Point Of No Return Ch 03

"Silvia, could you come to my office, please?"

"Give me ten minutes, Mr. Okusanya." She answered, typing away at her computer.

"As many as you need. I'll wait for you."

My wife Silvia couldn't help but make a growl of annoyance as she hung up the phone. Heather, sitting in front of her, didn't miss that gesture.

"What does he want?" Heather asked with a slight, educated tone reflecting her upbringing. Her friend was a breathtakingly beautiful woman with milky skin and reddish ringlets pulled back into a tight braid. Although in many ways they were opposites, they had become friends working together in Ayuda Inmediata.

"He's annoying, you know... on Fridays, he always comes up with something," Silvia said with a reluctant sigh.

She made her way across the office, aware of sudden silences and sideways glances darting in her direction. Once in the mirrored elevator, she anxiously scrutinized her reflection. She had a curvaceous figure that most women envied, and the black chiffon suit and skirt combo fit her perfectly accentuating her breasts. Her wavy long, blonde hair, pulled up and away from her beautiful face, was done up in a bun held in place by two metal sticks. Black stilettos completed her corporate outfit. She looked professional. Confident.

She found the door of her boss' office closed and knocked before opening it. The room was tastefully decorated with modern furniture and African tribal artwork, giving it a sleek and exotic feel. At the head of the table sat a black man in a blue suit, reclining in a large leather office chair.

"Come in, I was waiting for you," Okusanya said, getting up to greet her. His fondness for sports was reflected in the broadness of his shoulders, the swell of his muscled chest, and the thickness of his arms - all showcased by a perfectly tailored suit.

"Thank you." She mumbled, cleared her throat, and straightened out. The plush carpet muted the sound of her heels as she entered.

Idowu Okusanya offered her a seat with a kind gesture and smiled as he looked her in the eye. His dusky black face has the thick, sumptuous lips typical of most purely African men, the jaw square and manly, a wide nose, and deep penetrating intensely dark eyes. His body was magnificent - it must have been six-eight from his bare feet to the top of his head not; with her heels on, her eyes barely reached his shoulders - and oozed unspoken masculinity, borne of a dominant, and apparent, calming nature, though she always had the impression there was something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

"What's exactly your mission in this NGO?" He asked, his voice deep and booming.

Silvia nodded, feeling intimidated but also strangely intrigued by his question. She pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear and struggled to keep calm before speaking.

"I'm here," she paused before looking him in the eye and continuing "to create marketing strategies to obtain funds for the development of Western Africa."

"No." He immediately answered. "Your task is to make Europeans take responsibility for the plight of the black people and address their subconscious racism. Some level of guilt is necessary to get that money. The story begins with a careful presentation of Africans based on poverty and helpless goodness: sores, baby soldiers, droughts, refugee camps, and vultures are very useful in marketing campaigns. NGOs are our new therapists, psychoanalyzing our wealthy societies and restoring their well-being state through a catharsis based on payment. You can't discuss any development aid without acknowledging first the existence of white privilege," he concluded.

Silvia found herself disturbingly drawn to Okusanya's deep, commanding voice and the way he spoke with confidence and authority. She forced herself to stare straight ahead, trying to project confidence. "To be quite honest with you, I've always been a little uncomfortable with the concept of white privilege," she said. "Neither of my parents was wealthy and both worked very hard to make ends meet."

"Roughly 12.5 million Africans were shipped in chains across the Atlantic to the Americas. These men were chosen because they were in the very prime of their physical and reproductive lives. Their labor and that of their potential offspring was irrevocably lost to Africa, imposing a still unrecognized form of collective impoverishment. But you're right, Silvia. I don't want anyone to think African history is just a tragedy. We must present black history to be one of triumph. My goal in this ONG is to share the African experience, the black truth, with all my employees... and then you'll find the way to take responsibility for the plight of the black man, and address your subconscious racism," he finished his speech with a warm smile.

"This question point lies at the heart of my doctoral thesis," Silvia gingerly said.

