Little White Lies Read Online Free

was some sort of TV bio where they alluded to the fact that A.J. was a good boy about to go bad when stardom came along and rescued him from the mean streets of New York. The son of hard working parents, they did everything they could to keep him in school so he would have his high school diploma. There was no chance for higher education.
    This man looks like what I would expect a rock star to look like. Wearing a dark gray silk shirt, open at the collar, and quite a bit of gold from what I can see, but all very appropriate in its own way. There’s a paper-thin gold watch on his left wrist; while wrapped around his right wrist is a large linked, finely wrought gold bracelet. A gold chain is partially visible by his collar.
    Hard to tell with him sitting down, but he looks to be about my height, six feet, give or take an inch, but heavier. I’m around 175, I would guess he weighs ten or fifteen pounds more. But it’s not fat. He’s just heavier. He sports the bald look preferred by many of today’s black athletes and movie stars. On him or off him… however you’re supposed to say it, it looks good.
    “Want coffee or something to drink?” he asks with an obvious lack of interest in what my response might be.
    “No thanks,” I reply, “I’m fine, but go ahead if you wish.”
    “No, that’s all right, I would just as soon get this over with, if that’s okay with you.”
    This definitely is not going well. It’s the language of a man who has already made up his mind. But I’ve come this far, so I might as well see it through.
    “Have you had a chance to review my resume?” I ask with a smile I hope conveys more confidence than I feel. “I’m prepared to answer any questions you might have in that regard.”
    I can’t believe I’m doing this. For the first time the complete absurdity of this little lark is hitting me square in the face. John was right. What in the hell do I want to do this for? I don’t need the money and I sure as hell don’t need the aggravation. This guy doesn’t even want me in his house, much less working here. I should exit gracefully and forget the whole thing. God, talk about hare-brained schemes! Right now he appears distracted and I’m not certain he even heard my last question.
    Finally he looks up and says, “Yes, I’ve looked at it, but… “ long pause… then, “Look, I may as well come out with it. I don’t think you’ll fit in here. You know… I’m sorry we made you go to all this trouble… coming all this way to see us. Ah… what I mean to say is that we’ll be happy to compensate you for any expense we may have caused. asking you to come out here. I mean, we have our own way of doing things around here and I’m not sure you would understand… I mean, it’s sort of out of your league, if you get my drift. You understand what I’m saying?”
    And so comes the dawn. I decide to make it easy for him. My day’s shot anyway and the disappointment of somehow dreaming I could find something worthwhile is rapidly filling my head with depressing thoughts. My instincts are at war with my desires. I want to stand and walk out of here, but somehow I’m nailed to the spot. My instincts say, to hell with it; my training tells me to see it through. I do not want to spend all my time on the long return trip wishing I had said this or that. No, I’m here so I might as well have my say.
    “You mean you did not understand the agency was sending you a white applicant. Is that it?”
    There, that feels better.
    He squirms and offers a half-smile. Obviously agitated, he fiddles with a pencil, twirling it at times like a small baton, and then pushing it down on the resume. Point first, spin, now top down. His shoulders are hunched as though he wants to turtle and simply withdraw until I go away.
    “Right,” he offers, then even more quickly, involuntarily reaches to snatch the word out of the air. “I mean, no, that’s not it. I mean… right, I did not understand you