Distant+Whispers

graduate school when he was working on his MBA. It was ironic. Here, it was the same players. The
same alliances: Asians, East Indians and the Whites. And then…Denmark. Denmark remained
attentive and made mental notes. You prepare for war in the time of peace.
Just as abruptly, he checked himself. This isn’t graduate school, he told himself. I am one of the
best employees of a top-five consulting firm in the United States. We’ll let results speak.
Out-hustle ‘em! Out-work ‘em! Out-beat em!
That was his granddaddy’s—Ole Man Richards—reaction to all of the marching and singing—
moanin’—he called it, during the civil rights period. Granddaddy didn’t like complaining nor did he
like begging for anything.
Granddaddy had the solution for everything—from racism, to broken marriages, to starting a
business or winning the hearts of a girl or even bringing in record sweet potato and string bean crops
from his small plot of land—Out hustle ‘em! Out work ‘em! Out beat ‘em! Denmark had sat crosslegged
at his grandfather’s feet—ever his loyal disciple.
So Denmark folded his arms and watched the six men in front of him get acquainted. These were
old friends from school, he reasoned. This has nothing to do with me. He reached for his briefcase.
He needed to remember the name of his contact at this company, the person who had sealed the
contract with Genesis. In industry terms, that person is called the “champion”. Whoever thought to use
Genesis Consulting had to be on his side. Denmark was sure of that. Once that was settled, he could
show his capabilities.
His rich textured leather bag caught the corner of Raj’s eyes. He turned to inspect it. Raj hadn’t
seen too many like it in Trinidad. Actually, he had seen nothing like it, anywhere! It was a good
looking bag. And he particularly liked the monogram—D.A.—affixed to the leather bag with black
and gold metal lettering.
Raj nodded his approval. His eyes switched to the young black man standing by his secretary’s
desk. The others followed Raj’s gaze. Eyes ran up and down Denmark, taking in his tailored suit and
white shirt accented by a red, silk tie which was knotted in an impeccable half-Windsor. Raj turned
towards his secretary.
“Shanti! He lookin’ fuh wuk? We not hiring jus’ now. Not until after the Project Blue. Yuh tell he?”
“He from de States, Mr. Mukherjee!” Shanti said icily, narrowing her eyes at her boss. “He come
to wuk Project Blue.” Shanti enjoyed the confusion that crossed Raj’s eyes. She eyed him coldly.
“You don’ know what’s happenin’ at your own company, Mr. Mukherjee?” The men in the room
exchanged quick glances.
Raj leaped to control the damage caused by Shanti’s subtle questioning of his authority.
“Gentlemen, this is Shanti, our beloved secretary. As you can see, she is also our general and our
Head Mother.” A round of laughter convinced Raj that he had effectively muted Shanti’s comments.
“And this fella here,” he said, turning to Denmark, “you are—?”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Denmark, nodding to the group. “My name is Denmark.
Denmark Alexander. Genesis Consultants. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Denmark remained stonefaced
as heads snapped in his direction.
The fat one, Harold, couldn’t keep his eyes off Denmark. He had sent a resume to Genesis just last
year. The curt rejection letter still stung.
Raj folded his arms and pressed his fist to his chin, his eyes fixed upon the floor. He slowly lifted