"Great... as we will soon sign a contract with the President of Yorubaland for one hundred million dollars. We've been looking for someone to fill a leadership role in our new department for affirmative action, and I think you might be a great fit. You have the skills and experience necessary to succeed...."

"Oh my God. Really?"

"But... as I'm sure you'll understand, our investors show some reluctance to admit department managers such as yourself. Those profiles have been... let's say, overrepresented in higher education and haven't grown in a diverse environment. It was your doctoral thesis, however, that caught my eye. I found your dedication to racial justice, specifically black racial justice, to be quite inspiring." Idowu Okusanya leaned forward, his expression serious. He was a self-made man, growing up on the wrong side of Nairobi, but working hard, being devilishly smart, and catching a few breaks made him the CEO of this NGO.

"I'm fully committed to racial justice." She could feel his gaze piercing through her, as if he was trying to read her soul. The silence in the room was deafening. "My parents were catholic and very traditional, but..."

"Traditional," he repeated. "By which, of course, you mean racist."

"In a way, yes, I suppose my parents are a bit...racist. But I'm not!" Silvia exclaimed.

He tapped her fingers along the desk. "Well," he slipped some paperwork back into its folder, and continued, "I'm, otherwise, impressed with your curriculum, and want to provide you with every opportunity to correct past oversights."

The flattery made no impression on her and Idowu Okusanya began a tedious dissertation on the NGO's evolution in the last two years and then explained the expansion plans that the partners had in mind. Silvia was lost in the convoluted speech full of repetitive arguments and unimportant details. "I'd like to hear your opinion about this new department."

"Well, as you know, this is an area I have been working on for years. I could prepare a report on what I would consider a priority."

Okusanya leaned his elbows on the table as he moved towards her.

"I want something else, Silvia. I want to know what you would do, how you would organize that department if it were your responsibility."

Taken by surprise by his veiled offer, she tried to keep her face from betraying the emotions that came over her, but her boss' smile told her that she had not been successful.

"On Monday, I have to present a brief proposal to the Ministry of Interior of Yorubaland. Yes, I know it's all very rushed, but I would appreciate it if you could spare the rest of the day for me."

Silvia hesitated about the prospect of working with him that afternoon. But taking charge of the new department would be the culmination of her career. How could she waste an opportunity like that?

She was suspicious of her boss and always kept a vigilant tension hidden behind cold and distant politeness wrapped in feigned cordiality. She still remembered the raw attempts at harassment during her first years in the NGO. Eventually, Idowu had come to the conviction that she was unapproachable but... she could not reject an opportunity that maybe would never present again.

"Of course. I'll get on with it right now and I'll have something written tomorrow." Silvia forced herself to appear casual before his inquisitive eyes, but he began to shake his head.

"No, Silvia, I need something elaborate, something solid... Why don't we have lunch together? We could exchange ideas and then, in the afternoon, we'll structure the project... okay?" Idowu didn't wait for her answer, so he got up from the table, ending the conversation. "I'll pick you up in two hours."

Still dazed, Silvia returned to her office with the excitement of having the new department within her reach and the uncomfortable intuition of being besieged.

She looked for his cell phone on the desk to call me. When I didn't answer, she imagined I was busy and sent me a brief message. We had agreed to go to the gym every Friday, and she let me know that she had a work meeting:

"I'm having lunch with Idowu, don't wait for me at the gym."

She was still working on her ideas when a buzz sounded. Then she read my brief and sarcastic message:

"Sure."

My wife had to make a big effort to relate this ironic word to our conversation over the weekend when she decided to challenge my jealousy with a mysterious test. She got irritated, as she wasn't in the mood for silly games. At that moment she needed to share his doubts with me and found my answer childish and inconsequential.

She left her phone on the table with annoyance and continued working. When she received my call later, she silenced her phone and ignored me. The last thing she needed at that moment was a joke about our stupid test.

At coffee break, she opened the box of Oreo cookies on her desk and offered Heather some, to which she smiled at me gratefully.

"Thanks. You know I love chocolate."

