I continued sitting at the side desk chair attached to what was once my executive desk. It was now Alexis Barron's desk, and I was not able to find the courage to contest her about this at all. I felt truly "weakened" by her commanding presence, which seemed to grow stronger by the day. The feeling of defeat overwhelmed me as I began to understand just how different things were at this time, and how after only a few short weeks since she had made so many changes.
There was a different energy in our office. One that was humbling, demoralizing and defeating for me, and for the other white women. Somehow, though, it was hard to deny that the office was much more professional and disciplined. Despite the humiliation, it seemed to breed an aire of current and future success.
Despite her being less than half my age I knew this black girl was far more comptetent than I ever was.
At the time, I struggled to understand why all these changes were happening, and why they had happened so fast. It didn't make any sense at all. Not back then. Simply put, I was always so nervous, timid and afraid to be around the younger black woman. I would tense up and freeze whenever she was near me, or spoke.
Usually, I was unable to speak or speak up unless she directed a question at me. Even then I struggled. She made me feel less and less competent all the time, and I am sure she knew this all too well.
I simply sat there, humiliated.
The heeled feet of this beautiful black teenaged woman remained merely 3 or 4 inches from my face, crossed at her ankles. I sat there with my head slightly bowed afraid to move even an inch in any direction to avoid them. My fear of upsetting her kept me "anchored" there in place.
Then, the time came for the rest of the white female staff to meet with Alexis. They were to receive their assignment folders.
One by one, each of the seven older white women entered her office and stood before her desk. They all appeared to be just as nervous as I was, and I could not look back at them for more than a few seconds. Alexis casually handed each one of them a folder and gave each of them a verbal deadline to meet. Each one of these assignments was different, yet all focused on the growth of the company and creating power point presentations that needed to be completed for upcoming meetings with clients.
My entire staff had just seen me sitting at the little side desk chair, and sitting at the black woman's feet as they entered. Her feet were neatly propped up onto the corner of her desk top facing me, merely inches away. She always had them crossed at the ankles. It was an arrogant and authoritative position for her that caused me to feel weaker and more embarrassed to be seen in this subservient position.
I wondered if she was doing this on purpose because it sure felt this way to me.
As the seven older white women accepted their folders and left Alexis' office, I sat there with my head down. I could feel young Alexis staring right at me and I grew nervous by the deafening silence in our private office.
I wondered what could possibly be next? It was that curiosity that caused me to slowly lift my eyes upward to meet hers.
I was only able to look at her serious eyes for a moment before they turned stern. Her eyes and beautiful face intimidated me. Humbly, I brought them back down to my little desk top.
"Keep that appointment book ready. I've got several calls to make!" Alexis ordered.
"Y-Yes, Ma'am. O-Okay." I whimpered.
Alexis Barron turned on her speaker phone and then began making calls. These calls would be to our existing client base and the newer, potential clients. She had contacted all of them in the past weeks and they had been receptive to hear more about the changes. Now, she was calling to follow up before she would set up the more formal, in-person meetings for next week.
Within just a few minutes of her starting these calls, the young black woman casually slipped out of her 4 inch black leather pumps. Both her shoes rested on the desk top just off to my left. Her dainty size 5 feet in those deep, mocha-coffee toned stockings with the absolutely mammoth-sized darker reinforced toes were 3 to 4 inches from my face.
Her feet were impeccably clean and slightly perfumed, yet the well-worn stockings she had worn at least a dozen times before was creating a demoralizing scent.
Alexis Barron casually "scooted" down and back into her large executive chair to make herself more comfortable. She was waiting for her first call to answer. She stretched her legs out ever so slightly with her right nyloned foot crossed over the top of her left, at the ankles. The toes of her right foot were now a mere centimeter from my face, and her unusual scent was incredibly demeaning to me.
With total arrogance, the young black woman "touched" the bottom of my chin with the top toes of her right foot. This brought my eyes up towards hers for a moment as she looked away. She barely hesitated before planting the bottoms of her reinforced stockinged toes over my nose and face, and she kept them there firmly. My eyes watered as I looked back at her with my embarrassed and flustered face. She was ignoring me.
Nonchalantly, she lit one of her black clove cigarettes and tossed the lighter onto the desk. She began speaking to this first caller as she arrogantly "pressed" and firmly "wriggled" her sweat-drenched nylon stockinged toes in my face.
It was like she could care less about how her actions humiliated me. Timidly, I just sat there in unbelievable degradation listening to her business call. I was afraid to move.
"I can do Monday at 10 o'clock sharp." Alexis told the caller.
"Well, yes. That will do just fine. I am looking forward to seeing the new designs we spoke of. I will have my team available then." the caller returned.
I recognized the caller's voice immediately. It was one of my former customers, Beth, from Montrell's department stores. Beth was 50, a white woman and the buyer for the woman's chain of 16 stores in this region. Although I had claimed her to be one of my customers, she had not purchased anything from us in 2 years. She had been a good customer of my late husbands during the years before I took over.
"Gretchen! 10'clock Monday." Alexis ordered, pointing to me.
She was directing me to place the appointment into her schedule.
My hands shook as I "inked" in the appointment for Monday in Alexis Barron's book, her stockinged toes still flush on my face. She wasn't giving me an inch of space to write down the appointment.
