A Change Had To Come
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Synopsis
Leticia Langley is used to fighting for what she wants. That's how she wound up being the first in her family to graduate from college. So what if she's never had a date? All that's about to change when she gets herself a job as a food columnist for The Journal--and treats herself to a makeover that will transform her life.
With her hot weave and a dazzling new wardrobe that shows off her curves, the opposite sex suddenly takes a shine to Leticia. Except for Max Baldwin--a colleague who accuses her of trying to knock him down on her stampede up the corporate ladder. But Leticia is determined to stand her ground and get her due. And as she finds herself being offered more tantalizing prospects, including a trip to Africa, she also wins the respect--and admiration--of her handsome one-time nemesis, Max. Now she'll have to decide if she wants to let down her guard, and let in the one man she could get serious about.
Release date: March 1, 2012
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 320
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A Change Had To Come
Gwynne Forster
“Just let somebody try to stop me now,” Leticia Langley said to herself as she read her brand new contract with First D.C. Media, Inc, the parent company of The Journal. “Nobody can say I got this job on my back or because I make a gorgeouscocktail-hour date. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but it’s a stepping stone to what I’ll get. I’ll show Miss High-BehindThomas what it means to have a brain.”
One month after her college graduation, nine years late, Leticia landed a job as food columnist for The Journal, a newspaperin Washington, D.C. Leticia’s degree qualified her to write for a newspaper, but not to give advice on food. For the latter, she’d gotten her credentials working as a short order cook in third-class restaurants, waiting tables, and cooking for herself and her late father from adolescence until he passed on after an eight-year illness. However, lack of familiarity with gourmet food wouldn’t hinder Leticia; she bet on her sharp mind to get her through most any problem she encountered.
One thing Leticia could not boast about was her appearance.With work and study demanding so much of her, she hadn’t had time to worry about the way she looked. Indeed, she had accepted that as her lot in life. But when she went to be interviewed for employment at The Journal, she couldn’t help noticing the fashionable women, not to speak of the smooth-looking men.
“In that group, I looked as if I were applying for a job as a scrub woman,” she said to herself as she left the building that housed The Journal. As usual, her quick mind and her knowledge of a wide variety of topics had served her well, and she got the job. But at her graduation from Howard U, she had vowed never again to be a wallflower or the odd woman out, and she didn’t like the differences between herselfand the women she saw at The Journal. Never again was anybody going to look down on her.
She had been so proud when the dean handed her the degreeand called her name, Leticia Langley, Summa Cum Laude, best in the class. But as she returned to her seat, Geraldine Thomas, a fair-skinned African American with straight hair, stuck her foot out, tripping Leticia.
“I wish I was black and had short nappy hair,” Geraldine had hissed. “Maybe I’d get some of what’s coming to me.”
Leticia had turned to Geraldine, the classmate who she had helped with exams and term papers, and said, “You expectto get the best, don’t you, Geraldine? From student representativeto homecoming queen. Well, babe, you got a pretty café au lait face and silky hair, but like the straw man, you didn’t get a brain. Look me up in five years, and I’ll really make you sick.”
After that day, every time she answered an ad, she thought of Geraldine, stiffened her back and kept plugging. Now she had a job, a good one, and she was on her way. At home, she looked through her closet and sucked her teeth in disgust. She couldn’t say which looked worse, her clothes or her hair. After brooding for a second, she snapped her fingers.
“Nobody’s going to tell me that every black woman workingat that newspaper has naturally silky long hair. Nobody,” she said. She looked at hers, almost too short to curl—though she’d never cut it—and shrugged. In her experience, the brothers tended to freak out over women who had hair more than eight inches long, and those females at The Journal knew that. “I’ll give the fellows something to sweat about.”
She bought a copy of the Washington Afro-American and, sure enough, about half of the ads had to do with hair, and most of those were for weaves. She chose a shop on ConnecticutAvenue, reasoning that only a successful hairdresser could afford the address and, two days later, she sported a weave with hair below her shoulders. Staring at herself in the hairdresser’smirror, she said aloud, “What a difference a full head of hair makes. Thank God for Korean and Indonesian women.”
“You sure look like a different woman,” one of the hairdresser’sclients said. “You look real good.”
“Thanks. I hardly recognize myself, but that’s exactly why I got this weave.”
“Everybody’s wearing them,” the hairdresser said.
“Yeah,” the client said, “shorten your skirt and put on some high heels, and you’ll knock ’em dead going and coming.”
She left the hairdresser’s shop with the woman’s words ringing in her ears. She needed something to wear to work, but she didn’t know where to start. Browsing along ConnecticutAvenue, she saw many styles and choices and realized that she didn’t know what to buy.
Leticia hated to admit to her cousin, Kenyetta, that she didn’t know how to dress, because even with her considerable girth, Kenyetta always managed to look great. And another thing: her cousin liked to think that she was steps ahead of Leticia. She had her own apartment, well furnished with the use of her several credit cards, and she’d had Leticia understand that she didn’t like the idea of an apartment mate, and that she had to be by herself. Since Kenyetta was the only relative with whom Leticia maintained close contact, she accepted the snub and throughout her college years lived in a one-room apartmenton the fourth floor of a building that had no elevator.
After Leticia got home, she called her cousin. “Hey, girl. It’s a quarter to twelve. How about meeting for lunch and then going shopping? I just got a job, and I need some clothes.”
“Hi. It can’t be that urgent. Today’s Saturday, and I haven’t even done my Monday assignments.”
“Use the ones you did for Monday before last, Kenyetta. I’m supposed to start at The Journal Monday morning, and I don’t have a thing to wear.”
“The Journal? Why didn’t you say so? Let’s meet at City Lights at about one o’clock. We can shop right around there. Lots of great stores near Dupont Circle and on Connecticut Avenue. And if you’re gonna do some serious shopping, bring your credit cards.”
