Executive Suite, or Sweet Executive?

by Rene Larouche

  Also by this Author:

  Jason Macdonald, The First Cuckold Caught With Consequences Christmas Eve First Time For Both For The Love Of Money The Journal

  Copyright © TT Publishing 2012

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  Executive Suite or Sweet Executive?

  By: Rene Larouche

  The Interview Dwayne Williams walked to and through the front doors of his corporate offices and main manufacturing plant from the double wide parking space with its ‘Reserved for Mr. Williams’ sign large enough to make the point that no one should park in front of it. Sitting in the spot now was a 2006 Racing Red Ferrari SuperAmerica with a 65˚ V12 producing 532 bhp out of 350.8 cubic inches attached to a six speed F1A / Manual transmission. This little jewel goes from 0 to 62 miles per hour in a mere 4.20 seconds with a top speed of 199 miles per hour. Dwayne Williams worked long hard hours to build his business and every time he walked into any of his manufacturing plants or sales offices he laughed to himself. The reason for the smile on his face was not the newest of his six Ferraris, nor was it the $5000.00 custom hand-made Oxxford suit he was wearing, or the fact that his entire office was furnished in irreplaceable artifacts he’s collected in his short thirty-two years of living.

  Dwayne Williams graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Undergraduate School of Business and went directly to the Wharton School of Business for his Masters in Business Administration. The Admissions Committee was loath to take a fresh-out-of-school graduate, but his perfect score on the General Management Aptitude Test and the Law School Aptitude Test combined with a perfect 4.0 cumulative grade point average spoke to them loud and clear. Dwayne Williams proved to be the smartest, cleverest, and most appealing individual to grace the halls of that hallowed school of business. He also had a very dry, acerbic sense of humor. He named his company Acme Manufacturing. Being a student of all things Negro, Black, and African-American, he maintained a love as well as abhorrence for what can be said is the funniest black comedy ever produced. ‘Amos ‘n Andy’ made him laugh and cry at the same time, but it was from one of the classic radio and television shows he took the name of his company.

  Seems the Kingfish needed to use Andy’s office to complete one of his hair brained schemes. Andy not being able to deny the Kingfish allowed him to use his office while he was out to lunch. The Kingfish knew full well that he had an hour to make or break his million dollar slam dunk money-in-his-pocket scheme. The individual that was the Kingfish’s mark arrived at the appointed time and was escorted into the President of Acme Manufacturing’s office. He was duly impressed with his surroundings, but had one very important question to ask the man standing behind the mahogany desk, The Kingfish.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Kingfish,” stated the individual, “would you be so kind as to explain what you manufacture here at Acme Manufacturing?”

  The question absolutely put the Kingfish into a tizzy. Flummoxed he turned his back to his questioner, placed his right hand below his chin as his left hand cradled his right elbow, and with his pose set he turned around and stated while rubbing his chin, “We, ah, manufacturers, ah, Acmes. Small Acmes, medium Acmes, and some, ah, very large Acmes.”

  Needless to say, the potential mark just looked askance at the Kingfish and stormed out of not the President of Acme Manufacturing’s office. So, every time Dwayne Williams walks into his multi-million dollar specialized manufacturing business, he chuckles thinking that all he manufactures are, ah, Acmes. God, how he loved that only a very few people knew the reason why he named one of the leading manufacturers of specialized medical resonance and surgical equipment as he did.

  The other thing that people wondered about Dwayne Williams was why a 32 year old, six foot six inch, two hundred and twenty five pound, physically fit, well educated, and a very wealthy man was single. Dwayne Williams did not have an ounce of fat on his body. He worked out seven days-a-week with one of two of his on-staff personal trainers. His meals were prepared and cooked by a highly paid nutritionist who specialized in maintaining the closest to perfect amount of vitamins, minerals, amino acids, and whatever else she felt his body needed to maintain a long healthful life. Walking down the main street of any city, Dwayne Williams turned the women’s heads. Men, unafraid of their being called homosexual, would admire the physical size of Dwayne Williams and the way he carried himself. Men and women put off by his size just looked away or crossed to the other side of the street to avoid him. Self-assured power exuded from within him and was obviously expressed by his personality when interacting with others.

  The one thing that Dwayne Williams kept to himself was his love of white women. Not just any white women, but young married white women preferably between the ages of twenty-one to thirty-five. With all his African-American self-empowerment, Dwayne Williams preferred to be sexually active with white or Asian women. He also preferred the role of the dominant male in any relationship, but sexually, he made it a very obvious rule. Why? Very simple. God, or whomever you believe created the human race, endowed Dwayne Williams with a cock that could, no should, be in the Guinness Book of Records. Not really, but his twelve inches were enough to make any of his ladies cry out in pain and pleasure. That was one of the only other things that made him chuckle to himself is when he would catch some woman staring at his crotch. He wasn’t homophobic, but anyti
me he caught a man looking at his crotch he was either gay or stunned. No matter how he tried, he could not hide the fact that his sexual organ hung down this left leg almost halfway to his knee.

