WINNIE

I like pretty things.  I like wearing nice clothes.  I always have.  My mom likes to recount the days when I was a toddler and would throw a fit if I couldn’t wear my tulle ballet skirt and a rhinestone tiara.  I’ve grown out of the ballerina stage, but when I get dressed in the morning, even when I’m just going to the gym to run, I want to take the extra five minutes to look nice, if I can.

On the day I met Philip Nilsson, Vice President of Nilsson Worldwide, technically my boss’s boss’s boss, I was wearing a new navy suit that nipped in at the waist, a sweet pale pink blouse and reasonable pumps.  My shoulder length blonde hair was pulled up into a smooth French twist, secured with a decorative but still discreet metal comb.  I was going for a Grace Kelly vibe with subtle make-up rather than a more dramatic Marilyn Monroe look.

After I got dressed, I asked my roommate Gwen how I looked.

Gwen didn’t start work until eleven a.m., so she was still half asleep, wearing a ratty bathrobe and sipping her morning coffee in our tiny kitchen.  She squinted at me.  “Corporate,” she said.

“Excellent,” I said.  “That’s the look I’m going for.”

“Boring,” Gwen added.

Gwen had purple hair and an arm sleeve tattoo, so I took her criticism as a compliment.  “Boring is fine,” I said.  I gathered up my purse, put on my sunglasses and quickly tied a silk scarf to protect my hair.  I smiled at my reflection in a full-length mirror before I stepped outside.  “You’ll do,” I told myself.

Getting to work took about forty-five minutes with the San Antonio traffic.  I still found it difficult to believe that I now worked in the San Antonio Nilsson Hotel, which I think is one of the nicest hotels in San Antonio.  It’s a five-star hotel and looks out onto Travis Park, which is a lovely place to sit and eat my lunch.

I had only just started working for Nilsson Worldwide three weeks before, and I was thrilled to be here.  I was the banquet coordinator’s second assistant, which meant that I ran errands, answered the phone if no one else was around, and made sure the banquet set-ups were correct.  I also put printed cards with event names in the frames beside each of the entrance doors.

The banquet coordinator was Bernice Meyerson, a tall, well-dressed woman in her fifties with iron gray hair cut in a severe bob.  She was supposed to attend a week-long company mixer being held in the hotel, but after attending the first day, she decided that I could go in her place for the rest of the week.

“Is that allowed?” I asked.

“It is if I say it is,” she said and handed me her event name-tag which hung from a lanyard.  Inside the plastic envelope that held her name card were tickets for the various meals and events.  “Besides, you can take notes and bring back any vital information.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be a networking event?”

Bernice made a face.  “I’ve been to these before.  They’re a waste of time, and I’d rather waste your time than mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said and hung her ID around my neck, making it face the wrong way.  I was not going to complain.  I’d seen the menus for this event and the food was going to be fantastic.  I said, “What should I do if anyone asks me what I’m doing there?”

“Tell them the truth, that you’re standing in for me.  Say something came up.  Make it sound temporary.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

She smiled.  “Who knows, maybe you’ll win a door prize.  I’ve heard that last year, they handed out iPhones.”

“Nice.”

“Have fun,” she said dismissively and looked back at her computer screen.  “And I’ll see you on Monday.”

I looked at a printed brochure that listed the Mixer events.  I supposed that in a way, I was on a paid vacation – a mini retreat.  Fine with me.

That afternoon there was going to be a scavenger hunt.  That might be fun, although how they would coordinate it in a hotel, I didn’t know.  I didn’t think they’d want us knocking on guests’ doors, asking if they had a stapler or a picture of Elvis we could borrow.

Tuesday’s activities started with a brunch in a large hallway outside one of our medium sized conference rooms.  By the time I got there, it was already after nine a.m., and all the miniature quiches were gone, as were the chocolate chip muffins.  I took a small cinnamon roll and nibbled on it as I walked into the meeting room, which was filled with a sea of people – mostly wearing suits like myself.  I decided to sit near the back.

The opening speaker was humorous.  He talked about understanding different personality types and walked us through a PowerPoint presentation.  Then a bubbly woman got up and talked about the importance of really seeing each other – walking in another’s shoes so to speak.

I glanced briefly at my pretty navy pumps with their pointed toes and the tiny bows in front.  I lifted my feet slightly off the floor and stretched my ankles, rotating them.

My seat neighbour, a middle-aged woman with cluster pearl earrings, saw the direction of my glance and whispered, “Your shoes are so cute.”

“Thanks.”

“I could never wear them.  I need room for my toes.  Bunions.”

I looked at her sensible boxy black pumps and then back at her face.  I whispered, “That’s terrible.  My aunt has bunions.  Have you tried those little silicon spacers?”

She frowned.  “No.”

I quickly looked them up online on my phone and showed her a picture.  “They fit between your toes.  My aunt says they’ve saved her life.”

The woman was interested.  “Do they really work?”

“I think so,” I said and quickly looked up another website.  “And if you’re looking for more comfortable shoes that are still cute, check out this manufacturer.”