Leticia agreed. As usual, Kenyetta had managed to let her know that, between the two of them, Kenyetta was the one with the smarts. She’d swallow it for now, but it wouldn’t alwaysbe that way. She waited outside the restaurant to avoid the embarrassment of sitting alone at a table waiting for her cousin, who never kept appointments on time.
To her amazement, Kenyetta walked right past her, went inside and sat at a table for two. “Where are your eyes?” Leticia asked her cousin, taking her seat. “You walked right past me, and I could swear you looked me right in the eye. What’s with you?”
“Leticia? Well, I’ll be damned! Girl, what did you ... oops! Is that a weave or a wig? Whatever it is, you should’ve been born with it.”
“It’s different,” Leticia said, refusing to thank Kenyetta for the backhanded compliment. “I want something to eat that isn’t loaded with garlic.”
Kenyetta shrugged and looked toward the ceiling as if asking for help. “Then we shouldn’t have come to a Chinese restaurant. Try some shrimp.”
Leticia ordered the crab balls and shrimp fried rice. “I think I ought to dress more stylishly, Ken, and especially in that office. It’s like a house of style.”
“Not just that office. Every office is like that. You’re just noticing. Let’s get this straight. If you’re going to buy pants that don’t fit and skirts that stop halfway up your legs, I’m going back home as soon as I finish eating this pork satay.”
“I must not be so bad now,” Leticia said to herself, glancing at the handsome blond man seated diagonally across from her who seemed unable or unwilling to remove his gaze from her. Kenyetta turned to see who or what had Leticia’s attention.
“No way, girl. You just leave that alone.”
She wasn’t used to having strange men admire her, and she felt like bathing herself in it. “If he was a bum, he wouldn’t make me preen,” Leticia said, “but that guy’s rocking. Look, I love to eat dark chocolate, but I’ll cook with any kind that’s handy. You get my drift?” she said, looked toward the stranger and smiled. He returned the smile, and, embarrassed at her forwardness, she said to Kenyetta, “Let’s get out of here.”
“You remember where you came from,” Kenyetta said. “This isn’t Atlanta, but it’s not Sweden either.”
The waiter brought the check and told them to pay on the way out. When they stood to leave, Leticia’s admirer stood, smiled and sat down. She smiled in return and, as she glanced to her left, her gaze landed on a handsome brother who sat alone with his gaze fixed on her. Hmm. If hair did that for a woman, what would happen if she had some decent clothes? She said as much to Kenyetta.
“Don’t get carried away. They’ll cool off when they find it’s not real.”
Leticia stopped walking and looked at her cousin. “SometimesI think you could shoot a poor little bird.”
“Why not? Some people live off ’em,” Kenyetta said. “Let’s go in here. If it’s a Mick Burgge, it’s in fashion.”
Leticia bristled with annoyance, but she didn’t let on. “I said I wanted something suitable for business wear. I don’t want to look like a movie star on Oscar night. Those pants look nice.”
“Low-slung pants are on their way out.”
“Thanks,” Leticia said. “I don’t like them anyway. When we get through dressing me, we’re going to start on you.”
Kenyetta stared at her. “What’s wrong with me?”
“About six dress sizes. Come on. It’s getting late.”
Leticia had never bought more than two items at a time, and that only rarely, but after seeing herself in a softly tailoredavocado-green linen suit with a silk blouse of matching color, she warmed up to her task.
“Who would have thought you had decent legs?” Kenyetta asked, observing her cousin in a knee-length red voile dress. “Girl, you got some catching up to do.”
“And believe me, I can’t wait.”
Kenyetta Jackson took the bus home to her apartment in a condo on Rittenhouse Street in the northwest section of Washington. It was a neat, attractive block, and the quality and condition of the building in which she lived gave notice that she was making it. She hadn’t driven her blue Taurus downtown, because parking—even in garages—was at a premiumon Saturdays, and she didn’t feel like spending half an hour or more trying to park. She got home as darkness settledin, checked her answering machine, and realized that she wouldn’t finish her lesson plans that night.
She dialed the number. “Hi.”
“Hi. Where were you?” She told him. “I’ll be over in half an hour.”
“Uh ... I didn’t think I was seeing you tonight,” she said.
At the long silence, her fingers began to shake. “You had some other plans?” he asked.
She calmed herself. “I haven’t done my lesson plans for next week, and I have to turn them in Monday morning.”
“Oh, that. You can get it done tomorrow when I won’t be able to get away. See you shortly.”
She freshened up as quickly as she could, changed her underwear, combed her hair and went to the kitchen hoping to make a few sandwiches before he arrived. However, when the intercom sounded she gave up that idea. Minutes later, she opened the door and looked up at him.
“Hi. You’re right on the minute,” she said, reached up and offered her lips. He grasped her shoulders, plunged his tongue into her mouth and let her feel the pressure of his need.
“Come on in, before my neighbors catch me making out in my doorway. I’d only been home a minute before I called you,” she told him, “and I’m not sure what I can give you to eat.”
“Why don’t you call out for something? Chinese would be good.” He sat in the big leather chair that he favored.
She was about to tell him that she ate Chinese food for lunch when she remembered that he always expected her to pay when she ordered food delivered, and that at least Chinese food wasn’t too expensive. “Okay. Anything you especiallywant?” she asked him.
“Whatever you choose, baby.”
She set the table. “Gosh, I don’t have any beer.”
He slumped in the chair. “Oh, for goodness sake. Can you call them back and ask them to send a carton?”
“I’ll try, but we could have some wine.”
“All right, I’ll take the wine. My throat’s dry as all get out.”
She poured two glasses of white wine. “How’d I get so lucky?” she asked him.
He threw up his hands. “Oh, she’s been acting out all week. Her brother called and said her mother isn’t feeling well, and that was all the excuse she needed. She put a few things in a suitcase, got in her car and took off. For all I know, her brother didn’t tell her any such thing. She may not even have gone to Richmond.”
Kenyetta didn’t tell him how easily he could verify it, becauseshe suspected that he merely wanted something to gripe about. Instead, she pushed a big Moroccan-leather pouf to his chair, sat at his feet and looked up at him. “Let’s not talk about that.” She rested her head on his thigh. “Can you spend the night?”
