Black Alexis Dominates White Ch. 14

The young black woman strolled down the hallway from the conference room and towards what would now become "her" office. She walked with authoritative strides. For a minute I remained behind, standing alone in the small conference room rethinking the events that led up to this moment. The embarrassment Alexis had subjected me to this morning, and in the presence of my own staff, was emotionally catastrophic for me.

Everything looked and felt different to me.

What was once a simple case of an unruly employee with a seemingly poor work ethic had become so much more. The feeling I had during these past few days was foreign for me. The manner in which this young black woman intimidated me was becoming more humiliating to both me and my staff all the time. Still, we were unable to stop it.

The announcement assigning Alexis Barron as the acting president created an overwhelming ambiance of defeat in the office. Surely, my staff of seven older white women had to know that young Alexis had dominated me and taken control of my life to a much fuller extent. They simply had to know it was much more than what they were witnessing here this morning.

Defeatedly, I began my walk through the main office and to the ladies room to "freshen up" as the young black woman ordered me to. Briefly, I wondered why she had directed me to do this before preparing her coffee and then meeting her back in my former office. Perhaps, I looked out of sorts to her, or maybe she felt that I needed to wash the humiliation off my face before starting my first work day?

At the moment, I was unsure of the reason for her demand.

My eyes dropped to the floor and my shoulders slumped as I timidly passed by the others enroute to the rest room down the hall. They were sitting on the new backless chairs that Alexis had purchased for them, and it appeared almost as if they were in some modified form of a kneeling position.

Not one of them looked up to me as I walked by. The silence was almost deafening. My head hung in shame as I minced my way through the main office ever so slowly. The restrictive heels caused my pace to weaken with every step as I noticed the other white women wearing the exact same 5 inch high white leather heels. We were all dressed the same now in the white heels, white skirt and blouse, and that red kitten's collar around our necks, which was now the logo for our company.

As I turned the corner to the smaller 9 foot hallway leading to the rest rooms, I was immediately struck by the changes to the plaques on the doors before me.

"Oh my Gawd?!" I thought.

Previously, there had been two wash rooms with a simple Men's and Ladies placard assigning each of the rooms accordingly. Now, there were two entirely different placards. Apparently, they had just been unveiled as I noticed two larger "out of service" signs laying on the floor and discarded to the side of each wash room.

Although we did not have any male employees, our small company had always kept the legal standard of having both a men's and ladies washroom. The men's room was for potential visitors and guests, or the occasional meeting with a potential male client. It was rarely utilized and at least four times smaller than the size of our ladies washroom.

Now, both rooms had been changed.

In awe, I looked at the placards now assigning the only two washrooms in my business office. The much larger ladies' room was designated as "Executive," which was written in a gold bond print over an expensive looking ebony placard. Beneath the "Executive" sign were three gold-toned name slots designed to hold the ebony-carved name plates with the same gold lettering. The bottom two slots were empty while the one at the very top simply read "Alexis Barron."

The substantially smaller wash room that was once designated as the men's room had the same ebony placard with gold bond print. It was designated as "subordinate," and a total of 15 smaller name slots positioned in three rows of 5 beneath it.

Eight of these fifteen name slots were filled in with the names of all of us white women, which was my staff of seven and then myself. The remaining seven name slots were empty.

I almost could not believe what I was looking at. This astonishing display nearly caused my heart to stop. My mind could not comprehend that someone could actually do something so bold and arrogant as to designate the wash rooms in such a rude and obnoxious manner.

But, there is was in an embarrassing display.

I was frozen there for a moment just staring at the new signs on the wash room doors. My eyes were widened in disbelief and shock, and I could feel the total disrespect she had for us coarsing through my veins. Another minute had gone by and I felt myself still standing there questioning this arrogant action. For some reason, I nervously reached for the door knob of the executive wash room. I imagine that curiosity was only part of the reason I attempted this.

But, that door was locked.

I stepped back and just stood there looking at the signs on the doors again. For another moment I hesitated before I finally gave in and lowered my eyes, as I defeatedly stepped into the wash room designated for subordinate.

As I turned on the faucet to run the cool water my mind felt as if it were retreating. I felt so insulted by all the changes young Alexis Barron had made. Another moment passed when I finally brought my eyes up to the small mirror above the small, white sink and looked at my reflection. For the first time since we arrived, I could see myself.

Disgracefully, I viewed the almost ripe and reddened nose on my face caused by the grinding of her pantied pussy the night before. It seemed to turn an even brighter shade of red since that morning. My lips remained just as swollen and puffy. Now, a fully detailed reddened imprint of her small hand and fingers burned into the side of my left cheek from her wicked slap.

