Latessa's New Position | Neal's Home Page | ASSTR Home Page
CAUTION: This story is not politically correct. It includes the humiliation and degradation of willing and maybe not so willing black women. The "n" word is used liberally.
by Neal
Tom Davis stood nervously outside his boss's office, waiting for him to get off the phone. The tall black man had recently turned forty. Except for his receding hair line, the years hadn't caught up with him yet. Despite having been repairing office equipment for Mr. Andrews for almost ten years, he hadn't had too many occasions to speak with him.
Finally, the older man waved him into the office, looking up at him as he wrapped up his conversation. Jack Andrews was youthful looking for fifty with steel blue eyes and salt and pepper hair.
"So, Tom, what can I do for you?" he asked after hanging up the phone.
"Well, Mr. Andrews," said Tom, "I was hopin' there was some way I could get some extra hours. I could sure use the money."
"There really aren't extra hours to have," answered Jack. "I'm sorry, but we're limited by our clients' needs. If we take any more on, that may change. Sorry I can't help you out."
"It's just that my wife was one of the managers at Genron, that company that had all the layoffs," Tom explained. "She and the twenty some odd folks that reported to her all got it. Even her boss got laid off. She got a job at the 7-11, but that's just minimum wage. We got to do somethin' 'cause our daughter's goin' to college next year."
"I don't know what to say, buddy," sighed his boss. "I can't give you hours I don't have." He pondered a moment, "well, there is another way I might be able to help. I might be able to give your wife better work than she's got now."
"I didn't know we were hiring." Tom replied, having already started checking the company bulletin board for jobs that his wife, Latessa, would be suited for.
"No, it's not here at the company," Jack responded. "It's at my house. See, my wife has her hands full, what with two teenagers and a big house. We actually had a couple of girls to help her out. The morning girl turned up in a family way, if you know what I mean, and had to stop working for us. Cooking breakfast and lunch, making beds, doing laundry, and other light housework."
"A maid?" asked Tom, his eyebrows raised.
Latessa would not be happy about this, he thought.
"I'm just brainstorming here, Tom," replied Jack. "The 7-11 pays minimum wage. The maid job pays six hundred dollars a week. It's got to be better than selling cigarettes and lotto tickets. But, whatever. Bounce it off the little woman and let me know if she's interested. But, either way, I'll keep an ear to the ground for her. A woman who managed a big department like that shouldn't be making slushies at the 7-11. Something's bound to turn up."
"Thanks, sir," replied Tom. "I appreciate it. And I'll let you know."
* * *
Latessa Davis was a fine looking black woman who looked much younger than her thirty nine years. Beautiful dark skin, soft brown eyes, and thick full lips. Her long straightened hair reached her shoulders. That night after supper, it was she who broached the subject.
"So, Tommy," she asked, "How did it go with the boss? Are you gonna be able to get some more hours?"
"Uh, no," he replied, getting up his nerve. "But he did have somethin'. But it wasn't for me. It was for you."
"Me?" she asked. "I thought you said there weren't any jobs there."
"It's not at the company," he explained. "It's at Mr. Andrews' place. His wife needs some... uh... domestic help."
"What!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "That's what you got for me? A fuckin' maid job! The fuck I'm gonna go clean up some white family's messes!"
"It's six hundred dollars a week," he replied. "Look, I just told him I'd tell you about it and now I did. I'm only thinkin' of Darlene. Even with the scholarship we got to have more money. Losin' your manager pay hurt us bad."
"Oh, Tommy," she sighed. "A fuckin' maid. Is that what it's come to?"
"I'm sorry, baby," he reassured her. "It's only temporary. Things'll pick up and somethin' better's bound to come up. Plus, this is better than some convenience store job. I'm always afraid for you there. The place has been held up before! At least we wouldn't have to worry about that with you up at Mr. Andrews' place."
"All right, I guess it can't hurt to at least go talk to them." Latessa seemed resigned to suffering indignities like this since losing her well paying job.
* * *
Tom told Jack the next morning that Latessa was willing to come to his house and talk to him and his wife to see if she'd be interested in the job. They made arrangements for eight o'clock that evening.
* * *
The Andrews place was in a suburban neighborhood where the houses were far apart and for the most part couldn't be seen from the street. Tom pushed the button on the speaker box at the gate and announced he and Latessa's arrival. They were buzzed in and drove through. He parked the car at the end of the Andrews's long driveway and looked over at his wife.