“I’d better not. No telling what time she’ll call me.” He reached down and ran his hands over her breasts. “If that delivery man doesn’t get here soon, he may have to leave the food with the doorman.” When she didn’t respond, he nudged her with his knee. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh-huh, but it’s against house rules to leave food with the doorman. Besides, who’d pay the delivery man?”
He leaned back and rested his head against the chair. “I can see it’s not going to be my night. I’ve been getting a blast of cold air all day, and I guess it continues here.”
“Oh, don’t say that, honey. After we eat, everything will be fine.”
“So you say.” He jumped up, leaving her head to bounce against the chair. “I’d better be going.”
She sat up straight. “Reggie! For goodness sake, you don’t mean that. What did I do?”
“Nothing. And that’s the problem. This was just another crap shoot.” Before she could get to her feet, she heard the door slam. Simultaneously, the intercom buzzed, and she went to answer it.
“Thanks,” she said to the doorman. “I need about five minutes. Then would you send him up?” She didn’t want Reggie to encounter the man getting off the elevator. Now, maybe she’d get her lesson plan done. She wouldn’t have been able to get in the mood for sex, no matter how she’d tried.
“Why do I do it, when he never takes time to let me enjoy it? Oh, hell! Now I have to eat twenty-seven dollars’ worth of Chinese food.”
After paying and tipping the delivery man, she put the food in the oven, turned on the warmer and sat down to work on her lesson plans. Junior high school students were trouble enough with their early adolescent behavior. Without engagingstudies and assignments, they became a problem.
Reggie was always impatient and had the nerve to appearvirtuous to boot. He swore that his wife tricked him into marrying her, claiming that he had impregnated her. But as soon as he married her, her period arrived. His wife wouldn’t consider an annulment or a divorce, because accordingto her, it was against her religion. Sometimes Kenyetta wondered about Reggie’s honesty. Nobody put a gun in his back and made him stay with the woman. He could be great fun when things were going his way, but at other times, he was like an ill-tempered child.
She had asked herself dozens of times why she didn’t break off her relationship with him, but at least he wanted her, and he said he needed her. Oh, well, she had to get her work done; she’d deal with the matter of Reggie some other time.
She put her work aside and turned on the television. If she could get a man of her own, she’d leave Reggie alone.
Leticia walked into The Journal building at Fourteenth Street Northwest off Thomas Circle and headed for the elevator.“Just a minute, miss,” the guard said. “You have to sign in and out.”
“Thanks, but I work here—beginning this morning.”
He showed his white teeth in a wide grin. “Congratulations. Even the man who owns this building signs in and out. What floor you on?” She told him. “They’ll get you a badge sometimetoday, and you have to wear it at all times.” He pulled off his braided cap and ran his hands over his short, tight curls. “I hate to see you hang an ID tag on that suit and spoil perfection. Elevator’s on the left.”
His studied appreciation gave her just the bounce she needed to know that she measured up to the women who walked through that lobby every morning. “Thank you,” she said, and headed for the ninth floor.
A woman much younger than she showed her to her office,handed her an office telephone directory and told her, “Mr. Warren calls a budget meeting at nine every morning. He’s in room 1010, to the left when you get off the elevator. I’m Dee, your secretary.”
“Thanks, Dee. I’m glad to meet you. What goes on in a budget meeting?”
The girl’s left eyebrow shot up. “They plan the next editionof the paper, the most important of which is what goes left and right on the front page and what’s considered the hottest news. Your copy has to be in by four o’clock. I’ll give you a policy sheet. And I’d better warn you. Mr. Warren doesn’t like for anybody to say anything or ask any questionsuntil he’s had his say.”
“Thanks, Dee. I’d like to see that policy sheet.”
“Yes, ma’am. The pantry is down the hall to the right, and you can get coffee and buns or whatever. And, ma’am ... Never be late to Mr. Warren’s budget meetings.”
So Mr. Warren was a terrorist, was he? She thanked Dee again, went into her office and closed the door. The office suited her, though she wouldn’t have minded if it had been larger. She walked over to the window, looked down on Thomas Circle and gave silent thanks. She was only one floor beneath the boss, and from her window, she didn’t look down on an alley. She’d get a few pictures and a pair of draperies and give the place a feminine touch.
She hadn’t had any coffee, and she’d bet you couldn’t take a cup of it to Mr. Warren’s meeting. Too bad. She put her purse in the desk drawer, locked the desk, got a writing pad and headed for room 1010. She looked around at the two dozen people sitting there and chose a seat in the back.
A rosy cheeked, slightly overweight man rushed in and took a seat at the table in front of the room. “Sorry, Mr. Warren had to go to New York. We have one new colleague today. Leticia Langley has replaced Roy Bridges, and she has his office.Ms. Langley, would you stand, please?”
She stood, and as soon as all necks had turned, she sat down. A man who seemed to distance himself from both the group and the proceedings sat in the same row as she, his right ankle draped over his left knee. She wondered about him, but tried not to glance his way. The meeting ended after about forty minutes, and Mr. Warren’s substitute intercepted her as she reached the door.
“You report to Joel Raymond, senior editor,” he told her. “If you have any questions, you may call him. Welcome aboard.”
Leticia returned to her office and within minutes, her telephonerang. She waited for her secretary to answer it. Minutes later, Dee cracked open the door and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Everybody answers his own phone.”
Leticia fixed the girl with a stern gaze. “What are you planning to do from eight-thirty to four-thirty? I write at my computer, and I can get my own coffee. Perhaps I don’t need a secretary.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, it’s all right. I can answer the phone and take dictation, too, if you like. For goodness sake, don’t let Mr. Warren hear that you don’t need a secretary.”
“I have yet to meet anyone who could get ahead of me, Dee. Close the door, please.”
She looked at the library of books on cooking and related matters that lined a wall in her office, noted that there were several on nutrition and decided to make that the topic of her first column. She was deep in the subject of proteins when her phone light blinked. Dee had evidently turned off the ringer.
