Little White Lies (3 page)

I enter the house and turn to close the door as quietly as I can. The latch catches with a loud and distinctive ‘snap’ as it falls into place. The black and white marble floor contrasts the click of my leather heels with the squishing sound of the big guy’s sneakers. He stops and gestures towards the door of the room he has just exited. I nod and walk past him. Evidently, he has not been invited to the meeting, and feigning disinterest, he squishes away.

Walking into the room to face my prospective new boss, I see a man seated behind an elegant writing desk near the window. He does not appear to be having a good morning. I stop and move my hands back and forth, palms up, miming a question… want the door closed? He answers with a dismissive flick ofthe wrist and an almost imperceptible shake of his head… he doesn’t care. If he doesn’t care, then why should I? I turn and leave the door open, walk to the desk, stand before him and introduce myself.

“Mr. Jackson, my name is Philip Richards,” I say, extending my hand in greeting.

He grasps my hand, looking up momentarily, but not rising from his chair. Not a good beginning. My comprehension is slow, but eventually making its way to my frontal lobe. Sonofagun… I know this guy. Or, at least, I know who he is. Here sits one of America’s icons of the ‘music’ world. That is, if you can call that stuff they call ‘rap’, music. I shouldn’t criticize it… it’s just not of my generation. His name is Steven Jackson… ‘you can call me, A.J.’. I understand the ‘A’ is for Action, a nickname he picked up at some point in his childhood. But his friends and now his fans call him A.J., to set him apart from all the other Action Jacksons of this world.

I think that’s the way he starts off his shows. ‘A.J.! A.J.!’ is the chant the audience takes up before each performance. But this guy is not only from another generation, place and culture… from my frame of reference he might as well be from another planet. Although he and his kind of music have never held any particular interest for me, I have absorbed various bits and pieces of biographical data over the past couple of years and they now come back to me with gathering speed.

I remember reading something about him hitting the big-time right off the street. There was some sort of TV bio where they alluded to the fact that A.J. was a good boy about to go bad when stardom came along and rescued him from the mean streets of New York. The son of hard working parents, they did everything they could to keep him in school so he would have his high school diploma. There was no chance for higher education.

This man looks like what I would expect a rock star to look like. Wearing a dark gray silk shirt, open at the collar, and quite a bit of gold from what I can see, but all very appropriate in its own way. There’s a paper-thin gold watch on his left wrist; while wrapped around his right wrist is a large linked, finely wrought gold bracelet. A gold chain is partially visible by his collar.

Hard to tell with him sitting down, but he looks to be about my height, six feet, give or take an inch, but heavier. I’m around 175, I would guess he weighs ten or fifteen pounds more. But it’s not fat. He’s just heavier. He sports the bald look preferred by many of today’s black athletes and movie stars. On him or off him… however you’re supposed to say it, it looks good.

“Want coffee or something to drink?” he asks with an obvious lack of interest in what my response might be.

“No thanks,” I reply, “I’m fine, but go ahead if you wish.”

“No, that’s all right, I would just as soon get this over with, if that’s okay with you.”

This definitely is not going well. It’s the language of a man who has already made up his mind. But I’ve come this far, so I might as well see it through.

“Have you had a chance to review my resume?” I ask with a smile I hope conveys more confidence than I feel. “I’m prepared to answer any questions you might have in that regard.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. For the first time the complete absurdity of this little lark is hitting me square in the face. John was right. What in the hell do I want to do this for? I don’t need the money and I sure as hell don’t need the aggravation. This guy doesn’t even want me in his house, much less working here. I should exit gracefully and forget the whole thing. God, talk about hare-brained schemes! Right now he appears distracted and I’m not certain he even heard my last question.

