Benevolence

Chapter 24: Legacy

Bryan insisted on picking me up today. But after a month of envisioning, and waiting, rewatching Eddie Murphy's Boomerang just to feed the aesthetic visuals to my ambitions... This is one segment of my life, I've chosen to dance into alone. Today marks my first day at Taylor Consulting, where I'll be working behind my father's old desk, and beside Candice King, one of New York's most notable talent recruits. It's a huge milestone for me. And so I step through the revolving door of unlimited possibilities feeling like Jacqueline, with my waist clinching pastel green slacks and matching blazer; blown-out hair, and nude pointed-toe heels.

"Good morning Nola," I say beaming across at her. As always, she sits behind the front desk with her dreads pulled up into a high ponytail, and her rich dark skin defined by natural, sophisticated makeup.

"Welcome back, Alaina." Her full glossed lips slip into a gentle smile. "Good luck on your first day."

"Thank you!" I say.

"And watch out for the wolves," she adds in. "You're the talk of the office."

"Am I?" I laugh inwardly. That's interesting. I join the elevator ride with a few others and the time seems to drag. A light-skinned man with a bald head is speaking into his Bluetooth about some presentation that's coming up. A woman who looks to be in her late thirties takes out one of those roll-on bottles filled to the brim with lavender oil and applies it to the inside of her wrist, scenting the entire elevator. Two others are on their phones, and another stands beside me staring straight ahead. The elevator starts to clear up the higher we go, and soon it's just me. Only the sound of my fervent heart and tapping feet can be heard. I check the time on my watch, before staring up at the floor indicator.

10...11

I move a bit closer to the exit, now noticing my close resemblance to my mother in the reflection of the doors; with my light brown brows that curve into a soft arch over my upturned eyes and my rosewood pink lips. This suit is definitely something she'd wear, and I guess all those years of watching her dress up has grown on me. I've taken a liking to subtle pastel colors that don't demand too much attention.

...12.

The moment the doors open, it feels like I've been teleported to Wall Street. Only, the demographics are in reverse: White people aren't the only ones draped in expensive suits, and here, they're the minority group. Don't even get me started on the gender reverse. In corporate environments, it's hard to believe that forty-nine point six percent of the world's population is female, not that far from the male population standing at fifty-one point nine percent. But at Taylor Consulting, men are outnumbered indefinitely. 

I catch sight of Leraunte, just as he closes the door to his office, and decide to go settle into my own for a bit. I greet the man at the front desk known as Darrel and he smiles widely, before saying: "Girl, you are wearin' the hell outta that suit. Go Awf." I laugh, thanking him and he shouts, "Good luck." It's on my way down the hall, I catch on to people's stares, which are then followed by more welcomes and "look forward to working with you"s and warm smiles.

I halt in front of my office door, his office door, seeing slithers of light peek from the outlining cracks. This is it. The moment I step into this room it'll either celebrate or dishonor my father's name.

"That's her," I hear someone say. "That's Micheal's daughter," says another. "She looks just like him..." Every person that passes by has something to tell, never anything negative. But good thing the Taylors gave me my own office, because I don't think I would've been able to manage all the whispers or staring if I were working in a cubicle.

I push open the door, allowing it to fall closed behind me and don't move an inch further. "One step at a time," I utter inwardly. "You got this." I hold the handle to my briefcase with both hands, just as I do with my emotions, and scan the office. With Prussian blue walls, It's still an ensemble of dark purples, golds, and woodsy browns. Not one thing has been moved out of place. From the mahogany wood desk to the two wall shelves positioned on opposite sides of the wall, stacked with books, collected ornaments, and framed pictures of my mother and me. A large painterly styled painting of a record player sits between them, in alignment with the desk. And directly adjacent to the desk are floor-to-ceiling windows. A violet Chaise Lounge is pushed up against the opposite wall-- I laugh softly-- the one I use to take naps on. And facing it are two matching armchairs, with a round coffee table in the middle.