own daddy doesn’t tell me to be quiet. He’s got the game twisted.
He glares at me from across the table – eyes focused on me like lasers, regarding me with cruel disparagement, like I ate the last donut or something. He clears his voice and reiterates, “I said be quiet.”
Now, I’m the one frowning. The utter disrespect is appalling, especially for a man so handsome (and yes, I can still appreciate how handsome he is, even though he’s grossly disrespectful.)
Calmly, I ask, “Is this typically the way you talk to people because—”?
“Shh,” he darts out in his attempt to quiet me, fingers still moving across the keyboard.
I’m sitting here stewing. I already felt like I was having hot flashes when I learned he’d be the person interviewing me. Now, I feel like I’m about to incinerate this leather chair. This man done got me hot, and not in a good way. I’m at his mercy. He doesn’t need a job – I do. Still, I would like nothing more than to give him a piece of my mind and leave with my dignity intact.
You need this job, Quintessa. You already know how this dude operates. Don’t let anything he says or does surprise you. If you do, your chance of securing a job here is out the window.
After a few deep breaths, I get myself together, thinking about all the things I could do if I get this job. I could move out of Ella’s apartment finally and get a place. I’m sure my best friend would love her apartment back. I could pay bills (oh, there’s a thought) and live like a normal human being. That’s all I want. Normalcy. I don’t need a boatload of money. Shoot, at this point, I’d be willing to give up benefits. I just need a steady paycheck and work – something to fill my day-to-day so I don’t have the time to sit around thinking about all the different ways my life could’ve turned out.
I haven’t been on an interview in five years because my last job lasted about that long – four and a half years to be exact. It wasn’t my fault that I was laid off. And four months before being laid off, me and my team were hit with furrows – a cut in pay – that would supposedly prevent anyone from getting laid off. Can you imagine – getting paid less money to do the same amount of work, and after all of that, still getting a pink slip?
Now, I’m starting from zero. Again. I don’t know how to properly do this, and I thought for sure I’d be meeting with the person who’s the head of the accounting department – not the CEO of the company – the rude boss. All that interview role-playing I did with Ella last night wasn’t enough to prepare me to deal with this. With him. But, I’m here now. I have to do something.
