The Alpha For Her

Jennifer hated that question in interviews. She also hated that she found herself sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the sofa. So she gently set her coffee down, straightened her skirt, which was actually her cut-off jeans, settled in a bit more comfortable, turned to Flint and began her answer as she had always wanted to,

“Well, I was born in a log cabin. I had to walk five miles to school and back, uphill, both ways, in the snow; and I tell you, for a chubby little black girl, that was a feat. Then, when my father fell ill, I supported the family by selling matchsticks on street corners.”

Flint laughed, and slapped the sofa arm, almost slopping his coffee. Jen felt that she had scored a point.

“In the snow,” he added.

“Of course,” she said, grinning.

“So, when you came of age, did you start selling yourself?”

That caught her. Her answer was a lark, and he was joining her play, but that addition to the story was just a bit much.

“No,” Jen said, coolly. “I joined a convent.”

“You hear stories about those places.”

“Ours was quite pious.”

“I’m sure. And after you left your vows?”

Jennifer decided that she needed to put the chat on another track.

“Like everyone I went to high school,” she said. “I really never stood out at much; average student.”

“Your average high school student become s*xually active at around fifteen,” he said. “Were you?”

“No,” she said, taking a breath to maintain her cool.

“Date much?”

“No.”

“Why was that?”

“I’m not really certain.”

“Take a guess.”

“I’m sure I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “So, how does the little match-girl get involved in make-up?”

“Well,” she said, feeling that they were going toward firmer ground.

She began her tale. He listened, asked few questions, but let her go on. She talked about how that one English class tipped the scales for her, and let her toward make-up and beauty, and how that, being of the generation that she was, her talents were a perfect fit for a blog.

“The rest was just luck,” she said, concluding. “I like to think that I have some talent, but talent is cheap. Somehow, some way, I got noticed, and those who noticed started talking.”

She looked at him. He sat, nodding, saying nothing. She felt that he was waiting for a cap to her story. She thought a moment.

“I have this friend,” she mused. “He likes to make those outrageous videos and post them on Facebook and Youtube. He’s always saying something like, ‘if I could get just one to go viral’, and I’m always thinking, ‘if I could just write one bestseller’.”

Flint laughed. Jen felt another point.

“So,” he said, “you credit your success to luck?”

“I think that every successful person has had some element of luck and timing.”

“I agree. If I had started Selfie-Nation a year or two before, or after I did, it probably wouldn’t have had the same impact.”

“But,” Jennifer added, “it had an impact when it did, because you had a product that people wanted. Timing is crucial, but you need quality.”

“Brava,” he said, clapping lightly. “But, speaking of Selfie-Nation, your account there is, how shall I say, mediocre at best. One would think that you didn’t like to post yourself. Why is that?”

“Just not my thing. I don’t understand why my friends would want to see my cheeseburger.”

“So, you don’t have a lot of friends then?”

“I have friends.”

She wondered what he was doing. He seemed to be looking for ways to needle her, and she didn’t like that. She wasn’t even sure what the interview was all about.

“Speaking of friends,” Flint said, a strange sort of grin on his face, “wasn’t there someone in the room with you when I called?”

“Y-yes. My friend Lisa. She’s my mailman.”

“Lisa’s a man?”

“No. She’s a woman. I should have said ‘letter-carrier’.”

“She your girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Are you lovers?”

Jennifer stared at him. That stupid grin was almost lurid. She wanted to throw the coffee in his face. Instead she simply sipped.

“If we were,” she said, keeping an even tone, “that would be of no concern to anyone but us.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he said. “And, I’m guessing that you’re not a lesbian; that would have come through in your blogs.”

“I think,” Jennifer began.

“So, what do I have here?”

“What do you–”

“A chubby little black girl—”

“What?”

“Your words,” Flint said. “So, a chubby little black girl who compensates for her loneliness by delving into beauty and fashion, hits it big on the blogosphere by pure luck, and is now sitting in the lap of luxury wondering how she can keep scoring points with me – oh, and who is not a lesbian. I peg you right?”

“Mister Dryzek,” Jennifer said, standing and smoothing her shorts. “I have certainly pegged you wrong. I saw you as a benevolent philanthropist, who, having found his own luck and success, wanted to share that with eager up-and-coming entrepreneurs. Instead, I find you a manipulative, almost sadistic puppet-master with adolescent delusions of grandeur. You sit at the head table with your classy minions and watch us squirm and grovel, while you make us jump through your hoops on some ridiculous notion of cultivating leadership skills.

“I thank you for the opportunity, sir. But now I must ask – no, I insist that you fire up your fancy little chopper and fly me back to civilization immediately, if not sooner. Good day.”

She turned, and strode purposefully toward the door. But even as she did, she heard him clapping.

“Brava,” he said.

Jennifer stopped. There was something in the tone of that single word that was so different. She turned to him. His face had changed so. That silly grin was gone, and in its place was that warm, genuine smile that she had first encountered when she walked into the room. He actually seemed – pleased.

“Leadership,” he began, “requires many elements of character, not the least of which are diplomacy and grace in the face of bewilderingly crude behavior, and yet, and most importantly, a sense of dignity. I pushed you, and you took it – until I pushed too far. Then you stood up for yourself. I was rude–”

“You were cruel.”

Flint bowed his head.

“So, then,” Jennifer said. “This was all some kind of twisted test?”

“In a word, yes.”