Shame on It All Page 9

  Harmony sat up in her chair. “What did that trick say about me last night?”

  “Never mind. Forget it.” Bryce bit into her Pop-Tarts. She waited until Harmony was engrossed in the paper again, then continued. “There’s something I need to ask you, though. I need a favor.”

  “Aw, hell!” Harmony got up, folded the paper under her arm, and headed out the kitchen door. “I have to get ready to go to work. I have a long day today. As far as the suit, I wouldn’t so much worry about wearing one of my suits as I would doing something to that fuckin’ head. You either need to cut that shit off and get you a bumpin’-ass cut or get those tracks put back in.”

  Bryce followed Harmony upstairs to her bedroom. Harmony went into her massive walk-in closet to pick out a suit to wear.

  “Harmony.” She was about to blurt it out, no matter what the reaction. Her word was her word. “Colette got fired and needs a job. I told her you would hook her up.”

  Harmony came charging out the closet, bra-less with tits swinging, while Bryce plopped down on the bed. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

  “I’m serious, Sis. I need you to find something for her, anything. I would do it myself but I don’t have it like that at the firm. At least, not yet.”

  Harmony just stood there in the middle of the floor, half-naked and pouting. Bryce was shocked to see her sister with black, satin thong panties on. Maybe she does have some freak potential, after all.

  Bryce gave Harmony a few more moments to stew it over while she got dressed. Bryce turned on the Donny Simpson Morning Show on WPGC 95.5, waiting for her to come back out the closet. She didn’t want to miss the entertainment report from Huggy Lowdown. He was just too damn hilarious and Bryce tried to catch him every weekday, if possible.

  Harmony finally appeared in a double-breasted, cream suit and bronze pumps. “Harmony, that suit is smoking.”

  “Thanks!” Harmony was viewing herself in the full-length mirror, basking in Bryce’s compliment, when her sister went for it again.

  “Harmony, Lucky asks you for a lot of stuff. Mostly because she has to, and I know I used to have to depend on you for everything from food to oxygen, but in the past few years, how many times have I asked you for anything?”

  Harmony deliberated on it. “Not often.”

  “Please do this one thing! Not for Colette, but for me!”

  “Bryce, I don’t know why you think it is your duty to take care of Colette. She’s a grown woman and needs to start acting like one.”

  “Colette does act like a grown woman. It’s not her fault that she got fired. At least she had a job in the first place, unlike a lot of these sistahs laying up on the sofa all damn day watching soap operas.”

  “You see, you automatically assume getting fired wasn’t her fault. Did she give you any details or just another sob story?”

  “Colette keeps it real, Harmony. Always. Sometimes I think you’re straight up hatin’ on Colette.”

  “Straight up hatin’? She even has you sounding like her now.”

  Bryce rolled her eyes at Harmony. “There could be worse things, Miss High and Mighty!”

  Harmony really didn’t feel like getting into it with Bryce, but felt like they needed to get some things straight.

  “Bryce, I don’t hate Colette. I just don’t appreciate the effect that she has on you sometimes.”

  “I’m my own woman and Colette can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do any more than you can.” Bryce couldn’t believe the nerve of Harmony. All she wanted was a simple favor and Harmony had to start going off. “Colette is my friend and she’ll continue to be my friend until the day I die.”

  Harmony could see the fury in Bryce’s eyes. She could understand Bryce’s loyalty to Colette to some extent. When Bryce had first started college at Howard, Colette had come to her rescue and helped her out of a sticky situation. Bryce was working part-time at the McDonald’s across the street from the main campus. After work one night, some brothers who’d had a tad too much to drink started roughing Bryce up in the parking lot because she refused to give them any play. Colette and a few friends were pulling in to grab a late-night snack when they saw the stressful situation unfolding. The rest of the sisters with Colette were willing to pretend like everything was everything, but not Colette.

  She jumped out of the vehicle while her friend still had it in motion headed for the drive-through lane, whipped out her can of pepper spray, and started going for their beady eyes without a second’s hesitation. Colette instructed Bryce, a total stranger, to hop into the backseat of the car, then started kicking various sets of balls like she was the punter for the Redskins sweating over the possibility of hanging left on the game-winning field goal.

  From that moment on, a friendship was born. Bryce returned to McDonald’s just long enough to turn in her uniform. Bryce spotted two of the brothers at the student union while she was there with Harmony and Zachary. Zachary and his frat brothers put the fear of being involuntarily enrolled in How to Get Your Ass Whupped 101 into them and they ended up on their knees begging for Bryce’s forgiveness. It was quite a scene and Harmony couldn’t help but miss Zachary as she stood there drowning out Bryce’s ranting and raving.

  “Harmony, are you even listening to me?” Bryce asked, poking Harmony in the shoulder.

  That snapped her back into reality. “Hey, watch the suit!”

  “Did you hear what I said or not?”

  “Kind of, but back to the point I was trying to make. Colette needs to start taking some responsibility for her own actions. I’ll tell you exactly where she needs to start, too.”

  “I bet you will,” Bryce lashed out at her.

