Chapter 2
I stood inside the building where I would have been a half-hour earlier, had that cute little wizard not played me for a fool with his disarming smile.
I took a moment to admire what used to be part of the lobby, now manned by an ostentatious modern European and cocktail bar. The space was flourished with ox-blood leather upholstery, with its enriched herringbone patterned tables screaming classic.
And of course, the type of wooden floor used brought the word vintage to mind. I smiled to myself in the appraisal of how I was always quick to admire exquisite architecture and design. Then, I sauntered to the elevator car, which opened as soon as I was right in front of it, allowing other expectant persons and me instant entry after former occupants came out.
I punched in the floor number I was headed to, and when the car door opened for the right floor, I walked out of it.
Looking left, I confirmed I was on the right floor, because the company’s wall logo behind an evident receptionist desk assured me so. After getting directions from the receptionist, I headed to a sizeable glass-walled office, right in the middle of the floor with ‘conference room 2’ carved on the glass door. Three guys and a lady were quietly sitting in it, presumably there for the same reason that I was—orientation to begin work at the acclaimed Burton Bright Law Firm.
I took a deep breath and went in.
It wasn’t until noon that the intense briefing and ‘show around’ ended. I braced myself when I noticed the dark-skinned lady approach me as I moved to advance towards the elevator for my exit. After all, socialising was not necessarily my forte, and I hadn’t even said a word to any of them.
My best friend was of the honest opinion that I used him as a shield to not interact with the world. But on moving to London, I made a promise to change that. So rather than walk into the elevator car, I waited for her to reach me; having decided that if I could have a non-monosyllabic conversation with Mr Clarke, who was a stranger just hours before, I could do it with someone I would potentially work with.
Moreover, she had given me a grateful look when I first entered the room. Whether it was because ‘another female was here’ or ‘a sister was here’, I wasn’t sure. I just knew it was one or both.
All through my study of Commercial Law at the University of Manchester, going to professional and employability events, most people of colour always did everything to notice and acknowledge each other or everything to pretend like they didn’t see you. It was either solidarity or a competition, but with females, it usually was the latter in my experience.
“Hey there, I’m Evelina.” She spoke with a welcoming smile, while extending her hand in greeting. Unity, I mentally confirmed before I shook her hand with a grateful smile. But the next words I uttered could only be blamed on my lack of manner-full social skills.
“Afro- Latina?” I asked, having heard the man who headed our orientation call her Miss Rodriguez. I knew I was stereotyping her, but again, none-Latinas didn’t go around bearing Rodriguez. Well, except you were married or had been married to someone with the name. Thankfully, she nodded with a smile, overlooking my rudeness or not taking offence in the first place.
“I’m Zina Wright,” I introduced, finally figuring out it was what I should have replied with in the first place.
“I don’t know why they do that. They always divide the rookies into orientation groups of fours and fives,” she said, not skipping a beat with her social skills. It also allowed me to denote her New Yorker accent.
“Oh well,” I mildly exclaimed, not sure what other response was appropriate.
“Anyways, I was headed to Steak and Lobster to have lunch, you can join me if you want,” she proposed, but it came off as more of a challenge.
“Of course,” I replied after a thoughtful pause, concluding that a negative response wouldn’t help my ‘trying’.
Moreover, I believed it was a God-given gift because I hadn’t even tried to fratenise, and yet, there I was headed to lunch and making small talk with extrovert ‘Evelina Rodriguez’.
We chatted until we arrived at the restaurant, and were ushered to a table for two without any wait. To be fair, she did most of the talking.
“You are American and Latinx?” I asked in curiosity as we waited for our order. She chuckled at my unchained curiosity. A rarity for me, and it was as if she sensed that.
“My papa is Mexican and my Ma, Afro Puerto Rican,” she finally replied.
“Hmmm…” I commented, mentally slapping myself for the one word answer. “Sorry, I’m bad at this.”
She waved off my worry with her hand. “Also I’m American by birth, and British by adoption on my dad’s part. Never knew my bio father.”
I smiled with farce effort, and somewhat of a shock at all the extra details I would never have given her.
“So, what’s your heritage? Seeing as you know mine.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to tell you that,” I said, chuckling at myself.
“Yeah, you are.”
I hesitated before going with the cleaner but incomplete answer. “Just Nigerian, I moved to Manchester from Nigeria when I was fifteen, and moved to London two days ago.”
She smiled in triumph, probably not expecting that much information.
“I used to have a fetish for them,” Evelina announced immediately the waiter who brought over our ordered drinks left.
“Nigerian men?” I inquired with incredulous laughter, to which she nodded in affirmation.
I laughed out way too loud. “Judging by your ‘used to’, they’ve burned you way too many times.”
She scrunched her nose. “How did you guess that?”
“They are good at it. Well, so I’ve heard,” I explained as I reclined for my meal order to be placed before me.
“So you’ve heard?” She asked.
I simply shrugged in reply, noting I was comfortable with the conversation and didn’t feel a need to find an excuse to well, flee. But it didn’t end there; apparently, my shrug gave more than I had meant it to.
With her right hand under her chin, she pronounced. “Well, well, well. You’ve never dated a Nigerian.”
I rolled my eyes without a response, even though I could have just corrected her assumption because the full answer was that I had never dated, period.
Thankfully she let it be. “I have been trying to place your accent, you know. Your words choices and pronunciations are British, but it’s thickened with what I now know is a Nigerian accent. What part of Nigeria are you from?”
At that point, I convinced myself I was on a date, and we were on a ‘twenty questions’ roll, because it sure felt like it. But then, maybe I was just ignorant of how interacting with people for the first time worked. “As I said, I moved to the UK when I was fifteen. But, before that I lived in Kano, Northern Nigeria.” I answered, bothered to even think of what led to the move. The darkest times.
“Cool, I’ve only ever met Nigerians who were from the South or South West. Anyways, anything about me you’d like to know? You know, lay the foundation for this friendship,” she said with a smirk.
I couldn’t help it; I laughed out loud. Evelina was fast; so networking was going to be easy as long as I had her in my corner.