Finally he looks up and says, “Yes, I’ve looked at it, but… “ long pause… then, “Look, I may as well come out with it. I don’t think you’ll fit in here. You know… I’m sorry we made you go to all this trouble… coming all this way to see us. Ah… what I mean to say is that we’ll be happy to compensate you for any expense we may have caused. asking you to come out here. I mean, we have our own way of doing things around here and I’m not sure you would understand… I mean, it’s sort of out of your league, if you get my drift. You understand what I’m saying?”

And so comes the dawn. I decide to make it easy for him. My day’s shot anyway and the disappointment of somehow dreaming I could find something worthwhile is rapidly filling my head with depressing thoughts. My instincts are at war with my desires. I want to stand and walk out of here, but somehow I’m nailed to the spot. My instincts say, to hell with it; my training tells me to see it through. I do not want to spend all my time on the long return trip wishing I had said this or that. No, I’m here so I might as well have my say.

“You mean you did not understand the agency was sending you a white applicant. Is that it?”

There, that feels better.

He squirms and offers a half-smile. Obviously agitated, he fiddles with a pencil, twirling it at times like a small baton, and then pushing it down on the resume. Point first, spin, now top down. His shoulders are hunched as though he wants to turtle and simply withdraw until I go away.

“Right,” he offers, then even more quickly, involuntarily reaches to snatch the word out of the air. “I mean, no, that’s not it. I mean… right, I did not understand you were white, but that’s not why I do not want to hire you.”

The pencil drops, the fingers drum a rapid-fire staccato beat.

“That is, what I mean to say is… it’s nothing personal. It’s just that I do not think you would fit in. Please try to understand, Mr. Richards, everyone here is black. And you, or the person who would be in this position, that is, ah… would be running the place. And that would mean, ah, that all the staff would be black, and the boss would be white, and… “

The pencil once again becomes a baton and twirls expertly on the tips of his fingers without conscious effort.

I watch with interest as A.J. struggles manfully with the task before him. How is he going to get this dumb white guy to understand the problem without appearing to be prejudiced? I decide to help out. It’s just my nature. Say what you will you can’t fault me for being insensitive at tender moments like this.

“I understand part of what you are saying, but I thought this was a staff position reporting to you and that you would continue to be in charge.”

“Well, of course, that’s true, but it still means the person who would be in charge most of the time, the person giving the orders, would be y…” Catching himself just in time, he quickly corrects the near-error with, “would be the person who would fill this position. Hey, like I said, it’s nothing personal, please try to understand.”

Nothing personal, huh? How many other white applicants are sitting here in this room? I look around, but fail to see anyone else. Now I know a little more about how some poor black guy must feel when a white boss is dumping a load of horseshit on him about all the reasons he can’t have the job. I’m at a point now where I can let things conclude graciously or I can go doggedly forward. Mama said there’d be days like this.

“Let’s not beat around the bush, Mr. Jackson,” I say with a smile that is hardly indicative of my feelings at the moment. “If you do not want to hire a white man, just say so, and I will be on my way. In fact, I guess that’s what you are saying. As far as I’m concerned, you are entitled to hire anyone you want. Further, you should be able to make this decision based upon any reason or set of reasons you deem to be important.

I have only two requests: the first is that you do not waste my time; the second is that you do not bullshit me. I’m white and I cannot change that. I don’t think I would want to in any case. I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to put up with all the stuff black people have to deal with every day of their lives. But if you want the best person for the job and you are going to base your decision on real qualifications and not degree of blackness… then you should hire me. If you’re out to hire the best black man you can find, then I do not qualify. I don’t today and I won’t tomorrow. But if you want to solve your problem, then I should get serious consideration.

“However, before going that far, I would have to be in a position to accept the job and based upon what I’ve heard so far, I don’t think I would.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snaps back at me. “Are you here for the job or not?”

The pencil skids across the desk surface and slams into a manila folder, bouncing teeter-totter fashion before coming to rest.

“That’s correct,” I reply quietly… after all, I don’t want this interview to turn into a shouting match. “I’m here for the job, but the only thing we have discussed so far is that I am white. And, I might add, when I came here, I didn’t know you were black.”