“Ms. Langley, someone with a question about garden parties.”
“Thanks, Dee.” She lifted the receiver. “This is Leticia Langley. How may I help you?”
“I’m having a formal garden party weekend after next,” the woman said, “and I haven’t a clue about what to serve.”
Leticia bit her lip as she was about to say, “You’re joking.” What she said wasn’t any better. “Why on earth would you have a garden party if you don’t know how to plan one? And why wait until now to learn how to do it?”
“What kind of answer is that? You’re supposed to be an expert on this. You’re the paper’s food columnist, for Pete’s sake,” the woman said, and hung up. Leticia hadn’t thought that her duties included giving advice via telephone, and especiallynot advice about a garden party.
Ten minutes later, she met Joel Raymond for the first time when he barged into her office without knocking. “What the hell do you mean by telling a person who calls here for help that she’s stupid?”
“I didn’t say she was stupid. I asked her why she’d have a garden party if she didn’t know how to plan one.”
“That’s why we have people like you,” he said, his voice booming.
She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Not me, Mr... . You’re not Mr. Warren, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m Joel Raymond, and—”
“And you’re my boss.” She stood and extended her hand, effectively taking the wind out of him. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that a woman would do that? Besides, aren’t garden parties sort of like outdoors happy hours where people just drink and eat chicken wings?”
His scowl was so ferocious that it nearly caused her to laugh. “This is not funny, Ms. Langley. My baby sister has sent out at least fifty invitations to that party, and she has no idea how the hell to pull it off.”
“Oops! That was your sister?”
“You bet, and she’s furious.”
“Look. I’m sorry she didn’t ask the man who just vacated this job,” Leticia said, making herself sound as contrite as possible. “I don’t belong to the garden party set, and I’ve never been to one. I don’t even know what they’re like. I have a degree in English with a minor in journalism. As far as food is concerned, I can set a table, but that about covers it.” He didn’t have to know that she once worked as a short order cook in a restaurant. She had buried her lackluster past.
When an expression of horror covered his face, she hastened to reassure him. “Not to worry. I’m a quick study. I read Plato’s Republic when I was eleven.”
He covered his ears with his hands. “Plato. She’s telling me about some Greek philosopher who lived three hundred and sixty years before Christ.” He removed his hands and stared at her. “What did Plato say about garden parties?”
Laughter tumbled out of her, and when she could calm herself and look at him, she began laughing again. “I ... I’ll see if I can find a book on garden parties for your sister.”
“Yeah, you do that,” he said, and left.
She looked through the library in her office, found a book on outdoor parties from weddings to barbeques, put it in an envelope with a note that read, “Give this to your sister,” and sent it to Joel Raymond via interoffice mail.
“If that doesn’t work,” she said to herself, “baby sister can hike to the library.”
As she began once more to tackle her first column, the red light on her phone blinked. When Dee buzzed her, Leticia swung around to answer, and nothing had ever seemed as precious as the feel of her hair swinging from one side of her head to the other. She jerked her head from side to side a few times for the pure enjoyment of feeling the hair hit her face.
“Do you want to speak with the producer of the annual Death by Chocolate Festival at the Mayflower?” Dee asked her.
“You bet I do.... Hello. This is Leticia Langley. How may I help you?”
“Whew,” a male voice said. “The food desk has gotten some class. I’m Dick Corona, director of the chocolate fest, and I’d like you to review the event for The Journal. You’re not allergic to chocolate, are you?”
“No, I’m not. You want me to cover the chocolate fest?” she asked, as if he hadn’t just said precisely that. She looked up and saw Joel leaning against the half-open door of her office.He winked and gave her the thumbs-up sign. “I’ll be delighted to do it,” she told the man, and wrote the information on a scratch pad.
“You’ll have to eat a lot of chocolate,” Joel said when she hung up. “And I’d better tell you that you may regret taking this assignment.”
“Why? I should think it would naturally be assigned to this desk.”
“Yeah, but your predecessor hated chocolate so Max Baldwin,one of the reporters, got the job. And believe me, Max is going to be incensed, but the director of the chocolate fest claimed that Max was unfair and didn’t want him back.”
She didn’t like to hear that. “Was he unfair?”
“I didn’t think so, but he did lay it on rather thick. Max is candid, and he does not mince words. He’s also a first-class reporter.”
Trying for levity in what she regarded as a sticky situation,she said, “Is he especially fond of chocolate?”
“That’s a part of the problem. He’s a chocolaholic.”
“Oh dear. Do you think that book will satisfy your sister?”
“It advises having waiters pass hot hors d’oeuvres and cocktails among the guests and a three-piece string ensemble.Seems to me she could have thought of that herself. But thanks.
“I’d better introduce you to Max. He dislikes surprises as much as he loves chocolate.” They walked to Max’s office, but he wasn’t there. “We’ll do it another time,” Joel said. “Thanks again for your help with the garden party.”
Leticia completed her first day on the new job with the conviction that she needed to move from food columnist to feature writer, and she began thinking of ways in which to accomplish it. She’d give herself a year as a food writer, less time if she could manage it, but definitely no longer. Writing about chocolate would not support the goal she’d set for herself.
Fired up with enthusiasm for her work as a reporter, she phoned Kenyetta. “How about a movie this evening, Ken? I need to unwind.”
“Uh ... sorry, but I have a date.”
“You have? You’re going out with a guy this evening? Girl, it’s Monday. He must be real anxious if he can’t wait till the weekend. Who is he?”
“I’m not talking, ’cause I ... uh, I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Well, you go, girl. Maybe another time.” She hung up, thinking secrecy about a man seemed out of character for Kenyetta. It would have been more like her to parade the man in front of Leticia, who didn’t have a boyfriend. Hmm. She hadn’t thought of Kenyetta as devious. But ... some women could behave strangely when it came to men. It bore watching,and as loose as Kenyetta’s tongue could be, the matter wouldn’t be a secret much longer.