I was startled by the obvious image of her hand print on my face. It didn't seem real. But, as I touched my pale cheek the stinging pain brought me back to the embarrassing reality that I knew I was in.

Desperately, I began to wash my face with the cool water. It was a futile attempt to rid my face of that mark. The cool water wasn't helping as much as I had hoped. After several attempts, I simply gave up and patted my face dry with one of the small white towels. Nearly in tears and my hands trembling, I brushed my long blonde hair over and over again. The fear of taking too long enveloped me as I continued to avoid looking at my own image.

Finally, I stepped out of the wash room and headed for the break room to fetch the cup of coffee the young black woman had ordered. It was as if I was in another world. The office I had spent so much time in me these past two years felt like it was in another country. It was still quiet and tension filled the air as I filled a cup with coffee in the newly designed kitchenette and added a single teaspoon of cream. Obediently, I carried the warm cup filled with coffee to what was once my office. Abruptly, I stopped as I reached the glass door and gazed upon the new lettering.

The darker tape covering my previously decaled name on the door had been peeled back and removed. The scraps of this tape layed on the carpeted floor below. In a larger, bolder and brighter gold print with black trim was her name, title and the company name my late husband had chosen in small lettering. But, now there was a "doing business as" reference beneath it letters twice the size. It read:

Alexis Barron President Signature Perfume Co. dba Obsidian Scents, Inc.

The reference to the new company name or division sent a chill of humiliation down my spine. I began to think about the word "Obsidian" and it's meaning. As I stood there holding onto the cup of coffee, the meaning finally came to me and the definition of the word obsidian was "black."

Humiliated, I peered through the glass door to see the ravishing 18-year-old black woman sitting at her desk. She was seated straight up at the edge of her chair and leaning over some files on her desk. She was speaking to someone on the phone with a determined look on her face.

Tentatively, I walked in and set the cup of coffee down on the desk before her. I felt so humbled before her and confused by what to do next. I simply stood there nervously and looking down at the desk top, my eyes staring at nothing in particular. Young Alexis remained on the phone and reading some type of document when she suddenly "snapped" her fingers. The loud snap brought my eyes back up to hers as she simply pointed to the side desk chair attached to the left of her executive's desk.

"Did you send them yet?" she asked the caller.

I could not hear the caller at this time as I made my way over to the side desk chair and quietly sat down. As mentioned earlier, this secretarial type chair was nearly 6 inches lower than the chair she sat upon, and the exquisitely padded ankle rest she described was less than a foot away to my left. A small note pad and a pen lay on the small student type desk top before me.

"Okay, good. Hold on!" she said in a stern voice, speaking to the caller.

I watched as the black teenager placed the phone down and triggered the speaker phone option. Still, there was an uncomfortable silence as she tapped away on her computer to log on. Then, she casually turned her larger desk top computer screen towards her.

"Alright, I got them." she told the caller.

"Yes, Ma'am." the female caller answered, softly.

The silence continued as young Alexis leaned back into her larger, high backed black leather executive chair and stretched her legs out. She propped her high heeled feet up and onto the ankle rest anchored to the top left side of her desk facing me. Smoothly, she crossed them at the ankles with her right foot over the left. Embarrassingly, this left the bottoms of her high heeled feet "literally" four inches before me, the right heeled foot crossed over the top was on the exact same level as my flustered face.

My face turned an entirely different shade of crimson as the young black woman sat back with extreme confidence. She lit a dark clove cigarette for herself. Humbly and defeatedly, I sat there like a startled and timid little rabbit gazing at the bottom of the brand new black leather pumps. The small, white price tag of $595.00 still labeled on the bottom of her right shoe was arrogantly displayed merely inches before my face.

Her shoes were fully upon her feet, but I could still detect the strong and musky aroma of the young black girl's well worn, perfumed nylon stockinged feet. Quietly, I sat there as Alexis continued with the phone call.

"I'm looking at your resume and the application I emailed you this morning." she said.

"Yes, Ma'am. Okay." the caller returned.

I reasoned that Alexis Barron had emailed someone an application while I was freshening up and fetching her a cup of coffee. Now, she was discussing it with what seemed like a new applicant. Seconds later, I realized that this "new applicant" was Terry, the southern-belle waitress we met that weekend at the Oaktown Mall Cafe.

Curiously, I listened to the conversation in humiliation as I sat at the black woman's heeled feet right before my face.

"Terry, your application says you're 46 and not the late 30's you mentioned this past weekend." Alexis snapped, in a somewhat lighter yet disturbed tone.

Terry was silent.

"Well, you're just a little fibber then. Aren't you?" the black teenaged woman asked in a condescending tone.

