Did she feel guilt? Not even a little bit. Or none that she cared to admit to having. It wasn’t like she was disowning her family, she reasoned. She wasn’t going to be like those people passing for white that she’d read about—people who back in the thirties and forties would walk past their family in the street and not even speak. Of course it wouldn’t be an issue, since she’d move to New York and her family was in Detroit, but even if they had been in the same city, she’d never do that to them.
If anything, it was her family that seemed to be trying to disown her. At least Joseph. Rina wasn’t happy about the prospect of her passing, and let her know in no uncertain terms that she raised her to be proud of her heritage. In the end, though, she relented when Shanika promised it would only be a temporary passing, and only for the purpose of getting the job. Peter seemed to have no opinion on the matter, but then he seldom had opinions about whatever happened in the household. Joseph, on the other hand, was another matter. He would have nothing to do with her in the weeks before she left Detroit to return to New York. But Shanika was confident that she’d eventually win him over, she always had.
But first things first, it was important that she land that trainee position, or she would have gone through all this trouble for nothing.
A week later the butterflies in her stomach were flying around so furiously she thought she was going to be sick as the elevator door opened and she stepped into the offices of Paxon & Green.
“I have an appointment with Mrs. Randolph,” she said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. “My name is Nicole Jensen.”
It was the same receptionist whom she had met the first time she’d walked into the office in May, but, thankfully, there was no glint of recognition in the woman’s eyes.
“If you’ll just have a seat, Miss Jensen, I’ll let Mrs. Randolph know that you’re here. Would you like some coffee?”
Chapter Eight
Nikkie was sitting alone at a table in the company cafeteria, waiting for her new teammates, Yanna Goldberg and Susan Flanders, who were both still placing their orders, when she saw a beautiful six-two milk-chocolate beauty purposefully striding toward her.
“Hi,” she said when she reached Nikkie. “I’m Jenice Hanford.” She placed her tray on the table and stuck out her hand. “I’m supposing you’re the new girl they hired Tuesday. Nicole Jensen, right?”
Before Nikkie could answer, Yanna was at the table.
“Hey, Jenice,” she said as she took a seat. “I see you’ve met Nikkie. She’s going to be working with Susan and me.”
A confused look suddenly appeared on Jenice’s face. Had she been mistaken? she suddenly wondered. “Yes, I was just introducing myself,” she said while taking a closer look at Nikkie. No, she was pretty sure she’d been right.
“Thanks for taking the last apple pie, Yanna,” Susan said as she took the seat next to Nikkie. “Hey, Jenice,” she said absentmindedly. “I heard you’re working on the new Brunson account with Hal. How’s that going?”
“Fine. Just fine,” Jenice said in a suddenly uncertain voice.
When she’d first seen Nicole at the table, she’d assumed she was by herself, and had also originally thought her to be white. But on closer inspection, she began to have her doubts, then came to the conclusion that, yes, the woman was actually an African-American. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but she just knew. She would have introduced herself either way, but she had to admit that she was elated to find another African-American employed at Paxon & Green. But now, with Yanna’s and Susan’s actions, she was suddenly unsure.
Nikkie knew that Yanna and Susan had no idea what was going through Jenice’s mind, but she knew exactly what the woman was thinking. She’d seen the way Jenice looked at her before walking her way, taking a look, then a deeper look, before approaching her. Jenice was sure, or pretty sure, that Nikkie was black, and had come over to introduce herself to her new compatriot—and while Nikkie had not yet spoken or given any indication of where her head was at, Yanna and Susan were making it clear that Nikkie was one of them. Oh, not in any conscious way, but in a way that any black person would pick up on. Jenice knew that if Nikkie were black, both Yanna and Susan would have made a big deal about introducing them, as if presenting her with a gift. It was just what white folks did. Instead, they acted like Nikkie was no big deal. Jenice now had to reconsider her first assessment of Nikkie.
Jenice reflected that this was Nikkie’s opportunity to let everyone know who she really was. After all, she already had the job. There was no reason to continue to let people think she was white.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jenice,” Nikkie said in a tone she knew was just a little too formal. She couldn’t help herself; after all, this was the woman who had gotten the job she’d wanted in the first place—the woman who was so much blacker than she. The woman who, in a way, forced her to pass in the first place. Well, okay, not really, but Nikkie still felt a sense of resentment against the woman. “Why don’t you join us,” she said with a phony smile.
Jenice’s look of confusion was suddenly replaced with an icy squint, and Nikkie felt a sudden sense of panic. She was about to be outed.
“No thanks. I was actually planning to eat in my office. I’ve got some work to catch up on.” She picked up her tray. “It was so very good to meet you, Nicole,” she said.
“Please call me Nikkie. All my friends do,” Nikkie said weakly.
“Oh well, thank you!” Jenice said a little too enthusiastically. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Nikkie. Yanna, Susan, see you guys later.”
Nikkie watched as Jenice marched out of the cafeteria, looking neither left nor right as she exited. That’s one pissed-off sister, she realized. I think I’ve made a stupid mistake. But how was she supposed to handle it? Should she have grinned and said, “What’s up, my sister?” And come on, it wasn’t her fault that Yanna and Susan thought she was white. She never told them she was. It wasn’t like she was actually “passing,” kind of “passing.” Then why was I suddenly worried about being outted? She pushed the question out of her mind.
