Player Haters by Carl Weber

hell am I fooling? To be honest, Mr. Duncan, my son is probably sitting at day care eating tuna salad and drinking Diet Coke right now.” She reached in her lunch bag and pulled out a container of chocolate milk with a disgusted look on her face. I couldn’t help but laugh.
    “It’s not funny.” She pouted. “I was in such a rush to get to work on time I must have mixed up our lunches.”
    “Look, don’t get upset. Why don’t you have lunch with me? My treat. It’ll give us a chance to go over your responsibilities.”
    “But what about the phones? Who’s gonna answer them?”
    “We’ll forward them to voice mail. Come on. You don’t have to work nine hours straight. You’re entitled to a lunch.”
    She smiled, pushing the childish meal into a trash can beside her desk. “All right, let’s go.”
     
    Maxine and I ended up having lunch at Marino’s Italian restaurant in the Village. We spent most of our lunch going over her responsibilities and my expectations for her job. It was busy season, and I wanted her to know that we’d be doing quite a bit of overtime in the next few weeks. She didn’t seem to mind, and things were going remarkably well until she got up to go to the restroom. After that, things became a little uncomfortable. I had to struggle to keep my eyes from wandering down to her breasts. Don’t get me wrong. She was dressed very professionally. It’s just that a couple of the buttons on her blouse seemed to come loose after her trip to the potty, and from that point on, her cleavage was just begging me to take a peek. Thank God the conversation had moved from business to personal, because it was getting hard to concentrate.
    “I really wanna thank you for buying me lunch, Mr. Duncan.” Maxine smiled as she stabbed her salad with her fork.
    “No, problem,” I told her between bites of my lasagna. “So you said you have a son. Are you married?”
    “Who, me?” She shook her head and laughed. “No. I think I’m destined to be an eternal bridesmaid.”
    “Why is that? You’re a very attractive woman.”
    “Thank you.” She lowered her head and blushed. “But if you’ll excuse the expression, these niggas out here ain’t worth it. Every decent man I’ve run into is gay, married or white.”
    “Wow, you sound just like my sister. She made almost the same comment the other day.” I added, “So what about your son’s father? No future there?”
    “Let’s not even talk about his sorry ass. He spends more time in jail than he does at home. And when he’s home, he’s drunk, and even worse, he’s…” Maxine bit her lip and covered her face with her hands. When she looked back up at me, she had composed herself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan. You don’t need to hear about my problems.”
    “It’s perfectly all right, Maxine.” I patted her hand. “I’m surprised Marge didn’t tell you that about me. I like to keep things pretty informal with my secretary. I find it makes for a more comfortable work environment.”
    “Really?” Her eyes lit up. “That’s nice. I’ve never had a boss treat me as much more than a servant.”
    I’m sure she was exaggerating, but I meant what I’d said. I knew a few guys in my office who were real assholes when it came to their secretaries. I’d learned a long time ago that the better you treat them, the better work they do. So if Maxine wanted to talk to me about her man problems, I didn’t mind listening for a while.
    “So, your son’s father, he’s not abusive or anything, is he?”
    “Very.” Maxine’s eyes reflected her anger and hurt, and she abruptly changed the subject. “So, what about you, Mr. Duncan, are you married?”
    I should be ashamed to admit this, but instead of just telling her, Yes, I’m married, I silently avoided the question. Unfortunately, as I remained silent, Maxine leaned a little closer, waiting for my answer. And the closer she leaned, the larger and more mesmerizing her breasts seemed to