  Dwayne Williams was going to be interviewing a new sales executive this morning. On paper, she looked excellent. Just two years out of college and already closing deals in the millions of dollars. Just the Type A personality he needed to expand his business out of hospitals into medical surgical suites now being established by surgeons looking to reduce the cost of surgery while maintaining a high level of medical and surgical confidence. He scheduled the meeting to cross over lunch so he could spend some time with her seeing how she acted in a more social setting. Interviewing someone in your office is one thing, but talking to them over lunch is another. One can learn a lot about a person as they relax and begin to open up in a less stressful environment. Dwayne Williams inferred from the minute he saw the head shot of Priscilla Andrea Johnston that accompanied her resume from the executive headhunting service he used; that she would be better off talking to him in a more relaxed setting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Williams,” said Agatha McCormack, a sturdy woman of sixty-five years who started with Dwayne when all he had was a small plant in the worst run down area of the Bronx. Dwayne never forgot how hard she worked for him, how much she admired what he was trying to build, and how selfless she was making herself available to complete mundane secretarial tasks so he could build his business. And, most importantly, she could keep a secret. Corporate and personal intelligence that passed across her desk which would ultimately end up on his was as secure as Fort Knox. That is why Ms. Agatha McCormack was his personal assistant, confidant, and the highest paid person, other than himself, in the company. He made sure to check on her family and their needs. He never gave a second thought when she asked for something special, because she never said no when he needed her to do something while his company was in its infancy or now for that matter.

  “Good morning, Aggie. You have a good weekend?” replied Dwayne looking directly into her deep brown eyes. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better, Mr. Williams. My children and grand-children spent the weekend with me. God blessed me and it is just so sad that Matthew couldn’t be here to enjoy his grand-children.”

  Dwayne Williams smiled to himself. She wears her religion on her sleeve, but she doesn’t force it down anyone else’s throat. No matter how many times he told Aggie she could address him as Dwayne, she always called him Mr. Williams. No matter how many times he told her that she should be addressed as Mrs. McCormack, she replied that she worked for him and not the other way around. Dwayne Williams knew that the day she left his organization through retirement or death he’d be hard pressed to replace her.

  “I’m truly happy you had a great weekend, Aggie. I have an eleven AM appointment, please be sure to escort Ms. Johnston in promptly, hold all my calls, and call Jacques at La Bonne Auberge to confirm my twelve-fifteen reservation.” Dwayne Williams turned, noticed Aggie had already hit the button to automatically open the door to his office, and slowly sauntered into his office. The new week was beginning, he had to review last week’s final sales and production numbers, and he wanted to be sure that he was ready for this morning’s interview.

  On his desk he found the folder with the previous week’s numbers. He didn’t like to see the cost of fuel rising as well as some of the strategic metals his products required. The slightest rise in certain raw material costs could cripple some of his American plants. Closing plants in the United States was not on his agenda. Trying to make the unions see that if they continued to fight his use of technology, he would have to move his production off shore and in the end put his fellow Americans, no matter what their racial or ethnic background out of work. He reached for his phone and dialed the extension for Michael Jackson, his Vice President of Operations. How his mother could have ever named him that he never could understand.

  The phone rang twice before Mike picked it up. “Mike, come to my office. I want to discuss some of last week’s numbers with you.” Dwayne didn’t even wait for an answer. Two minutes later the door to his office opened and in walked Michael Jackson. He was a childhood friend that had enough sense to go to college and get a degree in business. Dwayne hired him only after he made him go into the Marine Corps for four years to learn to be a man. It worked, because Mike came back a different individual more self-assured and confident in his abilities. He was also grounded on the realities of life and what one needed to truly succeed.

  “Mr. Williams,” Mike started to speak as he entered the office “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary with the numbers. There was a minor spike in the cost of the strategic raw materials, but I called three of our suppliers and got them to reduce their price by twelve percent for the next three months. I can’t do anything about the fuel until the end of the month when we renegotiate our contracts.”

  “I know, Mike, but the plants in Mississippi and Louisiana are going to see a rise of at least thirteen percent in their manufacturing costs. That means we’re going to see a decrease of at least twenty-five percent in profit after cost-of-goods sold. We can’t support that with how tight our margins are.”

