Voices from the television

Nicole was not an attractive woman. This was not simply her own opinion, it was something that had been said to her numerous times by her own mother.

“Girls like you Nicole, won’t be swept off their feet by a good looking, rich man. You got all of your father’s bad genes; big lips, big eyes, big cheeks, big forehead. And for some reason you didn’t get his charm or my confidence. And baby girl you’re too dark. You can’t compete with the light skinned girls. You need to use your brain. Do well in school, look out for yourself and you stand a chance of being a success.”

Spiteful criticisms, were the only things her mother ever told her about her father and as a result he was always a vague figure; a murky, solitary individual standing on a hilltop far away. As a young girl who idolised her mother, nothing about what was said regarding her looks seemed problematic or mean spirited. At the time, Nicole simply assumed that’s how mother’s talked to their daughters. So she did as she was told. She did well in school. She was academically the top student for the last three years of high school. She had no friends. She was bullied and teased and yet she was surprisingly unaffected by it all. Her mother, one of only two people at the time who had mattered to her had given her a game plan and by all accounts she had executed it to perfection. They also moved around a lot. Nicole attended three different schools, in three different states for all of her high school education. The fact that she was academically superior, taking into account her turbulent and at times horrendously violent home life was something that she herself was amazed by. She knew she had an edge; an unfair advantage over her peers. Emotional and intellectual fortitude. Then there was of course her grandma, the other person in her life who mattered to her and continued to matter to her. You see as Nicole got older her affection and respect for her own mother dissipated with each passing year. By the time she was an adult she no longer referred to her mother as mum but rather as a woman named Gale who happened to have given birth to her. As Nicole widened her eyes, staring at the mirror, she applied a little more lip balm and wiped the face lotion deeper into her forehead and cheeks. She never wore makeup, never put on lipstick, never played around with her hair. She was not beautiful. There was no need to impress anyone. She never looked at men because they never looked at her and in the age of free pornography and affordable, reliable vibrators who needed a man. Also, Scandinavia existed she had once thought whimsically. Apparently they absolutely loved their dark skinned women over there. Nicole had planned to retire in one of those countries. She was impressed by their liberal, intellectual, easy going lifestyle. How life would have been different if she had grown up over there. She smacked her lips together and spun on her heels. She walked out of the bathroom, down the hallway and into the lounge. She wore a green sweater, a free flowing back dress and snow white tennis shoes. Her fashion sense was deliberately absurd. She grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter top, scanned the room making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything and left for work. She lived alone in an affluent area. She owned a three bedroom apartment in a gated community and drove a BMW and a Bentley. She drove the BMW to work that morning. The traffic as usual was tedious. A man driving a big truck tried to force his way into her lane. She kept cool and didn’t allow herself to be intimidated. The man sneered down at her as he passed. She glared back at him with hissing excitement. She knew how to rely on herself. It was something she had to learn from an early age. Her mother, Gale, would leave her alone in their small apartment and be gone the whole night. Sometimes she’d leave for days. Nicole would cry so loud at times the neighbours felt compelled to take her in until her mother returned. They never lived in good neighbourhoods. No one called the cops or child services. That type of thinking simply didn’t occur in the communities she grew up in. That also isn’t to say that there were no good people around. Decent folks are decent folks and they exist everywhere. When Gale showed up she was usually hung over or still drunk and she did not tolerate Nicole’s emotional affliction. She would shout at her daughter to be quiet: ‘You act as though I moved to Mexico! You stop your crying this moment!’

One time she even slapped Nicole across the face. Gale abandoning her was routine, something that continued for years and soon enough, Nicole realised that some things couldn’t be changed. When she was seven or eight she saw her mother leave. She stood by the small kitchen table, fists clenched, eyes wide open.

‘I’m going out Nicole. There’s food in the fridge so you can make yourself something if you’re hungry. If you use the stove make sure you turn it off after. You burn down this apartment and I’ll bury you alive.’ Gale said. She sucked on the cigarette in her mouth, opened the front door and left shrouded in thick blue smoke. Nicole, forcing the tears back vowed that she would not cry. She did her homework. Ate bread with peanut butter neatly applied on the slices and washed it down with sweet, black tea. She raised the volume on the television before she climbed into bed. Listening to the voices from the television made it easier for her to fall asleep. The following morning she woke up and prepared herself for school. Gale returned just as she was about to leave. She made her mother a cup of coffee and in return her mother gave her money for lunch. They hardly exchanged words with one another. Nicole went to school proud that she hadn’t cried and from that day onwards she never shed a tear for her mother ever again. She parked her car and switched the engine off. In front of her, the letters C.E.O stared back at her. If you could see me now she said to herself, smiling. She glided into the office. Her office. She was the founder of Black Jam Inc. a lifestyle company. She had inherited her grandmother’s business of making jam from blackcurrants. Her grandmother sold the jam to neighbours and friends. When Gale left her with her grandma and disappeared, sometimes for months, Nicole would help her make the jam. It was a stability that Nicole craved, needed and appreciated. They would fill up several jars and drive around the neighbourhood, going door to door, sometimes parking the car on the side of the road to sell to a local who had shouted at them from across the street to buy a jar or two. Grandma was so good with people. A jar sold more often than not ended up becoming a fifteen minute conversation about the community, how it was changing, the lack of help the local government provided for the people, gossip, so and so was arrested whilst so and so was having an affair. When her grandma, whose name was Polina or just grandma Po, passed away she left her recipe and jam making equipment to Nicole and she in turn continued the business and became successful. She eventually diversified and made strawberry and blue berry jam. She then hired additional staff who specialised in making hot sauces and then continued by employing local, highly specialised artisans who worked with wool and cotton to make sweaters, bath towels, curtains, others made wooden furnisher and crafts, some made organic hair food specifically for black peoples hair. She accumulated nine different business which all fell under her Black Jam Inc. brand and she marketed the entire business as a lifestyle company. A well-dressed petite woman wearing black rimmed glasses approached her in the reception foyer.