The woman copied the website information into her phone.  “Thank you.  I’ve never bought shoes online before.”

I nodded.  “I know.  It seems like a risk, and you might have to send things back, but I find that I’m buying nearly everything online these days.”

One of the men sitting in front of us turned around and glared.

“Oops.  Sorry,” I said quickly and smiled at the woman beside me.  I whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “I guess we’re supposed to pay attention, hmm?”

She smiled back at me.  “I consider this networking.”

“So do I.”

But we both dutifully returned our attention to the speaker.

The speaker continued.  “I will need ten volunteers for the next activity.  Ten people to really get to know each other.  And the prize is two thousand dollars.”

At this, the speaker had my full attention.  I could definitely use two thousand dollars.

“Theoretically, every one of the ten can win two thousand dollars.”

Even better.  I glanced around the room, looking at my potential competition.

“Who is interested? Raise your hands.”

Nearly everyone in the room raised their hand.

“Now for the tricky part.  As part of this activity, you will be handcuffed to another person – one of your co-workers – for twenty-four hours.”  She held up a pair of handcuffs.  There were a few gasps, a groan, and some good-natured laughs from the crowd.  “Who’s still interested?”

I kept my hand up, but my neighbor lowered hers.

“Come on,” I whispered.  “How bad can it be?”

“No, thank you,” the woman said.  “I’m too old for that nonsense.”

I said, “This is a corporate event.  I don’t think there’s going to be any fifty shades going on.”

The man ahead of us turned around again to frown at me.

I smiled at him sweetly.  It wasn’t my fault he was such a grump.

The speaker continued.  “And at the end of the twenty-four hours, if you last that long, you will make a presentation to the group about what you’ve learned.”

Twenty or more people lowered their hands.

“All right, that’s an easier number,” the speaker said.  “Everyone who is still willing, please pass one of your business cards to the aisle and my assistant will collect them.”

I was glad I had new business cards in my purse.  I sent mine down the aisle and said a little silent prayer that I’d be chosen.

Everyone watched as the cards were gathered and placed in a large bowl.  The assistant carried the bowl up to the front of the room where the speaker was standing by a podium and a large table.  The speaker said, “Volunteers will be divided into 5 pairs.  They will each be given a set of instructions, questions to ask each other, as well as a camera to record moments for their presentation tomorrow.  They can choose to participate in the mixer activities or not, but the main thing is – they’ll have to work together.  Obviously.”

There was some laughter at this.

I held my breath, waiting for the participants to be chosen.

The speaker continued, “We know that not everyone will be able to last twenty-four hours, so there are some participation prizes.  If the team lasts six hours, they will each receive one hundred dollars.  If they last twelve hours, they will receive five hundred dollars.  And if they last the full twenty-four hours, they will receive two thousand dollars.”

Someone called out, “Is that two thousand each or two thousand for the team?”

“Two thousand each.”

Okay, I can do this, I thought.  If I just get the chance.

I held my breath as different names were called and individuals walked up to the front of the room.  Team one was a young man and an older woman.  Team two was two men. Team three:  two women.  When the speaker pulled out the first name for team four, she seemed startled by the name.  “Philip Nilsson?” she called out.

There was a bit of crowd reaction when she said the last name Nilsson.

“I wonder if he’s a relation to Theodore, the CEO,” my neighbour whispered.  “It’s not that common of a name.”

“Maybe a distant cousin?” I suggested.  “I mean, if I was CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, I’d make sure there were jobs for all my relations, believe me.”

“No kidding.”

The speaker continued in a louder voice, “Vice President of Business Development.  Philip Nilsson.”

At this, the room grew loud with clapping.

I watched as a handsome man approached the front of the room.  He was in his early thirties and tall with an athletic build.  He moved with confidence and a natural grace.  He wore a beautifully cut charcoal suit that looked more Armani than Brooks Brothers, although I was no expert in men’s clothes.  His hair was brown and thick and styled back from his forehead.  I couldn’t see the color of his eyes.

He smiled briefly with a shrug that seemed to say What am I getting myself into? which made me smile.  He was a good sport.

Wow.  Vice President.  What were the odds of his being chosen for the game?  I felt a moment of pity for the person who would be on his team.  It would be intimidating to be handcuffed to a Vice President for a day.

Or, it could be a good networking opportunity, depending on one’s attitude.

“W. J. Abbot.”

For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming.  Was that really my name that had been announced?

“W. J. Abbot,” the speaker repeated.

That was me, all right.  I raised my hand and called out, “Here I am.”  I stood, feeling a little nervous and self-conscious.

“You go girl!” my seatmate whispered.

“Wish me luck,” I said.

“You got it.”

I rolled my shoulders back and walked to the front of room, trying to ignore the fact that everyone was watching me.  I hoped my hair wasn’t falling down.

When I reached the podium, Philip Nilsson shook my hand in a warm, firm grip.  “Hi.”

He was even better looking face to face, if that were possible.

And his eyes were blue, a brilliant, beautiful blue.