Latessa was still upset about the situation. But she had calmed down with the time she'd had to think about it, along with another shift at the 7-11. Sweeping the floor there and cleaning burnt nacho cheese out of the microwave oven. The maid job started to look good by comparison.
A big black woman in a full maid uniform answered the door when they rang the bell. She was in her early thirties with a dark complexion and pronounced African features, with an especially broad nose and thick lips. And her uniform wasn't one of the silly French maid outfits seen in girlie magazines. Instead, it was a charcoal colored work dress that reached her knees with a white apron tied around her waist. She even sported a white maid's cap in her short curly hair.
"Dey be expectin' you," she said plainly and stepped back allowing the black couple to enter.
She led them across the flagstone entry way into the thickly carpeted living room. The room was quite large, one entire wall was made of panels of glass that looked out onto a patio with a large grassy yard beyond it. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews sat on the couch and watched them come into the room.
Mrs. Andrews appeared to be much younger than Tom and Latessa, certainly no older that thirty. Blue eyes and blonde hair down to her shoulders, Cindy Andrews was the picture of a suburban woman of leisure. She was the daughter of a prominent state senator for the district and niece of a county court judge. Her connections had helped Jack's business prosper and made both of them very wealthy.
Jack stood and offered Tom and then Latessa his hand.
"Glad you made it," he said as he shook hands with them both, keeping his eyes on the black woman. "Hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place."
"No, no trouble at all," Tom replied, taking in the luxurious surroundings.
He also couldn't help admiring Cindy and the way she looked at him. There was an aloofness as well as something cold and calculating about the look on the white woman's face. And something about that stirred a strange sensation inside the black man.
"You may go, Bertha," said Jack to the black maid.
"Thank you, suh," she replied and left the room.
"This is Tom and...." he stopped, having forgotten Tom's wife's name as he introduced the black couple to his wife.
"Latessa," said Latessa, slightly offended at his not knowing her name.
"Yes, Latessa!" exclaimed Jack. "That's right. Sorry about that."
He turned to the Davises, "And this is my wife Mrs. Andrews."
"Pleased to meet you," she said, smiling and remaining seated.
Latessa was a little taken aback at his introducing them by their first names, while only using his wife's surname. Another indignity, she thought. He hadn't even offered them a seat!
Tom on the other hand barely noticed it. Instead he was oddly intrigued by Cindy's behavior. He'd noticed that kind of feeling before in his dealings with white women on the job. The way a receptionist would look at him when he arrived on a service call. How a secretary would speak to him while he repaired a photocopier. It was never as blatant, or as powerful, as what he felt from Cindy. And a quick glance into her blue eyes gave him the strange notion that she could sense it in him. He quickly looked away.
"Anyways," continued Jack, "Latessa is interested in the morning girl's job."
"I see," said Cindy. "Have you ever done domestic work before?"
"I've kept house for almost twenty years and raised a teenage daughter," she replied, trying to suppress her indignation.
Twenty people had reported to her, thought Latessa. Most of them were white! And here this rich white woman who had probably never worked a day in her life was asking her about her maid experience! It was all Latessa could do to keep from slapping her and walking out. But she thought of cleaning out the dirty toilets at the 7-11 and kept her composure.
"Well," laughed the white woman, "I'm sure that qualifies you. The morning girl starts at five thirty. She prepares breakfast for the family. Our boy and girl are in high school, Bobby and Megan are eighteen, they're twins. They need breakfast at seven so they can get to school. Mr. Andrews and I take our breakfast at eight thirty."
"Then it's time to make the beds and get the laundry together," she continued. "Some vacuuming up where it needs it and then get our lunch together and take care of the dishes afterwards. By one thirty you're all done and that's all there is to it. See, it's not difficult. And a sight better than that disgusting store you work at now."
Latessa wasn't sure how much of this white woman she was going to be able to take. But the store was disgusting. Neither were easy to take and this paid better. If she truly hated it, she always go back to the 7-11 or somewhere like it. Jobs like that were always available.
Tom looked at his wife and admired her restraint in the face this less than respectful treatment, while he, meanwhile, had mixed feelings about it himself. Jack and Cindy looked at her, too, waiting for her reaction.
"I suppose I can give it a try," Latessa finally said.
What the fuck, she thought.
"Excellent!" said Cindy. "I don't think Gladys's outfit will fit you, so you'll need to get a proper uniform. Something like Bertha's will be fine. When can you start? I suppose you want to give your present employer some kind of notice."
The white woman's nose wrinkled as she mentioned the convenience store.
