Taste of Reality
Authors: Kimberla Lawson Roby
KIMBERLA LAWSON ROBY
A TASTE
OF
REALITY
In loving memory of my mother
Arletha Stapleton
May 11, 1944–November 3, 2001
You were the best mother in the world,
and you are in my heart always
Chapter 1
I
DROVE MY PEARL WHITE LEXUS SUV
into the subdivision…
Chapter 2
I
LEANED BACK
in my chair and read the job…
Chapter 3
M
ONICA HAD ANSWERED
my phone call on the second ring and…
Chapter 4
D
AVID HAD LEFT
bright and early this morning, and while I…
Chapter 5
D
AVID HAD CALLED MY OFFICE
to say he wouldn’t be…
Chapter 6
W
OODFIELD MALL
was as busy as always for a Friday…
Chapter 7
I
T WAS MONDAY MORNING
, and it had taken every ounce…
Chapter 8
I
JUST SPOKE TO
Frank,” Jim said to Lyle as…
Chapter 9
I
’D BARELY SAT DOWN
at my desk when Frank stuck…
Chapter 10
S
O HOW MUCH MORE
are they going to take out…
Chapter 11
I
’D JUST STEPPED OFF
the elevator on the second floor…
Chapter 12
I
DROVE
into the health club’s parking lot and waited…
Chapter 13
J
IM, AS MUCH
as I really want that corporate recruiting…
Chapter 14
S
HE TOOK
the bait a lot quicker than I expected,
Chapter 15
E
VERYONE GATHERED
around the conference room table and waited for…
Chapter 16
I
T WAS SEVEN FORTY-FIVE
, but I sat in my car…
Chapter 17
P
ARKING WAS SCARCE
when I arrived at the truck stop…
Chapter 18
O
F ALL THE APPOINTMENTS
in the world, I don’t know…
Chapter 19
F
RANK’S SUBDIVISION
was more ritzy than I imagined. There…
Chapter 20
G
ETTING DIVORCED
, suing Reed Meyers and falling in love with”
Chapter 21
I
KNOW
you don’t like it, but you wanted to…
Chapter 22
M
ONDAY ARRIVED
in record time. I’d spent most of the…
Chapter 23
I
T WAS 6:05
on a Tuesday evening, and Lorna and…
Chapter 24
D
AYLIGHT APPEARED
much too soon, and I felt as if…
Chapter 25
A
NISE
, Tom would like to know if you’re available to…
Chapter 26
E
XACTLY WHAT LITTLE SOIREE
was she talking about Jim?”
Chapter 27
A
NISE, THIS IS
Tom,” he said when I answered my…
Chapter 28
I
T WAS SO HARD
to believe that a little black…
Epilogue
It was hard to believe that three months had already…
I
DROVE MY PEARL WHITE LEXUS
SUV into the subdivision and sighed with much confusion. I sighed because even though I was living “the good life,” I wasn’t all that happy. My marriage was more than shaky, my career was heading nowhere, and I spent most of my time wondering how everything went wrong. I even wondered why this solid-brick three-level dream house was no longer important to me and why now, it was merely a place to lay my head.
After pulling around the circle drive, just past the front door, I eased the gear in park and turned off the ignition. Then I stepped out onto the concrete, grabbed my handbag and briefcase, and pushed the door shut. It really was a gorgeous day, and now I wished I could spend the rest of the evening relaxing on the deck. But if I wanted to finish updating the new-hire handbook by next month, I knew I had to keep working on it at home for a couple of hours each night until then. But I didn’t mind, because in human resources, overtime was very necessary.
I unlocked the front door and walked inside. I went through the two-story foyer, passed the sunken great room, and headed into the kitchen, where I set my belongings down on the double island and picked up today’s mail. The central air was kicking with full force, and that of course meant that David had finally arrived home from one of his many weeklong business trips—one that included this past weekend. He was a successful vice president at a Chicago pharmaceutical sales company, but somehow it was hard for me to believe that spending so much time away from home was truly necessary.
I dropped the stack of bills, magazines and clothing catalogs I’ve never ordered from back onto the island, went down the hallway and into our master bedroom suite. David was sitting in bed, leaning his back against two king-size pillows, watching something on television. But he looked at me almost immediately.
“Hey,” I said as a peace offering, because we really hadn’t spoken since arguing two nights ago.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“I’m okay,” I said, but couldn’t help remembering how things used to be when he arrived home from his business trips. He’d call me twice each of the days he was gone, send me flowers without warning and would call me at work, letting me know that he was back at home waiting for me. But things always seem to have a way of changing. So have we as man and wife.
“So how was work today?” he asked, glancing at the television and then back at me, waiting for a response.