“Hmm, does it seem like Jenice had an attitude about something?” Susan said.
Yanna shrugged. “You know how she gets sometimes. Hal’s probably riding her too hard. You know how he gets. That boy’s a workaholic, and he expects everyone else to be, too.”
“Who’s Hal?” Nikkie said, now that her nerves were finally beginning to settle.
“Hal Richardson,” Susan answered. “You’ll probably meet him in the next day or so. He’s the company golden boy, and can do no wrong. They even paid for him to go to a sanatorium when he had a nervous breakdown a couple of years ago, right here in the office. They forgave him even after he threatened to kill a janitor.”
“Susan!” Yanna said sharply. “You don’t know that for a fact. That’s just office gossip.”
“Well, I’m not the only one who’s heard it,” Susan said defiantly.
“That doesn’t mean you need to spread it,” Yanna said reprovingly. She turned to Nikkie. “Actually, Hal did go through a bad spot right after he found out that his brother died, but they were very understanding here. Probably because Mr. Kadinsky just lost his wife and knew how he felt. The bottom line is Hal’s been fine since. He’s really brilliant and knows his stuff. Jenice should feel lucky to be teamed with someone like him. She’ll learn a lot working with Hal.”
The words Mrs. Randolph had spoken at their dinner in Detroit suddenly rushed back into Nikkie’s head: “They’re put under one of the superstar specialists, helping out with large accounts, but never given one of their own so they can shine.”
No, Nikkie decided as she took a spoonful of her too-sweet custard pudding, this was not the time to announce her blackness.
Chapter Nine
So, have you found an apartment yet?”
“Still looking. I didn’t think it would be so damn hard to find a place. I had a hard enough time talking the comp
any into letting me stay in the corporate apartment for two weeks, I can’t ask them for an extension,” Nikkie said with a frown as she looked up from the classified section of the New York Times, which was spread open on her desk. “I was hoping to find a spot in the Village, but some of the places are going as high as five thousand a month. And that’s just for a studio. Can you believe it?”
Yanna smiled. “Welcome to the Big Apple. Have you tried Brooklyn? It’s still expensive, but not as expensive as Manhattan. I’m only paying twenty-five hundred for my place, and it’s a one-bedroom.”
Nikkie grimaced. “That’s still more than I wanted to pay.”
Yanna chuckled. “Well, good luck finding something cheaper.”
“Well, have you looked in Harlem?” said a new voice. “There’s some inexpensive apartments there.”
Nikkie looked up at Jenice, who was leaning against the wall of the cubicle. “Um, no, Jenice. Actually, I haven’t had a chance to check out—”
“What are you talking about, Jenice?” Yanna interrupted. “The prices up there are as expensive as some of the places in the Village.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Yanna,” Jenice said a little too nonchalantly. “Not every neighborhood in Harlem is as expensive as others. I mean, you’d probably have to live in some of the areas that are still predominantly black,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the word, “but I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem for Nikkie.” She pointedly looked at Nikkie. “Would it, Nikkie?”
It was obvious that Jenice was suspicious about her ethnicity, but she was almost certain the woman didn’t know for sure. She certainly never came out and asked. But for the past week or so, Jenice’s comments had been getting ever sharper.
“No, of c-course not,” Nikkie stammered. “I’ll have to check it out.”
“Cool. I’ll bring you in a copy of the Amsterdam News. You know about the Amsterdam News, right? The African-American paper? They have all the Harlem listings in there.”
Yanna suddenly stood up and snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. What’s wrong with me!” She turned to Nikkie. “Do you remember me telling you about my cousin’s roommate moving to Israel at the end of the month? Well, Sarah is looking for another roomie. They live on Seventy-first Street between Broadway and West End Avenue. A really good neighborhood. Beautiful apartment, spacious, lots of closet room, parquet floors, and just a half block from the subway. And if I’m not mistaken, I think your share of the rent would
only come up to something like sixteen hundred dollars. Let me give Sarah a quick call.”
“Seventy-first Street and Broadway?” Nikkie’s brow furrowed. “What part of town would that be considered?”
“The Upper West Side,” Jenice said dryly. “Don’t worry, it’s not Harlem. Only two subway stops away, though.” She straightened up and pulled the strap of her pocketbook farther up her shoulder. “You have to make it a point to pass through sometime. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Jenice,” Yanna said before Nikkie could answer, “what are you doing this evening? My fiancé just got four tickets for tonight’s performance of The Color Purple from a client. He’s taking me, of course, but he also invited another client of his, this big-shot stockbroker that everyone’s talking about. Tyrone Bennett, I think is his name. Wanna come along as a fourth?”
“No, sorry, I have karate class tonight. Thanks for asking.”
“You sure?” Yanna walked over and nudged Jenice on the arm. “Jacob says he’s very handsome.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” Jenice grinned.
“No, don’t even try it,” Yanna said with a wave of her hand. “My man is secure enough in his masculinity that he can admit another man is handsome.”