The only way to finish a comment like that is to stick out my tongue and blow him a big, juicy raspberry.

His head wouldn’t have to go back much faster and he would have a guaranteed case of whiplash. A.J. sits back with a sullen look on his face… he looks a little frustrated and a lot pissed.

“Give me one good reason why I should hire you for this job? How do I know I’m not just buying a bunch of trouble? What the hell, the minute you come in here, I’m going to have everybody in this joint all over my little black ass. What the hell am I going to say to these people?”

He gestures grandly as he concludes his statement. One would think he was addressing a multitude of admirers, instead of one ‘don’t-give-a-shit’ job applicant. I spent a good part of my professional life in sales. If this were a sales call, and in a sense I suppose that’s what it is turning out to be, I would say this man is asking to buy.

“If you are the person making all the decisions here,” I respond, “and if you are running this operation in addition to all the other things going on in your personal and professional life. then, if I were you, I would want to nail this operation down with the most competent manager I could find. I would want to be free to do the things I’m good at… the things I like to do.

“To answer your question, I will give you not one, but two good reasons why you should hire me. The first is I am competent… very competent, in fact.

Second, I am honest and I will see to it that the people who work here are honest as well, or they will not stay on.”

There was no way to know I had just hit a very tender nerve. A.J. did not react in any particular way to my statement, but I was to learn a bit later that he had just fired his business manager the previous day. The man was a brother and a long-time friend, and a thief. The man had started small and then took larger and larger amounts until it finally came to A.J.’s attention.

“What did you mean when you said you were not sure if you wanted the job or not? Maybe we’re just shoveling smoke.”

With this he retrieves the pencil, spins it once and then throws it on the desk and spikes his comment with, “Dammit!”

I pause a moment before replying. He seems pretty agitated.

“Well, for openers, I do not know what you want done, or what my level of authority would be. I know nothing of the staff, and finally, what the compensation or benefits are.”

A.J. slowly pushes his chair away from the desk and crosses his legs. He takes a deep breath and seems to be making a conscious effort to relax.

“That’s easy,” he replies. “The job is to manage the estate. I believe you already know the size of this place… two hundred and fifty acres, which includes about twenty acres of lawn. There are tennis courts and a swimming pool. There’s a grounds staff and theylook after all that. There’s the house staff. There’s a cook and maids and security for both my family and myself. There’s equipment to maintain the property, automobiles, and toys… everybody has toys!

“We have been here only two months and money is flowing out like a river at flood stage. I have no idea what the hell for. We’re decorating and redecorating. At the same time we’re trying to live a normal life and throw an occasional party or two with friends. You can’t believe the bills I get… hell, I can’t believe the bills I get. That’s what I have for openers. I could go on, but I’d ruin my whole day.”

I can see where this would be perturbing, but it’s hardly insurmountable.

“Would all those people report to me,” I ask, “and if so, what would my level of authority be?”

“Yes. All those people and all those functions would be your responsibility… except for my personal security.”

“Why not your personal security?”

“Because those people are friends of mine and all they do is watch out for me… once in a while the kids… but basically just me.”

This is a good a time as any to straighten out this mess.

“That arrangement wouldn’t work… all security would have to report to me.”

“Why?”

I like him already. Some young hotshots his age would just argue and try to bull their way through an issue like this. He’s asking for a reason.

“Because I would be responsible for the people watching your family. You spend a great deal of time here and that would mean certain security people would report to me and others would not. If I needed someone to cover another member of your family, I would have to go through you. If you weren’t around, it could be a problem. It would get complicated. Anything you want, you come to me. Everyone has just one boss.”

“This is getting confusing.”

“No, it gets complicated when people do not know who directs them. when we have people here who work for you, but not your family. Keep the organization simple. If you are going to have a manager on your staff, then that person has to have real authority to do the job. Do you have a problem with giving adequate authority to do the job right?”