Oliver Benjamin
“Research purposes?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure. Martinique was where coffee first took root in the New
World. Haiti was where most European coffee was produced during
the Renaissance. If Africa was coffee’s womb and the Near East its
cradle, then the Caribbean was its kindergarten. It’s probably like a
second childhood for him too.”
“I thought he was in the Bahamas,” the lady said.
“Oh, that was a very special place for Morris,” said Leona
emphatically, “That was where Columbus first landed and started to
colonize the other half of the world.”
“Must have been quite a pilgrimage for him,” she agreed.
Leona opened the door to the massive head office. “Yes. I’m sure
it was a religious experience.”
“Hmm,” the V.P. said. “By the way, Leona,”
Leona waited for her to finish.
“Fucking Morris alone won’t get you promoted, you know. You
need credentials. Perhaps you should go back to school.”
Leona replied, “And perhaps you should go to hell.”
She entered the office and locked the door behind her. How very
wrong that fraying hen was. Fucking Morris had worked wonders for
her. And now that he was fucked for good, there was nothing she
could not do. How easy this was all turning out to be! She never
dreamed that her former problems had only been a question of
attitude. That simpering new-age bullshit wasn’t her nature. Thiswas
her nature. With a bang, not a whimper. It was fully figured out.
Bye bye Biddie. And bye bye city.
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