“The Tribune called again.” She said.

“Not interested.” Nicole responded, striding towards her office.

“If we give them something they’ll stop calling. And what’s wrong with celebrating the gangsta queen that you are?”

“Well I’m not a queen or a gangsta.”

“Nicole, you’re a successful black business woman. There’s not a lot of those around. The fact that you exist in this city at this time is something that needs to be celebrated and think of all the young black girls you will inspire. Remember your pledge? All of this was created to inspire the next generation of kids. Doing this interview can go a long way in doing that.”

Nicole placed her handbag and cell phone on the table and switched her computer on. She sighed looking at her assistant. Beyond her, her other employees went about their day; staring at their computer screens, typing on their keyboards in the most nonchalant way,  having small chats about work, about last night’s episode of that show everyone liked.

“I’ll think about it. But that’s all I’ll do Amanda, I’m not promising anything. In the meanwhile, I need coffee.”

“You got it.” Amanda replied with a big smile across her face. She dashed out of the room. Nicole spent the first hour of her work day reading and replying to e-mails. The next hour was spent on the phone with contractors, suppliers, a twenty minute conversation with the company’s lawyer and then middle management. She had gulped down four cups of coffee and had written down two pages of notes before she headed to the morning meeting. Amanda was already in the boardroom speaking gaily with the other colleagues. Her eyes lit up when she saw Nicole and she jumped to her feet and approached her.

“Please type these out and attend to the things that I’ve put an asterisks next to.” Nicole said handing Amanda her hand written notes.

“Carlos is back at it.”

“What is it this time?” Nicole blurted.

“I’ll let June explain.” Amanda replied with smiling eyes.

“Morning everyone. Take a seat and let’s get to it.” Nicole said sitting down. With her elbows firmly planted on the wooden table she assumed her big boss lady persona. “What’s this I hear about Carlos?”

“He’s resisting the new process.” June replied. She was a middle-aged woman with a streak of white hair that ran through her otherwise lush brown locks. She wore thick spectacles and had the look of a no nonsense enforcer. 

“We’re going green. This shouldn’t be a surprise. I announced it almost two years ago; a company-wide policy.”

“His whole issue is that the new process will be costly particularly taking into account having to train the staff, the setbacks it will cause etcetera.”

“God damn, Carlos. I’ll have a talk with him.”

“He’s an old dog Nicole. He can’t be taught new tricks and he certainly doesn’t want to learn new tricks. We need to get rid of him.”

“Let’s just cool it. I’ll have a talk with him.” The meeting breezed along. Nicole was fortunate in how she had managed to amass a group of competent and genuinely good people around her. They weren’t necessarily interested in pleasing her however they all bought into her vision wholeheartedly. Lunch was a toasted sandwich and a chocolate milkshake eaten at her desk as she continued to work. Amanda had always frowned upon the entire routine;

‘It’s unhealthy to eat alone at your work station.’ She would say with the air of a medical professional. One time she actually locked Nicole out of her own office forcing her to have lunch with everyone else in the main hall downstairs. After her lunch she headed to the edge of the city to one of the small factories she owned to inspect and assess the new machinery that had arrived. It was quite expensive, imported from Germany and it was the best of the best according to Frank, the floor manager, who couldn’t help but express glee all over his persona as he explained how the machinery would increase production. 

“Just look at the workmanship.” Frank said. He’d leant down observing the innards of the machine. Nicole glanced at the other workers standing by wondering if she was the only one that felt that her floor managers enthusiasm was a bit too much.

“As long as it can help us meet our targets, I’m satisfied.” She stated.

“Oh, it definitely will.”

She stayed at the factory for another hour, getting up to speed with production and distribution and general employee welfare. She felt it important to engage with her workers on a human level. She was in the car driving through the city when Amanda called her regarding a delay of supplies due to an accident on one of the main highways into the city. The traffic in front of her eventually came to a standstill. It was a rapid back and forth, question and answer with Amanda for two minutes before the call ended. Nicole smiled and then laughed. Good news consistently came with bad news; that was the nature of the job. She turned up the A.C. in the car. The sun was screaming heat across the city. A man on the street was emptying a bottle of water all over his head. She was stuck in traffic for twenty minutes and the breezy tunes of Norah Jones did little to alleviate her frustration. Back at the office the rhythms of a hectic day continued. Nicole dealt with stress by ploughing through it; moving steadily along until she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. She had sat at her desk and got back to work and it seemed when she lifted her head Amanda was at her door bidding her farewell. The work day was over. She got back to work and when she lifted her head again, the janitor was mopping the floor and it was dark outside. She glanced at her cell phone. It was ten to eight. The janitor greeted her timidly, as he always did. His eyes had an exasperated look in them; a suggestion that quietly expressed a disproval of her staying so late at the office. She switched off her computer. Tomorrow was another day she thought to herself. When she entered her apartment she kicked off her shoes, poured herself a large glass of wine and switched on the television. She had to deliberately focus her mind on anything other than work to truly begin to unwind. The Merlot helped. It also distracted her from the emptiness and the loneliness that crept in from the far edges like snarling hyenas. The life in the box she was staring at was so easy. So lovely. At times it felt like a warm fire that also beamed forth a homely assuring glow that whispered, ‘Everything’s going to be alright.’

She placed the half empty glass of wine on the table as her eyes began to droop and she laid on the couch. She fell asleep to the soothing voices from the television.