  “Her appearance. Don’t get me wrong. You need to do something about your hoochie outfits also, but at least you dress professionally when you head into the office. I don’t think I’ve ever, in life, seen Colette in something that didn’t look like it could cut her booty to pieces if she sat down in it the wrong way.”

  “If Colette is happy and content with her appearance, then what’s it to you?”

  “It’s something to me if you plan on insisting that I hook her up with a job.”

  “Does that mean you’re at least considering it?”

  “I’m considering doing you a favor. However, Colette can’t show up wherever trying to get dicked down by every man in sight.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going there? Harmony, you need to take a chill pill, for real.”

  “I know how she is, Bryce,” Harmony continued. “Colette is always going after men that are way out of her league. She expects a man to possess traits that she doesn’t possess herself and she’ll never learn. Sure, they’ll accept the carte blanche ass, but they’ll never consider her as relationship material as long as she carries herself that way.”

  “Since when did you become the expert on Colette?”

  “Since you’ve been telling me all of her business, just like you tell her all of mine and Lucky’s.”

  Bryce had no comment. There was no sense in trying to deny that she had a big-ass mouth. Maybe it was somewhat her fault that Harmony had such a low opinion of Colette. Every single time Colette got dogged out by a man, Harmony knew about it less than twenty-four hours after Bryce did.

  “If you don’t want me to say negative things about Colette, don’t keep dishing out her dirt to me,” Harmony said, confirming Bryce’s thoughts. “That’s just like a woman bragging on her man’s dick at every opportunity and then inviting the town skank to spend the weekend.”

  “Whatever, Harmony. This is getting us absolutely nowhere. Either you’re going to help Colette out or you’re not. So which is it?”

  Harmony glanced at Bryce and had to admit she was proud of her. In the face of all the shit that had happened between her and George the night before, she was still trying to help out a friend. Harmony had to genuinely admire that.

  “I’ll find her something.”

  Bryce jumped up off the bed. “Re
ally?”

  “Really!”

  “You’re not shitting me, are you?”

  “Nope, I’m not shitting you.” Harmony started putting on a pair of gold earrings. “It won’t be anything major. I doubt Colette has any marketable skills. I’ll stick her in a receptionist position or on a switchboard somewhere.”

  Bryce ran up behind Harmony and threw her arms around her shoulders. “I knew you would come through for her.”

  Harmony pushed Bryce’s arms off and then turned around to face her. “I’m not coming through for her. I’m coming through for you.”

  “I love you, Harmony!”

  “I love your trifling ass, too!” Harmony reached on her dresser to get her watch. “You’re going to be responsible for getting her some decent clothes.”

  “Done!”

  “I really have to run. I have a meeting in thirty minutes.” Harmony picked up her purse and keys. “Tell Colette to call me at the office in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay, I’ll call her right now and let her know.”

  “As for you, you need to take one of those sick days you’ve been accumulating and do something about your fuckin’ hair. My hairdresser Monique’s number is in my Rolodex in my study downstairs. You need to make like the hoochie you are, go down the skreet, and get your hair did.”

  Bryce took a good look in the mirror. “You’re right! My hair is fucked!”

  They both snickered.

  “Your hair is fucked and then some,” Harmony added. Then she headed down the stairs. “And call AAA about your car window.”

  8

  Just Another Day in the Trenches

  Harmony glared at Jerry Morrison, one of her top clients, sitting across from her, and could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. She’d barely been in her office for ten minutes when her secretary had announced his unexpected arrival.

  They’d taken seats and he’d declined a cup of coffee or tea. Harmony was ready to get the drama over with, whatever it might be.

  “So, what can I do for you today?” she asked, feigning a smile.

  He shifted in his chair and loosened the knot on his tie. “Ms. Whitfield, this is extremely difficult for me, but I feel like something must be said.”

  Harmony closed her eyes briefly, hoping that one of her employees hadn’t developed a case of sticky fingers. That was always a risk whenever you hired people based on two quick references and a required drug test. While most of them were great people simply down on their luck, some of them had been unable to find permanent employment for a reason.

  “Something needs to be said about what?”

  “The racial mix of your company.”

  I really don’t need this shit today, Harmony thought. “What’s wrong with the racial mix of my company? For that matter, what makes you an authority on it?” she asked irately, immediately going on the offensive. She didn’t like the nature of his statement and wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.

  He cleared his throat. “We, at the Diamond Chocolate Company, try our best to support minority-owned businesses. However, we are concerned because out of the five temporary employees you’ve placed with us over the past ten months, only one has been a member of the majority.”

  “The majority? You mean white?”

  “Exactly. You’ve placed three African-Americans and one Hispanic into our secretarial pool.”

  “And only one white?” Harmony said, emphasizing the last word.

  “Yes.”

  “Jerry…may I call you that?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Jerry, you want to know the reason I started Whitfield and Associates?” She gave him a few seconds to reply. When he didn’t, she answered the question anyway. “I started it because when I first moved here from California to go to college, I survived by working temporary jobs. I worked for several temp agencies and there was one thing I noticed the second I walked into every single one of their offices to endure yet another batch of filing and typing tests.”

