A Matter of choice

By Richelle A. Lorde

JUST WHEN LIFE couldn't get any better, Alicia finds out who she really is and how her journey to venture a path that refuses to settle for social and gender divide, sexism and the like, unlocks a truth within her that changes her very existence. From start to finish, this riveting story of a young woman's journey into the essence of who she was
created to be brings a sense of self-reflection, as so much of Alicia's world and series of events in some way or another can easily mirror our own. Share in this wonderful discovery and be a part of the fan club that cheers her on from chapter to chapter and book to book. Sooner or later we all realize it's just A Matter of Choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735430928

Book preview

May

CHAPTER ONE

ALICIA

Seven years ago, I came to a winding fork in the road. I remember it so vividly, as though it were yesterday. It started on my first day working for one of the largest and most prestigious Public Relations firms in Georgia. The job was exactly what I dreamt of leaving graduate school. Prior to that, I interned during several semesters at a number of different agencies in fast-paced cities like New York, Dallas and Los Angeles. PR has always been my life. As a child, I grew up with a scribble pad and pen always at my side as if they were my adoring pets. Having parents that were well cultured equipped me adequately for a career in such a frilly field of Write-n-go. As a fairly new creative writer, I possessed enough gumption to compete against more than half of the uppity staff writers at the firm. I became a favorite in the eyes of Larry Herring, the Vice President of PR affairs, and a fellow Howard University Alumni.

I had my own office, overlooking views of the downtown Marquis Marriott, bustling streets and yellow taxicabs. There was a bronze nametag on the enormous wooden door, as well as, on my mahogany desk that read Alicia T. Richards, Creative Writer & Design Executive. My job was to simply create concepts that would quickly capture the eye and grasp the heart of consumers thereby generating financial increase for business clients and their products. I loved every moment of my job. My colleagues were the stereotypical office professionals. Some were levelheaded and exciting to work with, while others appeared to be too intelligent to be writers or PR spokesmen. Jon Hunter, the Vice President of Creative Design, fit into the latter category. He was too smart for his own good. Creating simple strategies for logos and layouts was much too complex for Jon. It was his poor ideas that cost the company hundreds of dollars in resketching. However, I must admit, he was excellent when he got the ideas right. Jon was a part of the upper class of society. He was a devout Jewish man with a wife and two kids that were his pride and joy. He was somewhat of a yuppie; you know, the obnoxious adult, that as a child was enrolled in private schools throughout his education. His face was always perfectly shaven, his hair perfectly cut and his tie perfectly tied. He was the type to wear a pristine starched button sky blue shirt with a navy and green sweater with a gold crescent on the chest. Apart from being extremely anal retentive about his designs, Jon was a great guy to work with.

I should have picked up on the signs when my menstrual cycle started on my first day at the job that this was going to be a challenge. In hindsight, I seriously don’t know whether I would have taken the road I’m traveling now. It was just my luck that I switched purses that morning and forgot to bring my necessary feminine essentials. As I left my office, I dashed out into the hall to the small cubicles in the office, desperately in search of someone to rescue me from my dilemma. I wasn’t friendly with any of the staff but being the extrovert that I am, I headed straight toward the first woman I saw hoping she would oblige me. Her name was Amanda Willard. Amanda was white with goldish-brown hair that was mid-neck-near-shoulder-length. I soon learned that she was a high collar conservative dresser that loved to wear pearls. At that moment she seemed to be a cross between Nancy Regan and Diane Sawyer. She was a very petite woman, yet had a domineering personality.

Excuse me Amanda. Amanda is it? I asked as I read her desk tag. "My name is Alicia.

I’m new around here and I have a bit of a problem. I was wondering if you might be able to help me?"

Oh, you were, were you?, she replied.

Excuse me?, I quizzically asked.

Yes, excuse you., she stated very firmly.

