Authors: Sylvester Stephens
Butterfly (36 page)
“Why?” I said softly.
“Because you still love me, and I never stopped loving you.” Jeremy kissed me.
“I want to believe you, Jeremy, but I'm scared. I'm scared as hell!”
“I'm scared, too! But I'm even more afraid of losing you.”
“Okay, Jeremy,” I sighed.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I'm yours. I'm going to trust you with my heart. Please don't break it.”
“I won't...I promise.”
Jeremy and I stayed up all night talking on the beach. We revealed our most vulnerable secrets, but in a healing way, it was therapeutic. We hung out as much as we could for the remainder of the summer and became even closer.
In September, I finally fulfilled my dream. I had become what I always wanted to be. Not by becoming an international model and traveling all over the world, but by enrolling as a freshman at Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia. I'd be lying if I said I didn't “like” being a model. But the truth of the matter is, I “loved” being a Butterfly!
Born in Saginaw, Michigan, Sylvester Stephens was introduced to the arts by the entertainment era of his elder siblings. He is the author of
The Nature of a Woman, The Nature of a Man, The Office Girls
and
Our Time Has Come
. He lives in the Atlanta area. He is the CEO/owner of “The DEN” (THE DIVERSITY ENTERTAINMENT NETWORK), a new and entertaining network of drama, situation-comedy, talk, and music! The “DEN” premieres August, 2013. Visit
sylvesterstephens.com
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
Facebook.com/AtriaBooks
Twitter.com/AtriaBooks
COVER DESIGN BY MARION DESIGNS COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY KEITH SAUNDERS
I
F YOU ENJOYED
“B
UTTERFLY
,”
BE SURE TO CHECK OUT
BY
S
YLVESTER
S
TEPHENS
TO SEE HOW IT ALL GOT STARTED!
A
VAILABLE FROM
S
TREBOR
B
OOKS
After my insensitive and cruel termination I set out to prove that in corporate America, women would behave in the same manner as men if given the same circumstances. I was pissed off and I blamed every woman on the planet earth for me being fired. My anger sparked me to expose women in all of their glory. I would resurrect my literary career by writing a tell-all book about the corporate battle of women's sensitivity versus men's logic, that in the grand scheme of things, women's sensitivity and men's logic don't mean shit! Money and power produce the same result with any gender or any race; greed, selfishness, and cruelty. But before I could do that, I had to find a job that would allow me the research. I needed a female guinea pig that worked in corporate America.
I bought a Sunday newspaper and half-heartedly browsed through the classified ads, mostly to prove to myself that I was at least making an attempt to get started with the book. I looked back and forth, and back and forth. As luck would have it, I saw an advertisement for a position in an office setting. The ad took up half of the page as if God didn't want me to miss it. It read,
“Upskon Hiring! Claims Dept. Please fax resume to Jaline Dandy.”
I fell on my knees and shouted, “Thank you, Lord!” I wanted sweet
revenge and God seemed to be telling me that vengeance is on the way! I typed up a fake resume and faxed it over immediately. I wanted it to be the first thing this Jaline picked up from the fax machine on Monday morning. After I faxed it, I patiently waited for the confirmation. When it finally came through, I put the newspaper down and turned on the television. I had earned a day of relaxation after all that, and I treated myself to an afternoon of ESPN. I told myself that it was a long shot that they would even respond to my resume so I prepared myself for the disappointment.
Two days later I received a call from Upskon asking me to come in for an interview. I jumped up and down like a big kid in a candy store. I called them back and confirmed the interview's day and time. I will never forget my interview. That day started the beginning of my new life, my new life with the office girls of Upskon.
Jaline Dandy didn't look anything like I imagined. I imagined her being an old white woman with white hair, with wrinkles around her mouth. Perhaps with a Southern dialect, even though I knew she was from the Northwest. But instead, she was a young-looking, middle- aged woman, moderately attractive, and very articulate.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Forrester. I'm Ms. Dandy.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Dandy.”
“Any trouble finding us?”
“No problem at all.”
“Well, you're a Harvard man, huh?”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
“Why would a Harvard man want to work in a small claims department?”
“Harvard men have to eat, too,” I said jokingly.
“I like that attitude.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, Mr. Forrester, your resume is quite impressive. And, the position is available. But I must say that with your credentials you are well overqualified. But as you say, you have to eat, too.”
“I sure do.”
“Can you start on Monday?”
“No problem.”
“Okay, we'll see you Monday.”
“That's it? I got the job?”
“If you want it, you do.”
“Sure I do. Thanks, Ms. Dandy.”
“Welcome aboard,” Jaline said, shaking my hand.
“Thank you, Ms. Dandy.”
“Stop with the Ms. Dandy, call me, Jaline.”
“If you say so, Jaline.”
“All right, our business here is done,” Jaline said, standing and walking around to the front of her desk. “Tazzy, your supervisor, will meet you on Monday and show you around. That's it. Guess I'll see you on Monday.”
“First thing.”
I walked out of Jaline's office, and as I scanned the office with my man radar, all I could see was desk after desk of women. I knew immediately that in order for me to fulfill my mission, I would have to deny the dream of every red-blooded, straight American male. And that is to be the only man on an island of women. This may not have been an island intrinsically, but it was the next best thing.
I showed up for work on Monday bright and early as promised. I didn't have a badge so I had to wait until Tazzy showed up. It didnât take long before she came strolling up to the door with her arms full of bags. We greeted each other very cordially, and I took the bags out of her arms.
Tazzy was a petite young lady, who looked as if she was straight out of high school. She was slightly short of five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had beautiful smooth caramel skin. Her hair was short, but cut very neatly. She showed me to my desk and informed me that a lady named Cynthia would be training me. She then showed me to the break room and told me to relax until Cynthia came to get me. One by one the office girls started to arrive for work.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
“I'm fine, how are you?” I responded.
“I'm fine. My name is Virginia. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, too.”
“And your name is?”
“Oh, excuse my manners. My name is Michael Forrester,” I said, standing to shake her hand.
She shook my hand with the grace of an angel and the elegance of a queen. There was something insouciant about this lady. She was middle-aged, maybe late fifties to early sixties. Her hair was white, but her face looked young. She showed no signs of wrinkles on her face. She reminded me of a jazz singer named Nancy Wilson. As she left the break room I couldn't help but stare.
Susan, the assistant supervisor, a white lady, came in the break room next and fixed a cup of coffee. Susan had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a thin, tight body. She was about five feet five inches tall, with a high-pitched, squeaky voice that bordered on the verge of annoyance.
“Hey, are you the new guy?”
I was tempted to say,
“What does it look like, fool?”
But instead I courteously replied, “Yes, I'm the new guy.”