Again, there was silence as one could almost feel the embarrassment the 46-year-old Terry was feeling through the phone lines. Alexis continued studying the resume and application on her computer screen as she took another drag of the sweet clove cigarette.

"Well, aside from your disrespectful lying the rest of your resume seems in order for a subordinate position." Alexis stated.

The older blonde Terry quivered as she spoke.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am. I-I'm really s-sorry, Miss. I d-didn't mean any d-disrespect, Ma'am. Thank you, Miss Barron." Terry stammered.

The 46-year-old blonde southern-belle waitress seemed relieved and grateful that young Alexis had all but dismissed the lie about her age.

"I'll have my assistant contact you with a day and time for a formal face to face interview." She told her.

"Plan on Friday around the lunch hour." Alexis stated, as she snapped her fingers and pointed to my pad of paper, directing me to write it down.

"Yes, M-Ma'am." Terry answered.

Without as much as a "good-bye" to the nervous caller, Alexis simply hung up the phone.

My hands were shaking as I wrote down the words for the possible Friday interview with Terry. I already had the other legal pad with notes from the meeting in the conference room. They contained the names of the white female staff, and their times to meet with Alexis this morning. I began shuffling through them as I looked at my watch to see there was about 15 minutes before the first white woman was scheduled to come in to see her.

I felt disorganized and inept sitting before the black woman's heeled feet like this trying to put the notes together. Intimidated, I was afraid to bring my eyes up to hers as I could feel her staring at me with a look of disgust.

"Hey." she snapped, tapping my sore nose with the bottom of her right shoe. "Use my scheduler at the end of the desk." she ordered.

I brought my eyes up slowly to meet hers as I continued to tremble. I saw her pointing to the end of her desk just behind me, and off to my left side. Laying there was a very expensive black leather bound appointment book, or scheduler. I simply reached over with my longer arms and grabbed it.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am." I answered softly.

It was a full 8 by 11 inch size bound book that contained each day of the year, 2008. Each day had a list of lines for time slots by the hour, and then split into quarter hours. Although it had only been half way through the year at this point I could see many of the pages from earlier in the year written on as I leafed through them to find today's date. Today's date was bookmarked.

"Everything." she said, suddenly.

I looked up to her eyes with moderate curiosity, startled by her words.

"Write down everything. Take good notes. I expect that." she demanded.

"A good executive has good notes available to her at all times." she added.

Timidly, I nodded a "yes" as I began to copy the names and times of the other seven white women staff, who were meeting with Alexis to receive the "assignments" Alexis described. Then, I turned to Friday's page and wrote in Terry's name at the 12 noon time slot with a question mark, which was the tentative meeting she mentioned.

During these 5 minutes of adding the notes to the scheduler, the young black woman just sat there with her feet up and crossed at the ankles inches from the left side of my face. I sat there submissively as I finished and closed the appointment scheduler slowly. There was another moment of uncomfortable silence when she suddenly spoke, again.

"Let me see that." she demanded, referring to the book.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am." I responded, my hands shaking as I reached over to hand it to her.

The 18-year-old black woman just snatched the book from my weak hands as I sat there at the side desk chair, cowering in fear of the unknown. She briefed through it quickly and scribbled a few extra notes before handing it back to me.

As I accepted it and set it down upon my small writing surface, Alexis began dialing another number on her speaker phone, and she spoke to me as the phone was ringing.

"I did say everything, didn't I?" she said, scornfully, then ignoring me as she began her call.

I was completely confused by her words as I looked down to the closed leather scheduler before me. I could hear her speaking to the caller and talking about a conference call for this afternoon, and I hurriedly opened the book to get to today's page again.

"Yes, 3 o'clock would be fine to discuss this." she said, again snapping her fingers and pointing to direct me to write it down.

As I finished writing down the appointment for three that afternoon, her call lingered and the conversation became a blur to me. That is when I noticed what the young black woman had added to today's schedule. It was written in at the end of the day, 5 o'clock, and the time was circled a few times. Humiliated, I looked at the words she had written in.

"Remind Ms. Alexis to slap me for blank." it read.

I could not believe my eyes. This young black woman had mentioned, in words, that she was going to slap me for peeking through her things. But, I was astounded to see that she had actually written it in like this in the appointment scheduler. The arrogance she exhibited in doing so simply made my shoulders slump in defeat.

"How in the world can I do this?" I asked myself.

"Why would she make me remind her of that?" I questioned, in silence.

The utter defeat I was feeling at the time seemed to surpass everything else. She was telling me to remind her to slap me later in the day for something that I did wrong earlier, and in my mind I knew that I would have to.