"No," said Latessa. "I can start day after tomorrow."
Those chumps at the 7-11 didn't need any notice. They'd be lucky if she did anything other than simply not show up anymore.
"Wonderful!" said Cindy. "I'll have Bertha show you around the kitchen and give you a key to the back door so you can let yourself in your first day. We won't be up yet at that ungodly hour."
Cindy picked up a small brass colored bell with a black handle and rang it. Bertha walked into the room a few seconds later.
"Yes, ma'am?" she asked the lady of the house.
"Latessa will be taking over for Gladys," Cindy instructed. "Show her what she needs to see to start the day after tomorrow. And give her a key."
"Yes, ma'am," replied the negro servant.
Latessa went with Bertha back out of the living room and across the flagstone entry way. They walked through a large formal dining room and through a swinging door to the kitchen. It was quite large and well outfitted. In the back of the room was a door to the outside.
"Here's yo' key," said Bertha, taking a key off a hook inside a cabinet door. "Don' lose it. An' only use dis door. Miz Cindy don' like us usin' da front door."
"Dem chillun o' ders don't want no fancy breakfast," continued the big black maid. "Dey jus' git cereal, milk, an' juice. Miz Cindy'll put a note up over here to say what she an' Massa Jack be havin'."
Latessa thought she wasn't hearing right. "Excuse me, Bertha. I didn't hear right. What did you just say?"
"I say Miz Cindy be puttin' up a note about what to be makin' fo' breakfast," she replied with an odd look on her face.
"No," explained Latessa, "after that. Did you say Massa Jack?"
"Dat's right," said Bertha patiently. "Massa Jack. Dat his name. Ain't you know dat?"
"Ok. Massa Jack." Latessa was starting to have second thoughts about this job. It was starting to feel strange.
"Dat's right, Latessa," explained the colored maid. "You gots to talk respectful like to dese white folks. Dey like to be hearin' 'yes, suh,' an' 'no, ma'am.' You call him Massa Jack an' da lady Miz Cindy. Massa Bobby an' Miz Megan, too."
"Now, I be comin' in early, nine o'clock, an' show you what you need to be doin' after breakfast," she continued. "Where the bedrooms and laundry room is at so you kin git to it."
"One more thing, Bertha," asked Latessa. "How does that woman have children so old?"
"She ain't dere natural mama," replied the young negress. "An' she ain't da first Mrs. Andrews neither."
Mentally, Latessa had already blown off the 7-11. This, too, she would just have to get used to or she'd be back to sweeping scratch tickets off the sidewalk. She'd suck it up. For Darlene.
Back in car, heading out the drive way, Latessa turned to her husband.
"Tommy, those white folks ain't right," she told him. "That girl told me some shit about talkin' to them like we was on the plantation, not in the suburbs. But I'll try, because I know how important it is."
"That's all I ask, baby," he replied. "Somethin's bound to turn up before long. Just got to tough it out for little while." Still, the image of the way Cindy had looked at him haunted the black man as he steered the car down the road towards home.
* * *
The uniform shop proved to be another humiliation for Latessa. She found it was nothing like the trendy shops at the mall where she used to shop for her professional attire. Bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling and a grubby linoleum floor greeted her as she walked in the door. No posed mannequins, no colorful posters. Just racks of clothes for nurses, waitresses, and of course, maids.
The clerk, a young teenaged white girl with green dyed hair, popped her gum while reading a magazine when Latessa was ready to check out. Glaring at the black woman for the interruption, she removed her headphones.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"I need to buy these," Latessa said, placing three identical charcoal colored work dresses on the counter. "Do you take American Express?"
"You've got American Express?" the white girl snickered. "No. Visa or Master Card. That's it, lady. And I'll need a picture ID."
Her face flushed as she fumbled in her purse to get a different card and handed it over. No, she thought, this isn't how they treated her at the mall.
* * *
Darlene found Latessa standing in front of the full length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She was wearing her newly purchased maid's uniform. The teenager could tell her mother had been crying. Her daughter looked like a younger version of herself and even wore her hair in the same long straightened style.
"What are you wearing, Mama?" she asked. "What are you dressed up like a maid for?"
"Well, baby girl," sighed Latessa, "your mama has got to do some unpleasant things sometimes. It's part of being grown up. Just for a little while I'm gonna be workin' up to your daddy's boss's house. As a maid. It pays better than what I got at the 7-11. It's hard to say which is more demeanin'"
She stood and stared into the mirror. The black maid looked back.
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