Leticia couldn’t know then that her cousin harbored an embarrassing secret. Half an hour before Leticia called her, Kenyetta began work on a drama script that she hoped her seventh grade pupils would perform at the end of the summermakeup classes. She hated teaching summer school, but at the end of the following year she would have a sabbatical, so she had accepted the assignment, although grudgingly. But she’d hardly written half a page of dialogue when Reggie called her.
“I’m on my way over, and I’m starved. So if you don’t have anything in the house, send out for something. See you shortly.”
She bristled. The man was beginning to get on her nerves. “Reggie, I don’t happen to have any. . .
One month after her college graduation, nine years late, Leticia landed a job as food columnist for The Journal, a newspaperin Washington, D.C. Leticia’s degree qualified her to write for a newspaper, but not to give advice on food. For the latter, she’d gotten her credentials working as a short order cook in third-class restaurants, waiting tables, and cooking for herself and her late father from adolescence until he passed on after an eight-year illness. However, lack of familiarity with gourmet food wouldn’t hinder Leticia; she bet on her sharp mind to get her through most any problem she encountered.
One thing Leticia could not boast about was her appearance.With work and study demanding so much of her, she hadn’t had time to worry about the way she looked. Indeed, she had accepted that as her lot in life. But when she went to be interviewed for employment at The Journal, she couldn’t help noticing the fashionable women, not to speak of the smooth-looking men.
“In that group, I looked as if I were applying for a job as a scrub woman,” she said to herself as she left the building that housed The Journal. As usual, her quick mind and her knowledge of a wide variety of topics had served her well, and she got the job. But at her graduation from Howard U, she had vowed never again to be a wallflower or the odd woman out, and she didn’t like the differences between herselfand the women she saw at The Journal. Never again was anybody going to look down on her.
She had been so proud when the dean handed her the degreeand called her name, Leticia Langley, Summa Cum Laude, best in the class. But as she returned to her seat, Geraldine Thomas, a fair-skinned African American with straight hair, stuck her foot out, tripping Leticia.
“I wish I was black and had short nappy hair,” Geraldine had hissed. “Maybe I’d get some of what’s coming to me.”
Leticia had turned to Geraldine, the classmate who she had helped with exams and term papers, and said, “You expectto get the best, don’t you, Geraldine? From student representativeto homecoming queen. Well, babe, you got a pretty café au lait face and silky hair, but like the straw man, you didn’t get a brain. Look me up in five years, and I’ll really make you sick.”
After that day, every time she answered an ad, she thought of Geraldine, stiffened her back and kept plugging. Now she had a job, a good one, and she was on her way. At home, she looked through her closet and sucked her teeth in disgust. She couldn’t say which looked worse, her clothes or her hair. After brooding for a second, she snapped her fingers.
“Nobody’s going to tell me that every black woman workingat that newspaper has naturally silky long hair. Nobody,” she said. She looked at hers, almost too short to curl—though she’d never cut it—and shrugged. In her experience, the brothers tended to freak out over women who had hair more than eight inches long, and those females at The Journal knew that. “I’ll give the fellows something to sweat about.”
She bought a copy of the Washington Afro-American and, sure enough, about half of the ads had to do with hair, and most of those were for weaves. She chose a shop on ConnecticutAvenue, reasoning that only a successful hairdresser could afford the address and, two days later, she sported a weave with hair below her shoulders. Staring at herself in the hairdresser’smirror, she said aloud, “What a difference a full head of hair makes. Thank God for Korean and Indonesian women.”
“You sure look like a different woman,” one of the hairdresser’sclients said. “You look real good.”
“Thanks. I hardly recognize myself, but that’s exactly why I got this weave.”
“Everybody’s wearing them,” the hairdresser said.
“Yeah,” the client said, “shorten your skirt and put on some high heels, and you’ll knock ’em dead going and coming.”
She left the hairdresser’s shop with the woman’s words ringing in her ears. She needed something to wear to work, but she didn’t know where to start. Browsing along ConnecticutAvenue, she saw many styles and choices and realized that she didn’t know what to buy.
Leticia hated to admit to her cousin, Kenyetta, that she didn’t know how to dress, because even with her considerable girth, Kenyetta always managed to look great. And another thing: her cousin liked to think that she was steps ahead of Leticia. She had her own apartment, well furnished with the use of her several credit cards, and she’d had Leticia understand that she didn’t like the idea of an apartment mate, and that she had to be by herself. Since Kenyetta was the only relative with whom Leticia maintained close contact, she accepted the snub and throughout her college years lived in a one-room apartmenton the fourth floor of a building that had no elevator.
After Leticia got home, she called her cousin. “Hey, girl. It’s a quarter to twelve. How about meeting for lunch and then going shopping? I just got a job, and I need some clothes.”
“Hi. It can’t be that urgent. Today’s Saturday, and I haven’t even done my Monday assignments.”
“Use the ones you did for Monday before last, Kenyetta. I’m supposed to start at The Journal Monday morning, and I don’t have a thing to wear.”
“The Journal? Why didn’t you say so? Let’s meet at City Lights at about one o’clock. We can shop right around there. Lots of great stores near Dupont Circle and on Connecticut Avenue. And if you’re gonna do some serious shopping, bring your credit cards.”
Leticia agreed. As usual, Kenyetta had managed to let her know that, between the two of them, Kenyetta was the one with the smarts. She’d swallow it for now, but it wouldn’t alwaysbe that way. She waited outside the restaurant to avoid the embarrassment of sitting alone at a table waiting for her cousin, who never kept appointments on time.
To her amazement, Kenyetta walked right past her, went inside and sat at a table for two. “Where are your eyes?” Leticia asked her cousin, taking her seat. “You walked right past me, and I could swear you looked me right in the eye. What’s with you?”
“Leticia? Well, I’ll be damned! Girl, what did you ... oops! Is that a weave or a wig? Whatever it is, you should’ve been born with it.”
“It’s different,” Leticia said, refusing to thank Kenyetta for the backhanded compliment. “I want something to eat that isn’t loaded with garlic.”