  “What was that?” he asked with disinterest.

  “All the people conducting interviews, all the people administering tests, and all the people sitting behind the receptionist desks were white.” He sighed deeply and straightened his necktie. Harmony continued, “That in itself wouldn’t have seemed strange if all the people in the waiting area filling out applications weren’t African-American, Asian, and Hispanic.” Jerry didn’t comment. He just glared at her with disdain. “Now, you might take offense to what I’m about to say. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m at the point in my life where I realize I don’t have to kiss up to anyone.”

  He threw his palms up in the air. “Ms. Whitfield, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t—how do you people say it?—go off on me.”

  Harmony rolled her eyes. “Is that how you view me? As some sort of angry minority looking for the space and opportunity to exhibit stereotypical hatred against the man?”

  “No, I never said that. You’re putting words in my mouth. I simply came here, on a friendly basis I might add, to inform you of our concerns.”

  “As I was about to say, I grew tired of watching the majority capitalize off of the minority, and while I harbor no fantasies of changing the world, I decided to change my little slice of it.” Harmony smirked at him. “I was never cut out to work for other people. I knew that early on when people used to glare down their aquiline noses at me and address me like I was beneath them.”

  “I see,” Jerry said, getting up from his chair.

  “Let me finish,” Harmony said, directing him with her fingers to sit back down. He did. “I’m not beneath anyone. I see everyone as my equal. I started Whitfield and Associates for several reasons. Mostly, I wanted to make sure that just because someone is humbled down to the point where they have to seek temporary employment to tide them over, they wouldn’t have to deal with someone treating them like they were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe.”

  “Like I said before, I didn’t come here to offend you,” Jerry said defensively, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone in.

  “And there was no offense taken. I’m a firm believer that there can be no progress without discussion. I’m glad you took the time out of your busy schedule to come down here and voice your concerns face-to-face. I might have taken offense to a phone call. I prefer to read a person’s facial expressions during such conversations.” Harmony let her words sink in before continuing. “Now, I have no intention of replacing any of the employees I have placed at your company unless you can show just cause or substantiate below-par job performance. You have a contract with me that doesn’t expire for another six months. Try to break it and I’ll see you in court.”

  Jerry Morrison was appalled, but had to admire Harmony’s tenacity. “Would you at least guarantee that if and when we place an order for an additional secretary, you will send us someone else?”

  “Someone else? You mean a white person?” Harmony chuckled. “Don’t beat around the bush. Say what you mean and mean what you say.”

  “Okay, fine. I would prefer a white woman if another temporary employee is sought through your firm,” Jerry said sternly.

  “You will get whomever I have available that is skilled enough to perform the duties prescribed in our contract, whether that person is white, African-American, Hispanic, Asian, or Pakistani.” Harmony glared at him. “Do you follow me, Jerry?”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do,” he conceded, wishing that he had never come.

  “Good.” Harmony stood up, walked around her desk, and opened up the door leading to her outer office. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in a few moments.”

  “I have to run along, too.” Jerry got up and walked to the door. “I’ll just see myself out.”

  Harmony shook his hand. “Have a nice day and enjoy the beautiful weather.”

  He forced a smile and left. Harmony slammed the door behind
him. She wanted to make sure he never came to her with such racist bullshit again.

  Harmony collapsed into her desk chair, holding her side, and wretched with pain. She rang for her secretary, who responded over the intercom, “Yes, Ms. Whitfield.”

  “Could you please call Dr. Dresher’s office and see if she has any appointments available today?”

  “Yes, Ms. Whitfield. Right away.”

  Harmony scrambled to dump the contents of her purse on her desk, rifling through them until she located a bottle of prescription pills. She popped the cap off and tossed two pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry.

  Bryce didn’t get into her office until midafternoon. Monique, Harmony’s stylist, had whacked away at Bryce’s hair after informing her that she’d suffered serious weave damage. Bryce felt about ten pounds lighter but had to admit, after swiveling back and forth in Monique’s chair with a handheld mirror to take in all angles, that her hair looked damn good.

  The administrative assistant, Jean, handed Bryce a stack of messages from clients, and one red-flagged message from her boss, Winston Ross. Bryce smacked her lips when she saw that one. He’d been getting on her last nerve lately. A highfalutin knee-grow that swore he had it going on, Winston didn’t realize that their firm wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of either of their black assess if the mood hit them.

  Bryce went to her cubicle in the bull pen, sat down, and hooked up her headset telephone. People all around her glared at her as if to say, “You’ve got your nerve, coming in so damn late while we’re sitting here strung out.”

  None of them would ever actually say something smart to Bryce, though. One white girl, Jolene, who thought she was the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe, had attempted to step to Bryce one time about a mutual client who was displeased with his recent stock portfolio. Whether it was a valid point or not, Bryce wasn’t going to let the bitch talk down to her. She told her ass off good, right in front of everyone, and didn’t give a damn who heard it.