Please enjoy this second sample from Home!! Release date: 3.2.15. Now available for pre-order. CLICK HERE for your copy!!
I sat there and tried not to let my eyes glaze over as another young, attractive, African American female rattled off her qualifications to me in an effort to convince me to hire her as my administrative assistant since, unfortunately, I’d had to fire Alma. One night was all I was trying to give her. But after that night, she started strutting around the office like she owned the place, typed on the keypad of her cell phone more than she ever did the computer. I just couldn’t afford to keep her, or her attitude, around after I told her we were through.
So there I sat, just three months after hiring her, seeking her replacement, listening to Jazzmine, who was thicker than a six-pack of Snickers. As she rambled on about her experience in Atlanta, I penciled an “x” beside her name. She wouldn’t do at all. She was too fine. So were Kammera, LaShay, and Amber—fine, finer, and finest. I had to find someone unattractive to hire if I was going to keep any help around here.
I stood and shook her hand once the interview was over, gave her the “I’ll be in touch” lie, and settled back down in my executive chair. I loosened my tie and released a long, belabored sigh. More interviews tomorrow. I was just about to pray that a homely girl with impeccable organizational and typing skills would show up at my door when my cell phone rang. I recognized the area code but not the number. The call was coming from Arkansas.
My whole body stiffened. The only time I got calls from Arkansas was when my mother, who was suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s disease, happened to get ahold of the phone and hit the speed-dial for my number, and even then, she swore I was my daddy, and those conversations were awkward to say the least. If she wasn’t whispering sweet nothings to me, she was crying or cussing about some woman she was sure I/my father was with. The only other time I got a call was on my birthday, and that call came from my Aunt Erma. Well, it wasn’t my birthday, so it was more than likely my mother who’d probably gotten her hands on someone’s phone. And as much as I loved that woman (and I truly did) it was almost too painful for me to speak to her, knowing she had no idea who I was.