Distant+Whispers

Denmark turned towards Petra and once again locked her in his gaze. “Let me worry about that!
You worry about those claims people. Can you handle that?”
Two weeks ago, she would have been irritated that this black American was trying to put her
down. Right now, it was business and his question was not personal. It was business.
“Look, I’m the one who wrote the business processes for this company. I even helped Rizwan
code them into our computers.”
“Rizwan?” Denmark spat out the name. He glared at Rizwan’s solitary cubicle at the far end of the
operations floor where he supervised his small team of programmers. “Can we depend on him?”
“Sure! Why not? Rizwan will do all that he can. He always has.” Petra said confidently. She
studied the mistrust in Denmark’s eyes. “Listen, I know that we haven’t treated you too kindly but
don’t judge everyone on our little island. We are a somewhat complicated people.”
“Yeah, you are,” Denmark groaned. “Let’s just get started. No disrespect, but this is not the time
for cultural sensitivity.” Denmark’s entire demeanor suddenly changed. “And listen—,” Denmark
eyed Petra coldly.
“Let me explain something, Miz. Eddington,” he said, returning to professional formality. Petra’s
body tensed at the chilliness in Denmark’s voice. “It’s not my job to make you look good or make you
look bad. I’m not your friend; I’m not your enemy. I’m going to call it as I see it, your strengths as
well as your weaknesses.”
Petra shook her head. “Understood. Let’s get to work, Mister Alexander.” She pivoted and headed
for her office.
You could still call me Petra, damn it, she muttered to herself.
Denmark logged onto his computer. The email icon beeped. He clicked on his floating e-mail
icon. Another short message:
THANK YOU! - SUNSQUARED
He jerked his head in the direction of Sunny DuVille. She looked up and smiled, then turned away.
He shook his head. What irony. The salvation of this mostly East Indian company might just be three
black people.
* * *
On Wednesday, while on his way to secure documents from the financial area, he passed by Sunny
DuVille’s desk on the other side of the operations floor. As he walked up behind her, he still couldn’t
understand why she didn’t model. Her height, flawless dark skin, long neck and cheekbones and high
arching eyebrows would catch the attention of many agencies. She was engrossed in her computer and
didn’t see him as he approached, although the eye gossip on the operations floor had started as soon
as he neared her desk. He stood by her desk for a second, looking at her. She looked up and smiled.
Denmark made the first move.
“Hey, what’s up? How’s it going?” He offered a broad smile.
“Mr. Alexander! Hellooo, good afternoon. How are you?” Her
Trinidadian accent was rich, soft and sensual.
Denmark rolled his eyes. “Whew! Busy! Very busy!”
“I see. What it ‘tis you’re doing?” Sunny rested her chin on her balled fist and her large eyes