Kenyetta shrugged and looked toward the ceiling as if asking for help. “Then we shouldn’t have come to a Chinese restaurant. Try some shrimp.”
Leticia ordered the crab balls and shrimp fried rice. “I think I ought to dress more stylishly, Ken, and especially in that office. It’s like a house of style.”
“Not just that office. Every office is like that. You’re just noticing. Let’s get this straight. If you’re going to buy pants that don’t fit and skirts that stop halfway up your legs, I’m going back home as soon as I finish eating this pork satay.”
“I must not be so bad now,” Leticia said to herself, glancing at the handsome blond man seated diagonally across from her who seemed unable or unwilling to remove his gaze from her. Kenyetta turned to see who or what had Leticia’s attention.
“No way, girl. You just leave that alone.”
She wasn’t used to having strange men admire her, and she felt like bathing herself in it. “If he was a bum, he wouldn’t make me preen,” Leticia said, “but that guy’s rocking. Look, I love to eat dark chocolate, but I’ll cook with any kind that’s handy. You get my drift?” she said, looked toward the stranger and smiled. He returned the smile, and, embarrassed at her forwardness, she said to Kenyetta, “Let’s get out of here.”
“You remember where you came from,” Kenyetta said. “This isn’t Atlanta, but it’s not Sweden either.”
The waiter brought the check and told them to pay on the way out. When they stood to leave, Leticia’s admirer stood, smiled and sat down. She smiled in return and, as she glanced to her left, her gaze landed on a handsome brother who sat alone with his gaze fixed on her. Hmm. If hair did that for a woman, what would happen if she had some decent clothes? She said as much to Kenyetta.
“Don’t get carried away. They’ll cool off when they find it’s not real.”
Leticia stopped walking and looked at her cousin. “SometimesI think you could shoot a poor little bird.”
“Why not? Some people live off ’em,” Kenyetta said. “Let’s go in here. If it’s a Mick Burgge, it’s in fashion.”
Leticia bristled with annoyance, but she didn’t let on. “I said I wanted something suitable for business wear. I don’t want to look like a movie star on Oscar night. Those pants look nice.”
“Low-slung pants are on their way out.”
“Thanks,” Leticia said. “I don’t like them anyway. When we get through dressing me, we’re going to start on you.”
Kenyetta stared at her. “What’s wrong with me?”
“About six dress sizes. Come on. It’s getting late.”
Leticia had never bought more than two items at a time, and that only rarely, but after seeing herself in a softly tailoredavocado-green linen suit with a silk blouse of matching color, she warmed up to her task.
“Who would have thought you had decent legs?” Kenyetta asked, observing her cousin in a knee-length red voile dress. “Girl, you got some catching up to do.”
“And believe me, I can’t wait.”
Kenyetta Jackson took the bus home to her apartment in a condo on Rittenhouse Street in the northwest section of Washington. It was a neat, attractive block, and the quality and condition of the building in which she lived gave notice that she was making it. She hadn’t driven her blue Taurus downtown, because parking—even in garages—was at a premiumon Saturdays, and she didn’t feel like spending half an hour or more trying to park. She got home as darkness settledin, checked her answering machine, and realized that she wouldn’t finish her lesson plans that night.
She dialed the number. “Hi.”
“Hi. Where were you?” She told him. “I’ll be over in half an hour.”
“Uh ... I didn’t think I was seeing you tonight,” she said.
At the long silence, her fingers began to shake. “You had some other plans?” he asked.
She calmed herself. “I haven’t done my lesson plans for next week, and I have to turn them in Monday morning.”
“Oh, that. You can get it done tomorrow when I won’t be able to get away. See you shortly.”
She freshened up as quickly as she could, changed her underwear, combed her hair and went to the kitchen hoping to make a few sandwiches before he arrived. However, when the intercom sounded she gave up that idea. Minutes later, she opened the door and looked up at him.
“Hi. You’re right on the minute,” she said, reached up and offered her lips. He grasped her shoulders, plunged his tongue into her mouth and let her feel the pressure of his need.
“Come on in, before my neighbors catch me making out in my doorway. I’d only been home a minute before I called you,” she told him, “and I’m not sure what I can give you to eat.”
“Why don’t you call out for something? Chinese would be good.” He sat in the big leather chair that he favored.
She was about to tell him that she ate Chinese food for lunch when she remembered that he always expected her to pay when she ordered food delivered, and that at least Chinese food wasn’t too expensive. “Okay. Anything you especiallywant?” she asked him.
“Whatever you choose, baby.”
She set the table. “Gosh, I don’t have any beer.”
He slumped in the chair. “Oh, for goodness sake. Can you call them back and ask them to send a carton?”
“I’ll try, but we could have some wine.”
“All right, I’ll take the wine. My throat’s dry as all get out.”
She poured two glasses of white wine. “How’d I get so lucky?” she asked him.
He threw up his hands. “Oh, she’s been acting out all week. Her brother called and said her mother isn’t feeling well, and that was all the excuse she needed. She put a few things in a suitcase, got in her car and took off. For all I know, her brother didn’t tell her any such thing. She may not even have gone to Richmond.”
Kenyetta didn’t tell him how easily he could verify it, becauseshe suspected that he merely wanted something to gripe about. Instead, she pushed a big Moroccan-leather pouf to his chair, sat at his feet and looked up at him. “Let’s not talk about that.” She rested her head on his thigh. “Can you spend the night?”
“I’d better not. No telling what time she’ll call me.” He reached down and ran his hands over her breasts. “If that delivery man doesn’t get here soon, he may have to leave the food with the doorman.” When she didn’t respond, he nudged her with his knee. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh-huh, but it’s against house rules to leave food with the doorman. Besides, who’d pay the delivery man?”
He leaned back and rested his head against the chair. “I can see it’s not going to be my night. I’ve been getting a blast of cold air all day, and I guess it continues here.”
“Oh, don’t say that, honey. After we eat, everything will be fine.”
