1: Crook of a Finger
Where I grew up it was unthinkable that one would find a partner that was different from the acceptable norms: very white, very Christian, and responsible with a solid future. Growing up, I dressed conservatively, limited my friends to the "good girls" and, I think, acquired a reputation for being strait-laced and plain.
My father, this ever-present, stern figure introduced me to Richard – one of father's friend's sons - at church. It was clear that Richard was viewed as an appropriate choice for me, and there was a sense within the family that I should go along. Richard was, frankly, a bit gangly and plain; but to have a boy pay attention to me was novel and exciting: I was hardly the center of attention at school. He was reserved and very serious and there were initially thoughts that he would rise to great heights. But as our relationship progressed into engagement and marriage, and he started building a career it was clear that this was never going to happen – he became progressively more passive as the pressures of career and family grow, including in the bedroom.
We had fooled around before we got married, of course – sweaty back seat explorations – but it never seemed to rise much beyond that once we had the privacy of marriage. Within a year we seemed already to have settled into a comfortable pattern; and I was not the kind of person to question, compare or complain.
It also meant, though, that we needed more money than he was bringing in – and so after our second child I went out to work in administration roles at small, local companies. None of this was pressured: I would work most mornings, then do the soccer-mom route. I had settled into the pattern that everyone expected and found some pleasure in having found my place.
I worked mornings at one company or another, changing as my kids grew up and my daily routine required until, at the age of 42, I no longer had a need to be at home and finally went to work full time – I could not contemplate days at home on my own. And so it was that I finally had the time to establish myself in some way. I loved my job, and administration was never monotonous. At the end of that year I found myself working for a company of about 50 people, having to organize the Christmas function. I had also become, I think, a bit of a mother-figure, and probably the oldest person there. We all relax more as we grow older and I found that role easy to fit into.
The company had recently been purchased and the CEO had been replaced with a black man in his early 30s. Robert was the antithesis of the experiences I had, had with management before. He dressed carefully, but not enough to hide his muscularity. He stood taller than anyone on the company and that – combined with a quiet presence and gravelly voice – left us all in no doubt who was in charge. He took charge of everything, and wanted me to report regularly on the Christmas function – he paid close attention to details all the time and I learned quickly to have my answers ready.
I had also changed over the years and, although I had never lost my views regarding race, I had grown accustomed to seeing black people in the workplace, even in positions of authority. And so I had an easy but respectful relationship with Robert. I never imagined that a young black man would be watching a 40-something slightly curvy woman - because, of course, two children and a relaxed suburban lifestyle had an effect on me. And as we worked together, often closely, I occasionally pondered what his girlfriends were like. Robert was still single and I was sure there would be many black women interested in his attentions. He was the opposite of Richard in every way imaginable. If he wasn't black, I once joked to myself, and if I was younger I would be showing a lot of attention – especially those days when we sat alongside one another and I became aware of his strength and size.
I was also aware how difficult Richard and my father would find this. If they knew I was working under the close supervision of a young black man they would probably have told me to move jobs – yes, they were still that way. Just being in Robert's presence all day had become a secret – actually a small statement of my independence. Of course it was unthinkable that anything could ever happen between us – he was black! – but I could flirt with the idea, even think about it in front of my family and savor the fact that they were unaware that I had, in some small way, freed myself from their values.
The Christmas function was held the day that the office closed for the festive season. Robert had allowed us to hire a private venue and set an open bar and by mid afternoon the party was louder than it should have been. The Christmas tree had been bumped over once already, and the mistletoe in the doorway had caused a lot of attention and provoked some private comments: the rumors were sure to flourish about office romances when work commenced again in January. I expected Robert – as polished and restrained as always – to calm things down, but he kept a distance, talking to me about the arrangements through the afternoon, and pressing white wine onto me himself. I kept my behavior restrained, but we so seldom would have wine at home that as the afternoon wore on I knew I was becoming very tipsy, and a little nervous that perhaps people could see it.
By late afternoon almost everyone had left. As the organizer I stayed behind to finalize everything, and so it was that we eventually found ourselves alone. Robert congratulated me on the arrangements, but it was a slightly stilted conversation – the one that you have when the year has ended and it seems that there is not much left to say. I thought that my cheeks were glowing from the wine and I said so.
Robert laughed. "You're allowed one day a year to let go, Lynne – you behave like such a lady every other day of the year."
"I'm not as young as everyone else here, and I have a husband who will be wanting dinner later. He'll be asking why it is I am so tipsy."
"There are many reasons for red cheeks, Lynne. I didn't see you under the mistletoe?"
I laughed, and I suspect that my cheeks reddened even more. "As I said – I'm not as young as the others. My mistletoe days are long behind me."
"That's a shame. One should never lose mistletoe days."
We both laughed, embarrassed – I thought – at how the conversation had turned. "Before we go," he said, "come with me."
I followed him as he walked to the back of the venue, away from the lights to a dark area near the kitchens. He led me to a corner and as puzzled as I was, I had no concern or question, until he pointed to a sprig of mistletoe hanging on the wall.
"See – there is still one left. Nobody saw it here so they left it alone."
I covered my mouth with my hand and blushed furiously. Robert was asking for a kiss? A black man? Instinctively I took a step backwards but Robert had grabbed my hand and pulled me into the corner. He was so strong he did it without effort – and yet with no intent to hurt me. It was almost a game. My heart, though, was pounding and I know that my breath was coming in sudden pants.
He stood in such a way that I could not escape, close enough for me to feel the heat off his body. So close. His deep voice came from the shadow: "It's only a kiss, Lynne. Only a kiss. And if you don't want me to do it I will understand. I would never do anything you weren't ready for."