“Just kidding,” Jenice said with a laugh. “But, no, I’m sorry. I’m going up for my purple belt in a couple of weeks, so I’m spending all my spare time in the dojo.”
“Okay. Good luck with that,” Yanna said with a smile.
“How come you didn’t ask me?” Nikkie asked after Jenice left.
“Hmm? Oh. Well, you know, Bennett’s black. I was trying to hook Jenice up. You can come if you’d like, though.”
Nikkie’s mind started racing. She’d love to go see The Color Purple. It was one of the hottest shows on Broadway, and prime tickets were going for something like four hundred dollars. And to be accompanying a handsome stockbroker would make it all the more pleasurable. “Well, I—”
Yanna snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. I bet my next-door neighbor Sabrina would like to go. She’s black, and always complaining how hard it is to find a good black man.” Yanna walked over to Nikkie’s desk, picked up the telephone and started dialing. “Oh, and I’ll call my cousin and check when you’ll be able to see the apartment.”
“Okay,” Nikkie said lamely. Damn. There goes my date.
“So, does Jenice know or doesn’t she?” Nikkie asked in a plaintive tone when sitting in Mrs. Randolph’s office a few hours later.
“I assume she does. At the very least, she strongly suspects. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” the older woman answered as she placed a couple of books in the large cardboard box on her desk. “She’s not going to out you.”
“She told you she knows?” Nikkie demanded.
“Actually, she asked me if I thought you were, and I told her I had no idea, and that I really didn’t care.” Mrs. Randolph took a framed certificate off the wall, wrapped it in Bubble Wrap, and also placed it in the box. “She pressed the issue, and insisted I had to know, so I asked her what difference would it make if you were. She said it didn’t make any real difference, but it just irked the hell out of her that people feel they need to pass in this day and age. I advised her to get over it.”
“What’s her problem? And it’s not like I’m really passing, you know. I never told anyone I’m white. The subject never came up, just like you said it wouldn’t,” Nikkie said impatiently. “But do you really think she’s not going to say anything? What makes you think she won’t?”
Mrs. Randolph sighed and sat down. “Nikkie, let me ask you something. How long do you intend to carry out your charade?”
Nikkie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “What do you mean? This whole thing was your idea, remember.”
“True, but the idea was for you to use your complexion to get the job, and you have it now. Are you ever planning on letting people know your true ethnicity?”
Nikkie fell silent. She’d been wondering about the same question.
Mrs. Randolph strummed her fingers on the desk. “Nikkie, I’m out of here in just two weeks, but you know I’m in your corner any way you want to play it. You wouldn’t be the first person in the world to pass, nor will you be the last, but I do think you really need to give some thought to what you’re doing. And you need to be honest with yourself.”
Nikkie looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, don’t say that since you haven’t told people that you’re white, you’re not actually passing. You know you are, so be honest with yourself about it, okay?”
“But—”
Mrs. Randolph held up her hand. “Spare me the bullshit, I don’t even want to hear it.”
Nikkie once again fell silent.
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Randolph continued, “you need to be honest with yourself. Honest about why you’re passing, for instance. Obviously, it’s not just so you could get your foot in the door, because you’re now in. So is it so you can climb the corporate ladder? I wouldn’t say that’s a bad reason. But is that the only reason? For instance, do you pass only here at Paxon and Green, or in your personal life as well?”
“Only here,” Nikkie said sullenly.
“Oh? So, do you have black friends outside the job, then?”
“I don’t have any friends here in New York. I’ve only been here a few weeks, remember?” Nikkie said defensively.
“True, but I’m sure you’ve gone out at least a few tim
es. Do you got out with anyone?”
Nikkie lowered her eyes. “I’ve gone out with Susan and her friends a couple of times. And I’ve gone bike riding with Yanna and her fiancé. Just to pass some time.”
“All of whom are white?”
Nikkie said nothing.
“So you’ve managed to find personal time to spend with white friends, but no blacks. Did you have black friends when you were in Detroit?”
“Of course.”
“But somehow, you haven’t found time to connect with any since you’ve been here in New York”
“I will. I just haven’t . . .”
“Nikkie, it seems to me that you’re making a life choice, and if that’s the case, you need to fully consider the repercussions. For instance, if you’re going to continue passing, what are you going to do about your family? For that matter, how is your family taking it?”
Nikkie sighed. “My mother seems to be taking it well, although she keeps asking me the same thing you are: when am I going to let people know I’m black? My father . . . well, I’m not even sure he knows. My brother, on the other hand, is furious. He’s barely speaking to me.”
Mrs. Randolph nodded sympathetically, then asked, “Have you ever heard of Adam Clayton Powell Jr.?”
“The congressman?”
“Yes. Did you know that he passed for white?”
Nikkie’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought he was like, you know, a black militant or something.”
“He was—though more so as he got older,” Mrs. Randolph explained. “But in his first year at Colgate University, he passed for white. Like you, he later explained that he never said he was white, but never corrected the assumption that he was. So even though the university was fully integrated—and this was in the 1920s, you understand—he was part of an all-white fraternity, and lived in an all-white dorm, and even dated a white student from a neighboring university.”
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