There was an awkward pause for a few seconds as my mind raced to understand why this woman was giving me the cold-shoulder-smart-aleck-attitude. Then as my face began to untwist from its obvious misunderstood state, she said, Oh honey, I was just joking with you. You know, pulling your leg on your first day. At first, I didn’t want to believe a word of what she said. My mind was telling me that this white woman was prejudice and she meant every bit of the sarcasm that came out of her mouth. She then went on, Listen, I’m Amanda and I’ll be more than happy to help you with whatever you need. I’m fairly new around here myself, so, how can I help you? Easing up a little, I went on to explain what my issue was and she surprisingly helped me right away. She was such a big help that I asked her if I could treat her to lunch. Oh, how the tables had turned.

You think I’d turn down lunch? she asked. Where are we going sweetie? I have a taste for a few cuisines, so you just pick one and I’ll see if I can match my taste buds to it. It sure is nice of you to treat me to lunch; you can ask me for anything at any time honey. I quickly discovered that Amanda had a very genuine character and she knew how to let it show. She was an interim secretary that worked for a temp agency and had been hired by the firm less than a month ago to cover a woman that was on maternity leave. As an interim, the job was only temporary, but after I spoke with Amanda and with some of the Vice Presidents of the firm weeks later, she was hired permanently as the firm’s clerk. Amanda and I instantly bonded. Although she only held an entry-level secretarial position, as we worked in an office dominated by egotistical men, we felt obligated to look out for one another.

I can remember a time when some of the firm’s very prestigious clients were asking some of the female clerks out for drinks. The men were waiting in the main floor lobby nearly harassing the women with the expectation of going out for drinks simply because they were major business clients. Two of the girls were married and the other was in a committed relationship, but nonetheless, these men were persistent. Since the ladies were assigned to work in the lobby, they notified a female office holder to help avoid what could have turned into a very messy lobby scene. Being that I was away from the office at the time Laura, one of my fellow-female office holders, was called in to salvage and scare away the vicious predators. All women office holders at the firm are quite accomplished. A title and an office renders rank and rank renders power and power, well power, speaks for itself.

There were a total of eight black women in the firm. Four of them were a part of the clerical staff, two were media interns and then there was Karen and myself. Karen Riley and I were the only black women office holders in the entire firm. My credentials and work ethics were what secured my position, so I was told. Karen’s firm backside was what guaranteed her a corporate seat. Now don’t get it twisted, Karen was considered a very intelligent woman. She was one of the top-marketing consultants for the firm, which meant she was no dummy. She was fair-skinned, yet noticeably Black with a nice figure and a provocative business look. She wined and dined many of the bosses to get what she wanted. Everything else she did was to spite others. Karen was bearable for the sake of work only. She was intolerable and incapable of holding a decent conversation. She treated many of the female co-workers as if they were beneath her; she even tried it with me a couple of times.

Karen was personable, a great person to mingle with and good for the firm, as well as an easy sell for Donald Trump type clients. Presidents and VPs liked her because she was good at getting them what they wanted, which were clients and money. The other black women were visionaries. They saw their jobs as a stepping stone to get them to the next level in their careers. Most of the women I had lunch with told me they applied for a job at the firm to immerse themselves with what it would take to be successful in a male dominated industry. When I thought about what drove me to accept my job, none of the concepts many of the women spoke of ever entered my mind. I never before noticed the serious imbalance of gender bias in the work place.

My working environment was what you typically see in movies. A fifty-seven floor skyscraper with the layout made of Italian marble; it was surrounded with bellmen and information desks. My firm owned the floors, 20-37. My office was on the 32nd floor, which was the floor occupied by the Creative Design Department. On our floor great ideas were brought to reality. Jon and I along with our colleague, Orion, collaborated on many excellent projects. Orion was another creative designer/writer who was on staff. He was in his mid-thirties, single and quite satisfied with himself. Jon and I always thought of him to be a few steps away from not being heterosexual, if you get my drift. Orion was from New York and taught creative writing at a local college in Georgia before accepting a position at the firm. He said teaching no longer inspired him. The students listened to my ideas and wrote a bunch of remains and I was dreadfully tired of it, he politely stressed. Orion joked around the office at times, but for the most part, his life was a tightly closed book.