"I'm fine with sharing," Silvia answered smiling while her friend chewed on the chocolate, watching it disappear between her pink lips. "You got any weekend plans?"

Heather hesitated for a second. "Yeah. I've been talking to somebody, and we're probably going to hang out."

"How does your hubby feel about, you know...this?" Silvia asked her.

"He's fine with it," Heather answered grinning wickedly, and shrugged her shoulders. She had an eye for fashion, she was a sucker for romantic comedies, and, on the top of her right ankle, she wore a black spade tattoo with pride. Her husband didn't trust blacks, but they were always sweet and playful with her. The men she chose weren't exactly gentlemen but liked their raw behavior.

"I was just asking." Silvia held up her hands in surrender. "But try not to entice our boss too. You wouldn't want to distract him from work eye-fucking him."

"I'm not the only one," Heather pouted. "When was the last time you got laid, Silvia? Get some help to achieve your goal, girl!"

Silvia smiled resignedly. After six unsuccessful months of trying, she started to think that we should go to a fertility clinic to get "checked out" if something didn't happen this month. It had been an emotional roller coaster every two weeks of testing for ovulation and testing for pregnancy. Her body temperature grew two days ago, indicating the start of ovulation, and it will be lower again after one week, indicating her fertile week is over. Marital sex had become an exhausting routine that strained our relationship and we didn't feel able to talk to anyone about it, whilst people around us asked when were we going to start a family. It not only was emotionally draining but had unexpected consequences.

My wife Silvia always had a strong sex drive, and she got super horny during ovulation. But she had been taking birth control since we got engaged and the pills tend to control that libido. When we decided that the time was right to bring a baby into our family, she took off her birth control pills of course. When her natural rush of hormones returned, added to the Fertility drugs, Silvia went from her usual horny state to ultra super horny.

One hour later, Okusanya opened the door without knocking and stood framed in the doorway, his broad figure taking up most of opening. Silvia was once again struck by just how physically imposing he was, the top of his skull only an inch or so below the head jamb. She closed her computer, gathered some papers into a folder, grabbed her jacket and bag, and then left, trying not to brush against her boss. Her cleavage bounced as she walked in heels.

They took the elevator with three colleagues, and she could smell the scent of Idowu's cologne nearby, too strong for her taste. He was very close to her, their eyes met several times and Okusanya kept a confident smile while scrutinizing her cleavage. The silence in the elevator became increasingly heavier. Each chime of the elevator as it glided down through the skyscraper's floors felt like a fingertip climbing up her spine. They walked out to the reception area; there were some groups of employees around, and then Okusanya took her arm. She had seen him do the same hundreds of times with his victims and understood the significance that this gesture, made in public, had for both Okusanya and their colleagues. But she also knew that she could not allow herself to embarrass her boss in front of all of them and she repressed any gesture of rejection. She had fallen into a trap from which she could not escape... for the moment.

As they walked together, she noticed the way that people glanced at him with a mixture of respect and awe. She also detected judgmental glances... but it was most likely her imagination. Despite the shame riding scarlet on her cheeks, she also started to feel a familiar tingle between her legs. The fucking hormones working.

"I'm going to take you to a place you'll love," Okusanya said gesturing to his personal driver.

All the way to the restaurant she pretended to listen to his bombastic monologue. For all these years she had managed to avoid Idowu Okusanya despite his influence and now he was trying to use the promotion card for his profit. She was not so much worried about her colleagues' comments as about what her boss could infer from her passivity. At the same time, she was preparing a strategy that would not harm her promotion and that would not give him unfounded expectations.

They arrived at the door of an expensive and well-known restaurant on Bourbon Street and upon entering the maitre addressed Okusanya with the kindness due to a regular customer. He accompanied them to a table in a corner. The dark colored interior had been tastefully lit up in various shades of warm pink, with cool teal LED strips strategically placed to overlap into a pale purple. The conversation of the few people left was quiet, drowned out by the thudding classical music.