  “Dwayne, you have to understand that I am on top of it. The numbers are not fluctuating as wildly as you think. I’ve been doing this long enough and I’ve never not come to you when I believe something is going wrong,” replied Mike, knowing that Dwayne was just going through his Monday morning bullshit.

  “Sounds good to me,” replied Dwayne. “So, how was your weekend?” “Great, just great… My older daughter took her brand spanking new car and wrapped it around a tree. My son knocked up his under age girlfriend. My wife decided to see if the basement could be turned into an indoor pool by letting the washing machine overflow for a couple of hours. And you ask me how my weekend was?”

  “Now, I have to believe after I just finished making you crazy over the numbers, Mike, you’re just trying to get a rise out of me. I know for a fact that your daughter did not wreck her new car because she came over my place yesterday to show it to me. So, I’ll ask you again, you have a good weekend?”

  “Damn, Dwayne… You know me too well. It was a typical family weekend. Quiet. Dinner Saturday night with Darla while the kids did their thing. I can’t believe that Michael, Jr. will be graduating college this year and his sister will be starting NYU in the fall. How time flies. Damn, look at the time; I have a phone conference with the European Subsidiaries in ten minutes.” Without waiting for a reply from Dwayne, Mike turned and walked out the door.

  Dwayne sat for a few minutes thinking about this morning’s exchange with his childhood friend and realized that Mike was right. The numbers weren’t that bad and Mike would do everything to make sure that profits did not sink into the abyss. He pushed back in his leather chair and wondered if Ms. Johnston would be as appealing as he hoped. Dwayne knew it was getting near that time for the WWLC to meet for their quarterly fun fest. Dwayne and five of his closest “Nigga’ Brothers” made up the private club. What was even better all of them worked for him and to a man loved what he did - white women – and married to boot. And that is why they named the club – White Women Lover’s Club. Not a really cool name for their club, but they all loved the simplicity of it and the underlying possibilities.

  Dwayne naturally held the President’s title and everyone else were just members. Michael Jackson, Rutherford B. Washington, Archibald ‘The Reverend’ Jones, Jamal ‘The Dunk’ Livingston, and Marcus Iverson were founding members of the exclusive WWLC. All of them were married to African-American women, each of them had something no white woman’s husband had, and each of them loved to see the reaction of the women and their husbands when they exposed their black manhood to them. Dwayne was the only single member and the only member that tried not to maintain a long term relationship with his white woman. All the others seemed to feel more at ease knowing they always had at least two to three women that woul
d beg to be invited to the quarterly fun fest. The only condition they all agreed upon was that none of them ever told their wives or children about the club. The reason for the weekend away was always announced as executive business meetings required to discuss the corporate needs of the upcoming quarter.

  At precisely 10:45 AM, the intercom on his phone gave one short beep which was a surreptitious signal from Agatha that the individual for his 11:00 AM meeting had arrived. If he did nothing, Agatha new to keep the person waiting until the appointed time, if he sent her a return beep, she knew that an earlier entrance would be acceptable. Dwayne did not want to show his anxiety about meeting Ms. Johnston by returning a beep, but he wanted to see if his expectations were correct. He reached for his phone and gently tapped the button labeled Agatha. He took a deep breath, sat up straight in his executive chair, and waited for the door to open.

  Agatha didn’t wait long to invite Ms. Johnston into Mr. Williams office. “Mr. Williams will see you now, Ms. Johnston. The door will open automatically,” she stated in an even voice considering the woman who just stood up was one the prettiest women she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Priscilla Andrea Johnston straightened her navy blue skirt, stood up, and thanked Mrs. McCormack, “Thank you,” and turned towards the mahogany door that was slowly swinging open.

  Priscilla Johnston stood six foot even in her stocking feet, but because she was on an interview she decided to wear moderately high heels which brought her height to an even six feet three inches. To say the least, she towered over all the women she met and a good portion of the men. She wore a Donna Karan Exclusive navy blue business suit, matching white DKNY blouse, navy blue stockings, and a pair of Bally navy calfskin leather three inch heel shoes. Her briefcase was a custom made lambskin soft case that had exterior pockets and was large enough to carry a laptop computer. Her blonde hair was neatly trimmed to shoulder length and was stick straight. Her closest friends and everyone she met was take by her turquoise eyes, not hazel, not blue, but a deep turquoise with flecks of gold surrounding the black iris opening. She carried her 145 pounds exactly the way a runway model would. She was extremely thin for her height, but her daily workouts kept her muscles toned and the toned musculature only accentuated her beauty. On her left hand were a gold and platinum wedding ring and a two carat solitaire diamond engagement ring. She wore a Breitling Model 826 Fighter set with diamonds on the bezel on her left wrist. Aside from being a Type A personality, she had style and apparently the money to afford her level of luxury.