The 33rd floor was occupied by public relations spokesmen, specialists and vice presidents. Oscar Brindell was the company’s main spokesman. He was one of the most intelligent Black brothers you would ever want to meet. Suave, sophisticated and single, were a few of his better attributes. Oscar was the man at Doyle's, Smith & Meyers Advertising firm and there was no doubt about it. The company hired Oscar to be their spokesman because of his clean corporate charm, and that was irresistible to the media. He made our firm appear as smooth as butter, which is exactly why our firm led in PR and Advertising. I officially met Brindell at a campaign for youth crime prevention. The firm had decided to partner with local and national law enforcement to promote a youth crime prevention program. The campaign was designed to improve the state of Georgia; spotlight law enforcement and promote the firm excessively in outreach to create a better and safer community. Having such a sweet image fared well to many of our not so clean-cut clients. It was during the closure of the campaign that I was introduced to Mr. Brindell as the young woman who commands the English dictionary, which was somewhat of a compliment coming from Mr. Doyle. Doyle was the president of the firm and although I thought the introduction was a bit obtuse, it was positive. I was surprised to learn that Mr. Brindell had foreknowledge of me and my work. Brindell was only three years older than I was; yet I revered him as if he were a god. I instantly felt a spiritual connection and longed to know him as if he were my kindred soul mate. I know it seems a bit hasty but I hadn’t been in a steady relationship in a while and the brother had it all together. A soul mate relationship for me was as distant as the Sahara Desert, well at least that’s how I felt at times. If you saw him, you would feel the very same way. He was stimulating just by his outward appearance and when he opened his mouth, he was heaven sent. After meeting him I went to my suburban town home and fantasized about waking up next to his broad shoulders and muscular physique as Mrs. Alicia Brindell. Just the thought of him and I together and listening to his voice recite Langston Hughes’ Love Sonnets incessantly had me stirred up in some serious places. After our first encounter and my one-night fantasy, the following day I went to work on cloud nine and a half, when abruptly, I was astonished by a conversation with two of my female co-workers, both white, that had similar fantasies of Oscar on previous occasions. It was obvious that Oscar Brindell was the kind of man any woman would want. Immediately, I knew the best thing for me to do was to focus on my job, and not on a relationship with Oscar. My job was more important to me than my emotions for some man that I had barely bumped shoulders with anyway. I took my mind off Oscar and only saw him for what he was, the spokesman for the firm, a fine one might I emphasize once more.

Men had never been a distraction for me. I was involved in two serious relationships in my past, and the most recent one was about a year before I took the position at the firm. His name was Steven and he was my college sweetheart who went on to play professional sports after our undergraduate years. He supported me throughout my first year of grad school. I supported him throughout his rookie season, but after that all hell broke loose. He needed me to be a prize trophy hanging on his shoulder at football functions to help publicize and boost his career. I needed him to understand that my studies were a priority and required quality time to enhance my career. Slowly our relationship shriveled up like Lorraine Hansbury’s, A Raisin in the Sun and we both came to an understanding that it would be better for us to end the relationship rather than continue in it and allow it to become a distant misunderstood friendship. Steven and I had known each other since English 101. I was sure that if we remained close, we would eventually make our wrongs right and our plans to one day get married would only be postponed and irreconcilable.

After about 2 years at the firm I was well known for my work ethic and reputation. Not to boast, but I took pride in my work, and still do. I’ve always believed that a man’s work and name represent his fragrance to life. Getting along with my co-workers was easy especially when we all found the time. Most of my colleagues, who endearingly called me Richie, had invited me to their homes for dinner parties, which usually ended up being some kind of a blind date set