(A few years back I was putting in a new air conditioning unit at this bank. When on lunch, a female teller told me a story about this beautiful black chick, Candice, that had worked there. Because she had such a nice personality and was so 'mag cover gorgeous,' it seems she was courted by at least three different handsome men at once. These Guys didn't have eyes for anyone else because Candice was easily the prettiest girl in the room. The only question was, who on earth was she going to choose?)
*****
She sat her box down on the small mahogany desk and looked around. Was this what she had spent the last five years at an Ivy-league college for? A ten by ten office with no windows and grimy broadloom whose prolific wear and tear made it more suitable for airport use? Still, it was better than standing in an unemployment line, howbeit just barely.
"Hi. You must be Candice."
His words grated on her nerves. Of course she was Candice. Just how many young ladies with a box full of personal belongings standing in an office with a new nameplate of 'Candice' on the door where there?
"Yes," she said, manufacturing a smile from scratch.
He seemed taken aback by her dazzling white teeth, lush velvety lips, and long, silky smooth black legs. His cheeks turned a little pink as she caught him roaming with presumptuous eyes at her impressive cleavage. She never had a problem causing the tongues of men to dangle out of their lust filled heads before, and she wasn't about to have a problem soliciting such stares now.
She had the nick-name of 'ebony goddess' among her friends.
"I'm Brian, Brian Tomilson. I'm the Assistant Bank Manager," he said, extending a hand that she now felt obligated to shake. Howbeit she hesitated. She was always wary of shaking men's hands. You could never trust members of the male sex to sufficiently wash their appendages in the morning, neither be certain they hadn't been playing with themselves the night before.
"You're black," he said, causing her eyes to widen and her lips to purse.
"You're quite a perceptive man, Brian," she said, almost sarcastically, regretting the words the instance they left her mouth. Office politics could be brutal, and she knew that you had to sometimes babysit grown men along with their asinine comments. Making fun of someone so early on without knowing what kind of pull they had, was a recipe for regret later on. She immediately sought to temper the mood.
She smiled more broadly and shook his hand with some plastic but generously measured enthusiasm. "Very nice to meet you Brian."
Her new mood placated him.
"Likewise," he offered. "I have a meeting in about thirty seconds, so I'm kind of on the run. But when I'm through I'd like to show you around. I know you've already been to head office for the two day orientation, but working in the branch itself isn't always as easy as they make it seem. And then, after the tour, we can go for lunch at noon. There's a nice Italian place just around the corner. I always like to have a working lunch where I can take time to go over the finer details."
She focused more keenly on his face, milky white, with long but coiffured brown hair, very nice blue eyes, and dimples that were beyond adorable. As far as making male friends at the office, she supposed he was a particularly good place to start, especially since he wore no wedding ring on his tell-tale finger. Messing with married men was a definite taboo for her. She'd rather be boiled in oil and buried alive than venture into another woman's territory.
"Sure, a working lunch sounds nice," she managed, willing to be friendly with an Assistant Bank Manager if valuable friendships resulted.
A twinge of apprehension gripped her as Brian walked off. She watched his dreamy broad shoulders out of the corner of her eye. He was a very nice looking man, very handsome, and very buff. He also seemed so very bubbly and sincere, although she had no illusions that only time would tell. Judging a book by its cover rarely told you what was inside. She made a mental note to place a question mark next to his name.
"Not much of an office, is it?"
The female voice startled Candice, and she clutched her chest for a moment, then turned to face a woman standing directly behind her. An open door in the most unlikely of places told her how she had so mysteriously gotten into the room behind her.
"I hope I didn't startle you. All the rooms are interconnected like that. There are two doors in each. One for the lobby and one for the next room. But don't worry, you can lock them whenever you like."
"A very strange setup," she admitted, adding "not much privacy, unless you lock the door, but it is what it is, I guess. I'm Candice."
"So I heard. I'm Mable. Mr. Doherty's personal secretary. I was just chatting with Helen next door and I noticed you standing here."
"Helen?"
"Yeah, she mostly does mortgages."
"Same as me?"
"Not exactly. You might do some, but I think they have you mainly pegged to do commercial loans to start. But any of the other loan officers can do commercial loans as well. So if you get swamped, just give them a holler. They usually all end up pitching in before the day is through."
Candice sighed. Mortgages were so much easier. With commercial loans you ran the risk of overvaluing the assets, lending out too much money so that when a company went under, the bank would lose its shirt. Companies always wildly overstated the values of their inventories. But with mortgages, as long as house prices rose over time, you could do no wrong.
"Do you think she can take someone yet?"
The new voice belonged to Sandra, the front desk lady, and Mable glared at her with disdain. "She just barely got in through the door. At least give Candice here a chance to get settled in."
"So what should I tell the customer? Daphne called in sick and Rachel's on break."
"Why don't you do it?"
"Duh? I'm manning the front desk, remember?"