“Same ole, same ole.” I kicked off my pumps and shed the jacket to my periwinkle linen pantsuit. “Although, they did repost the same HR manager’s position I applied for six months ago. I heard this afternoon that the guy they gave it to is moving to Arizona.”
“You thinking about going for it again?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s worth the hassle.”
“Meaning what?” he asked. “A hassle in terms of all the responsibilities
that come with a managerial position or the hassle of having to apply for it again?”
“I mean the hassle of having to prove myself all over again to a group of men who totally ignored the fact that I was qualified the first time.”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t think that sort of attitude is going to help you one way or the other,” he said, and then looked away because he knew we’d argued about this very thing not so long ago, and that I resented his position regarding it.
“I don’t want to be pessimistic about this, but based on what happened last time around, I just don’t know if Jim and Lyle believe I can do the job. I was clearly the most qualified, yet they still gave it to a white guy who only had an associate degree and had
never
worked in human resources. Even though I had an M.B.A. and over three years of HR experience.” I removed my panty hose and wondered why he never tried to sympathize with how I felt about anything.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset about what happened before. But what I am saying is that maybe this time will be different if you go into the situation with a little more confidence in your superiors and with more of an open mind. I know you think they treated you unfairly, but maybe you just need to give them a chance.”
“You know what, David?” I said out of mere frustration. “Just because you have the job of your dreams and have never had to experience job discrimination doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”
My feelings were so hurt. I couldn’t believe my own husband, the man I loved, was trying to defend the same people who had passed me over for a promotion without any justifiable explanation.
“In all honesty, I can’t confirm whether discrimination really exists or not, but since I’ve been pretty successful with climbing my own career ladder as a black man, it’s hard for me to see what so many woman and minorities keep complaining about. Maybe it did
go on back in the sixties, but things are different now. They’re much different,” he said matter-of-factly.
If I hadn’t heard him with my own ears, I never would have believed that any black person could say such a thing. I was trying not to argue with him, but he was making it more difficult by the minute.
“You’ve been successful because you’ve always kissed up to the right people,” I said before I knew it. “David, you’ve been a yes-boy for as long as you’ve been in pharmaceutical sales, and sometimes even I can’t tell if you’re black or white. Pretty much, it depends on what day of the week it is, where you are and who you’re talking to.”
“So what are you saying?” He sat all the way up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Which meant I’d struck a serious nerve with him. But I didn’t care because he knew I was telling the truth about him.
“Let’s just leave this alone,” I said, and pulled open the dresser drawer. “Because I really don’t want to fight with you about this.”
“No, I want you to tell me what you mean, since you know me so damn well.”
He was steaming, and I could tell from his tone that this argument was only going to escalate. What I was planning to say next wasn’t going to make things any better.
“Tell you what? That you didn’t start out this way, but now you’ve completely lost your identity? That you’ve forgotten where you came from? That somehow along the way you’ve become so blinded that you think every black man and woman in America is experiencing the same success as you? That some of your white colleagues make derogatory jokes about black people on a frequent basis and you actually laugh louder than they do? I mean, what else do I have to point out for you to understand what I’m saying?”
“A joke is a joke, and just because you don’t have a decent sense of humor, that’s not my problem.”
I laughed and sighed at the same time, because I couldn’t believe he didn’t get what I was trying to tell him.
“David, some of your friends even use the word nigger to your face and then pretend like it’s okay because they’re only joking around. And I can’t tell you how sick I get every time I hear the president of your company insist that you just aren’t like
most
black people. I mean, what exactly does that mean? What are
most
black people like anyway?”
“You’re impossible,” he said, picking up the channel selector. “And as far as I’m concerned this goddamn conversation is over. Shit, now I hate I even bothered asking you how your freakin’ day went.”
“I hate that you asked me, too, David, because it’s not like you care about how I feel, anyway.”
“I do care. But I don’t understand why you can’t quit and stay at home like a real wife should. Especially since I gave up all the luxuries I was used to when I moved all the way out to this backwoods city where you grew up. But the whole time we’ve been married, you’ve never gone out of your way to do anything except what’s convenient for you. And hell, if you want to know the truth, I’m embarrassed to tell people that you work. So I don’t know why you can’t just join some organizations or sit on a few boards, like every other executive’s wife.”
“So that’s what this is all about? Me giving up all my dreams so I can sit at home and do nothing? Because you knew when you met me that I wanted a career, and that the money you made wasn’t going to change that. My mother raised me to be self-reliant, and that’s why I didn’t rush to get married before I was thirty. I was always up front with you about that. And I can’t help it if now you don’t like my independence.”
“The bottom line is that you’re not available when I need you to be for corporate dinners or even sex for that matter. All you do is work ridiculous hours, trying unsuccessfully to prove how good you
are, and then you scream how tired you are when you get home. So I’m telling you now, things can’t continue going the way they are, and I think it’s time for you to decide what your priorities are.”