There was jazz on the sound system seeming the perfect soundtrack for their entrance, and she noticed curious glances following the interracial couple. With her boss's dark hand absentmindedly caressing her side, Silvia felt like the stereotypical businessman's escort; her hips swayed sexily, and she slightly rolled her shoulders, which made that outstanding rack shift side to side, not much but enough to catch the eye. Okusanya was big and muscular, but not especially handsome. The word that stuck in Silvia's mind was 'masculine'. His facial traits weren't well-proportioned enough to count as handsome: his nose was too large, his forehead a tiny bit too pronounced. But, taken in tandem with his height and heavy-set body, all came together to create an overwhelmingly manly impression.

The scent of sex and money, the contrast between femininity and masculinity, whiteness and blackness, and subtle submission and dominance, fueled the curiosity. A shiver of pleasure ran down her back when Silvia discovered herself as a decorative object. She did not understand why now she felt this primal excitement at being considered a luxury object, a trophy, a detail of elegance and good taste to be displayed on the arm of this successful man used to being seen surrounded by the most beautiful and expensive. A luxury object, that was what she was at that moment, and she felt a sudden suffocation.

My wife Silvia sat down in the armchair against the wall and placed her bag to his left, marking her territory. She knew full well Okusanya's habit of sitting next to the woman he tried to seduce..., but this time he sat down in a chair in front of her.

The lunch passed slowly, too slowly for what she'd have liked. Okusanya alternated details of the company's expansion plan with personal anecdotes and incursions into Silvia's personal life that she managed to divert with diplomacy.

"And Paul, how is he doing?" Okusanya asked her about me.

"Well, you know my husband. He's very immersed in his work at college."

"Yes. He's a romantic, always surrounded by students, researching theories with no way out..."

This time, Silvia wasn't going to put up with him underestimating me.

"If it weren't for social researchers, other professionals wouldn't be able to do their work."

"You're right, some prepare the way and others use it to prosper."

She felt that her argument had backfired on us, but avoided counterarguing. As Okusanya continued to expound his pragmatic view about development aid in Africa, Silvia mentally reproached me for my previous childish attitude. She felt unfairly abandoned at a crucial moment in her career, and resentment began to grow within her. The idea of putting me in a difficult position and playing with jealousy came to her mind.

"Paul is attending the January seminar in Lisboa," she said and Okusanya pretended he was aware of that boring seminar about Western colonialism: "You know he's very involved in these matters. Wait, I will call him and he will give you the details. It could be useful for this project."

As she considered the absurdity of her argument, Silvia dialed my number. I heard my phone vibrating on the desk, but it took me a moment to glance over and see it was my wife.

"Hello darling," I said.

"Hello honey, you got my message right?"

"Of course, and you received mine."

"I'll be a little late, you go home and I'll call you later. By the way, Idowu just asked me about the January congress. You tell him, okay? Kisses!"

I didn't have time to answer as I immediately heard Idowu Okusanya's pompous voice, acting like my 'friend'. I listened to him without understanding his intentions and answered him briefly, promising more information.

"You give it to your girl, since I have her around every day," he told me.

Okusanya handed her the cell phone without waiting for my answer, and Silvia felt her boss was looking at her differently. It was less than a second, but she perceived something in his eyes that she did not like. Then she realized that, since she knew about the new department, her attitude towards her boss had considerably softened. Once again, the tension of knowing she was on dangerous ground took hold of her stomach.

"If you're mad at your husband for something, I think you already made your point," the black man said.

"You're a smart gentleman," she said and parted her full lips slightly.

"I'm not a gentleman all the time."

At Okusanya's request, the table was cleared and he ordered two coffees. Then he took a dossier out of his briefcase and opened it on the table, beginning a long explanation of graphs and budgets. When the coffees were brought, Silvia took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and when she returned, her boss sat next to her, arguing that they would work better on the reports.

This close, his strong physique was pure intimidation and heavily contrasted to Silvia's figure. Everything seemed normal in the work environment and once again she felt manipulated. She was not willing to let herself be pushed around and, with a certain fatalism, she prepared to stop him at the slightest opportunity, even if it put her promotion in danger.