“So you say.” He jumped up, leaving her head to bounce against the chair. “I’d better be going.”
She sat up straight. “Reggie! For goodness sake, you don’t mean that. What did I do?”
“Nothing. And that’s the problem. This was just another crap shoot.” Before she could get to her feet, she heard the door slam. Simultaneously, the intercom buzzed, and she went to answer it.
“Thanks,” she said to the doorman. “I need about five minutes. Then would you send him up?” She didn’t want Reggie to encounter the man getting off the elevator. Now, maybe she’d get her lesson plan done. She wouldn’t have been able to get in the mood for sex, no matter how she’d tried.
“Why do I do it, when he never takes time to let me enjoy it? Oh, hell! Now I have to eat twenty-seven dollars’ worth of Chinese food.”
After paying and tipping the delivery man, she put the food in the oven, turned on the warmer and sat down to work on her lesson plans. Junior high school students were trouble enough with their early adolescent behavior. Without engagingstudies and assignments, they became a problem.
Reggie was always impatient and had the nerve to appearvirtuous to boot. He swore that his wife tricked him into marrying her, claiming that he had impregnated her. But as soon as he married her, her period arrived. His wife wouldn’t consider an annulment or a divorce, because accordingto her, it was against her religion. Sometimes Kenyetta wondered about Reggie’s honesty. Nobody put a gun in his back and made him stay with the woman. He could be great fun when things were going his way, but at other times, he was like an ill-tempered child.
She had asked herself dozens of times why she didn’t break off her relationship with him, but at least he wanted her, and he said he needed her. Oh, well, she had to get her work done; she’d deal with the matter of Reggie some other time.
She put her work aside and turned on the television. If she could get a man of her own, she’d leave Reggie alone.
Leticia walked into The Journal building at Fourteenth Street Northwest off Thomas Circle and headed for the elevator.“Just a minute, miss,” the guard said. “You have to sign in and out.”
“Thanks, but I work here—beginning this morning.”
He showed his white teeth in a wide grin. “Congratulations. Even the man who owns this building signs in and out. What floor you on?” She told him. “They’ll get you a badge sometimetoday, and you have to wear it at all times.” He pulled off his braided cap and ran his hands over his short, tight curls. “I hate to see you hang an ID tag on that suit and spoil perfection. Elevator’s on the left.”
His studied appreciation gave her just the bounce she needed to know that she measured up to the women who walked through that lobby every morning. “Thank you,” she said, and headed for the ninth floor.
A woman much younger than she showed her to her office,handed her an office telephone directory and told her, “Mr. Warren calls a budget meeting at nine every morning. He’s in room 1010, to the left when you get off the elevator. I’m Dee, your secretary.”
“Thanks, Dee. I’m glad to meet you. What goes on in a budget meeting?”
The girl’s left eyebrow shot up. “They plan the next editionof the paper, the most important of which is what goes left and right on the front page and what’s considered the hottest news. Your copy has to be in by four o’clock. I’ll give you a policy sheet. And I’d better warn you. Mr. Warren doesn’t like for anybody to say anything or ask any questionsuntil he’s had his say.”
“Thanks, Dee. I’d like to see that policy sheet.”
“Yes, ma’am. The pantry is down the hall to the right, and you can get coffee and buns or whatever. And, ma’am ... Never be late to Mr. Warren’s budget meetings.”
So Mr. Warren was a terrorist, was he? She thanked Dee again, went into her office and closed the door. The office suited her, though she wouldn’t have minded if it had been larger. She walked over to the window, looked down on Thomas Circle and gave silent thanks. She was only one floor beneath the boss, and from her window, she didn’t look down on an alley. She’d get a few pictures and a pair of draperies and give the place a feminine touch.
She hadn’t had any coffee, and she’d bet you couldn’t take a cup of it to Mr. Warren’s meeting. Too bad. She put her purse in the desk drawer, locked the desk, got a writing pad and headed for room 1010. She looked around at the two dozen people sitting there and chose a seat in the back.
A rosy cheeked, slightly overweight man rushed in and took a seat at the table in front of the room. “Sorry, Mr. Warren had to go to New York. We have one new colleague today. Leticia Langley has replaced Roy Bridges, and she has his office.Ms. Langley, would you stand, please?”
She stood, and as soon as all necks had turned, she sat down. A man who seemed to distance himself from both the group and the proceedings sat in the same row as she, his right ankle draped over his left knee. She wondered about him, but tried not to glance his way. The meeting ended after about forty minutes, and Mr. Warren’s substitute intercepted her as she reached the door.
“You report to Joel Raymond, senior editor,” he told her. “If you have any questions, you may call him. Welcome aboard.”
Leticia returned to her office and within minutes, her telephonerang. She waited for her secretary to answer it. Minutes later, Dee cracked open the door and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Everybody answers his own phone.”
Leticia fixed the girl with a stern gaze. “What are you planning to do from eight-thirty to four-thirty? I write at my computer, and I can get my own coffee. Perhaps I don’t need a secretary.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, it’s all right. I can answer the phone and take dictation, too, if you like. For goodness sake, don’t let Mr. Warren hear that you don’t need a secretary.”
“I have yet to meet anyone who could get ahead of me, Dee. Close the door, please.”
She looked at the library of books on cooking and related matters that lined a wall in her office, noted that there were several on nutrition and decided to make that the topic of her first column. She was deep in the subject of proteins when her phone light blinked. Dee had evidently turned off the ringer.
“Ms. Langley, someone with a question about garden parties.”
“Thanks, Dee.” She lifted the receiver. “This is Leticia Langley. How may I help you?”
“I’m having a formal garden party weekend after next,” the woman said, “and I haven’t a clue about what to serve.”
Leticia bit her lip as she was about to say, “You’re joking.” What she said wasn’t any better. “Why on earth would you have a garden party if you don’t know how to plan one? And why wait until now to learn how to do it?”
