"Come Again?"

Ivy squinted her eyes as she stared across the small Starbucks table at Brian, who was sitting slumped back relaxed as he flipped the bottom of his tailored jacket away from his thigh. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, with one a hair away from Ivy's leg.

The body language of this conversation said it all without either of them having to say a world--Ivy was sitting straight up, tense, with her normal good posture as Brian relaxed, glancing at his coffee, out the window and at women passing by. Finally he settled back on Ivy's squinty glare with an almost sickening grin on his face.

"I think you heard me the first time," he retorted. "I'm moving to DR."

"The Dominican Republic? You're going to MOVE there?" Ivy asked in amazement.

"Yea, just for a few months at first. . . and then I'll see what happens." He took a sip of his coffee in the white Starbucks paper cup then sucked his lips in to capture the drippage.

Ivy opened her mouth to say something, then closed it back slowly. She looked down at her favorite Starbucks coffee in a mug, welcoming her for a drink. But she didn't want it anymore.

Brian was a tall brown skinned 30 year old professional black brother who Ivy had been seeing for the better part of a year. They had been off and on. Brian liked to call their issues a failure to have a "meeting of the minds."

By habit, Ivy finally picked up her mug of mocchiato and took a sip. Just as she thought -- no more flavor. She immediately started to think of Brian's last trip to the Dominican Republic, and how her friends had warned her about that place. They told her it was a haven for American men looking for cheap and quick sex from darker skinned women.

"I knew something was up," Ivy thought to herself as she finished her sip and placed the mug back down. Now this fool was thinking about moving there.

"So I know you're wondering," Brian continued in a patronizing tone, "What's up with us. And me moving really isn't a big deal. Don't worry about it, we will definitely still talk regularly, you know?"

Ivy nodded her head slowly as she looked off toward the register area. A woman was walking up with her baby in tow, ordering a latte. The lady looked fresh and happy as if she didn't have a care in the world. Ivy disliked her instantly.

Ivy wasn't nodding in affirmation of what Brian was saying. "We'll still talk"-- yea right. What he really meant was, "I'll keep you hanging on by a thread here in the states just in case things don't work out with my Dominican chick."

Her nod was more of a nod of disgust and disbelief. She knew he was a jerk, but he had just shown her just how cold he could really be.

Cold as ice and completely unappreciative of what he had in Ivy. It didn't matter that Ivy was a 5'8 135 pound, fit, shapely dark brown beauty with a pair of legs that stretched from here to Queens. Didn't matter that her real hair hung down to her armpits and always looked fly. It didn't matter to Brian that she had no problem cooking three course dinners for her man and constantly made him beg for mercy in the bedroom. Definitely didn't matter that she made her own money as a consultant at a top advertising company in Manhattan at the young and fresh age of 25. None of that mattered to this demanding, self-absorbed and narcissistic man.

Professional brothers like Brian thought that they were God's gift to the universe: successful, young, black and of the male species. In their minds, having a college education and a job making $50,000 a year or more was all they needed to justify being complete jack asses to women. To him, he was a hot commodity and even a classy, smart, beautiful and elegant lady like Ivy was lucky to have him in her life.

"So you're just not going to say anything?" Brian asked as he continued to relax back with his left hand dangling to the side close to the floor. His right hand flicked at his coffee cup.

Ivy continued in her thoughts. She had a whole lot to say at that moment. Did he meet someone down there the last time he went? Did he quit his job? Why did you invite me to a MFing Starbucks to tell me this??

But all she finally said was, "No. . . do your thing Brian. I wish you much luck."

Ivy glanced at him for a long moment, her plumped lips tightly pursed. Then she took a final gulp of her now-bland mocciato and stood up to return her mug.

Brian got up with her and slid his hand around her waist from behind. She instinctually smacked it away and slammed her mug down on the counter just a little too hard. Both of the Starbucks workers behind the counter looked her way.

"Come on V, what are you doing? Are you mad at me?" Brian had the nerve to ask. "It doesn't have to be like that."

Ivy didn't say a damned thing. She just dug into her purse to find her office card key as she walked toward the front door. Brian followed her out.

"Look V, if you're going to be like that. . . fine. But just so you know, it's because I got an offer for a work assignment there. I'll be back to visit probably once every month or two," Brian said, obviously disappointed that Ivy didn't take this news as an opportunity to cry and kiss his ass, begging him to stay.

"I'll talk to you Brian," Ivy said calmly, half lying. She adjusted her purse, spun and put one foot in front of the other as she headed back to her office a few blocks down. She didn't look back.

----

"Ivy, can I see you in my office for a moment," Sandra, Ivy's petulant boss popped her head into her office suddenly.

"Sure Sandra, I'll be right there," Ivy said with a fake smile. Meanwhile she was feeling like complete crap after her meeting with Brian just a couple of hours earlier. Smile through the pain--that was what was going on right now.

Sandra probably wanted to go over the latest sales projection report Ivy and Thomas had put together for the upcoming quarter--again. It was positive news, and Ivy had run over it with a fine-toothed comb. She even visited each department head at the company in person to verify certain facts. But nothing from Ivy was ever enough for Sandra--no matter how much work and trouble Ivy put into making her points.

Ivy truly believed that Sandra simply had a hard time accepting the word of a black woman. That's why she made Ivy work closely with Thomas, a young white consultant fresh out of business school who had barely been working at the company for a year. His word was gold to Sandra. If Ivy made a statement in a meeting, she'd get a skeptical look from Sandra. If Thomas then made the same point only a few minutes later, almost word for word, suddenly they were on the right track and Sandra was all smiles. It could have also been a woman thing--jealousy at its worst.

So here Ivy was, yet again, going into an impromptu meeting with Sandra to discuss these reports. She grabbed her pad and a copy of the reports and started her strut down the hall to the boss' office. She smiled at her homeboy Jack, a proudly gay white intern who she lunched with a lot, along the way and put a phone sign up to her ears to notify him that he should call her later.

Ivy tapped on the opaque glass door to Sandra's office lightly and heard, "Come in."

The first thing that caught Ivy off guard was that Thomas wasn't there yet. He was two doors down from Sandra's office and should have been there by then. The next was seeing Maggie, the Human Resources director, sitting down in a chair opposite Sandra.

"What is she doing here?" Ivy thought to herself as she closed the door behind her and sat down in the empty seat.

"Hi Ivy," they both almost said at the same time. They looked at each other almost somberly then back at Ivy who suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It was as if a dark storm cloud was forming overhead.

"Ivy," Sandra started. "Let me start by saying, this company has really benefitted from your time here. You are an amazing and resourceful consultant. With that said, the department has decided to make some cuts. . . "

The next part of Sandra's little speech blurred out for a bit as Ivy started to become light-headed. She watched Sandra's mouth moving and became distracted by the deep lines and hardness of her boss' face. Sandra was an extremely thin and unattractive woman who probably looked okay in her youth but life had not been kind. Sandra practically lived at the office--her husband had left her about a decade ago and from what Ivy heard she had been taking it out on folks ever since.

Right now, Sandra was sounding like the teacher from Charlie Brown. Ivy struggled to tune in again, and finally did just in time to hear the words that every five-year employee of a firm in Manhattan dreads.

". . . we're going to have to let you go."

Ivy took a breath in but not out. She reeled and sat back for a moment. Then she sat back up and became tense as she squinted her eyes in pure disbelief.

"Wait, come again?"