“What kind of answer is that? You’re supposed to be an expert on this. You’re the paper’s food columnist, for Pete’s sake,” the woman said, and hung up. Leticia hadn’t thought that her duties included giving advice via telephone, and especiallynot advice about a garden party.
Ten minutes later, she met Joel Raymond for the first time when he barged into her office without knocking. “What the hell do you mean by telling a person who calls here for help that she’s stupid?”
“I didn’t say she was stupid. I asked her why she’d have a garden party if she didn’t know how to plan one.”
“That’s why we have people like you,” he said, his voice booming.
She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Not me, Mr... . You’re not Mr. Warren, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m Joel Raymond, and—”
“And you’re my boss.” She stood and extended her hand, effectively taking the wind out of him. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that a woman would do that? Besides, aren’t garden parties sort of like outdoors happy hours where people just drink and eat chicken wings?”
His scowl was so ferocious that it nearly caused her to laugh. “This is not funny, Ms. Langley. My baby sister has sent out at least fifty invitations to that party, and she has no idea how the hell to pull it off.”
“Oops! That was your sister?”
“You bet, and she’s furious.”
“Look. I’m sorry she didn’t ask the man who just vacated this job,” Leticia said, making herself sound as contrite as possible. “I don’t belong to the garden party set, and I’ve never been to one. I don’t even know what they’re like. I have a degree in English with a minor in journalism. As far as food is concerned, I can set a table, but that about covers it.” He didn’t have to know that she once worked as a short order cook in a restaurant. She had buried her lackluster past.
When an expression of horror covered his face, she hastened to reassure him. “Not to worry. I’m a quick study. I read Plato’s Republic when I was eleven.”
He covered his ears with his hands. “Plato. She’s telling me about some Greek philosopher who lived three hundred and sixty years before Christ.” He removed his hands and stared at her. “What did Plato say about garden parties?”
Laughter tumbled out of her, and when she could calm herself and look at him, she began laughing again. “I ... I’ll see if I can find a book on garden parties for your sister.”
“Yeah, you do that,” he said, and left.
She looked through the library in her office, found a book on outdoor parties from weddings to barbeques, put it in an envelope with a note that read, “Give this to your sister,” and sent it to Joel Raymond via interoffice mail.
“If that doesn’t work,” she said to herself, “baby sister can hike to the library.”
As she began once more to tackle her first column, the red light on her phone blinked. When Dee buzzed her, Leticia swung around to answer, and nothing had ever seemed as precious as the feel of her hair swinging from one side of her head to the other. She jerked her head from side to side a few times for the pure enjoyment of feeling the hair hit her face.
“Do you want to speak with the producer of the annual Death by Chocolate Festival at the Mayflower?” Dee asked her.
“You bet I do.... Hello. This is Leticia Langley. How may I help you?”
“Whew,” a male voice said. “The food desk has gotten some class. I’m Dick Corona, director of the chocolate fest, and I’d like you to review the event for The Journal. You’re not allergic to chocolate, are you?”
“No, I’m not. You want me to cover the chocolate fest?” she asked, as if he hadn’t just said precisely that. She looked up and saw Joel leaning against the half-open door of her office.He winked and gave her the thumbs-up sign. “I’ll be delighted to do it,” she told the man, and wrote the information on a scratch pad.
“You’ll have to eat a lot of chocolate,” Joel said when she hung up. “And I’d better tell you that you may regret taking this assignment.”
“Why? I should think it would naturally be assigned to this desk.”
“Yeah, but your predecessor hated chocolate so Max Baldwin,one of the reporters, got the job. And believe me, Max is going to be incensed, but the director of the chocolate fest claimed that Max was unfair and didn’t want him back.”
She didn’t like to hear that. “Was he unfair?”
“I didn’t think so, but he did lay it on rather thick. Max is candid, and he does not mince words. He’s also a first-class reporter.”
Trying for levity in what she regarded as a sticky situation,she said, “Is he especially fond of chocolate?”
“That’s a part of the problem. He’s a chocolaholic.”
“Oh dear. Do you think that book will satisfy your sister?”
“It advises having waiters pass hot hors d’oeuvres and cocktails among the guests and a three-piece string ensemble.Seems to me she could have thought of that herself. But thanks.
“I’d better introduce you to Max. He dislikes surprises as much as he loves chocolate.” They walked to Max’s office, but he wasn’t there. “We’ll do it another time,” Joel said. “Thanks again for your help with the garden party.”
Leticia completed her first day on the new job with the conviction that she needed to move from food columnist to feature writer, and she began thinking of ways in which to accomplish it. She’d give herself a year as a food writer, less time if she could manage it, but definitely no longer. Writing about chocolate would not support the goal she’d set for herself.
Fired up with enthusiasm for her work as a reporter, she phoned Kenyetta. “How about a movie this evening, Ken? I need to unwind.”
“Uh ... sorry, but I have a date.”
“You have? You’re going out with a guy this evening? Girl, it’s Monday. He must be real anxious if he can’t wait till the weekend. Who is he?”
“I’m not talking, ’cause I ... uh, I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Well, you go, girl. Maybe another time.” She hung up, thinking secrecy about a man seemed out of character for Kenyetta. It would have been more like her to parade the man in front of Leticia, who didn’t have a boyfriend. Hmm. She hadn’t thought of Kenyetta as devious. But ... some women could behave strangely when it came to men. It bore watching,and as loose as Kenyetta’s tongue could be, the matter wouldn’t be a secret much longer.
Leticia couldn’t know then that her cousin harbored an embarrassing secret. Half an hour before Leticia called her, Kenyetta began work on a drama script that she hoped her seventh grade pupils would perform at the end of the summermakeup classes. She hated teaching summer school, but at the end of the following year she would have a sabbatical, so she had accepted the assignment, although grudgingly. But she’d hardly written half a page of dialogue when Reggie called her.
“I’m on my way over, and I’m starved. So if you don’t have anything in the house, send out for something. See you shortly.”
She bristled. The man was beginning to get on her nerves. “Reggie, I don’t happen to have any. . .
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A Change Had To Come
Gwynne Forster
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