Bob at the Plaza (18 page)

At the Knickerbocker, even the meeting rooms felt wealthy. Instead of the usual cheap, functional furniture, you could imagine yourself in the private office of one of the Gilded Age’s robber barons, a den furnished with dark, expensive mahogany tables with hidden work screens and computer terminals. I couldn’t imagine a more drastic change from my recent months of frugal ramen-noodle living. I paused outside the door but when Tess saw me she beckoned me inside.

“Folks,” she said, “I’d like you all to meet the invisible member of our team these past six months. This is Roz. I know you’ve all heard me talking about her and I give her much of the credit for some of the strategy and communications that led to our being here today.”

Tom and Wendy greeted me with smiles. Charli glowered and then seemed to realize that was inappropriate and pasted on an artificial smirk. We spent a few minutes shaking hands and chatting, and then Tess brought the meeting back to order.

“We’re here today to make sure we’re maximizing the boost this award can give Knobox. Not only will it cement our reputation as a community leader, but it gives our CEO access to a cadre of top-notch business leaders throughout the country. Now that we’ve won, we’ve joined businesses like UPS and Boeing who have always had sterling reputations for contributing to their communities. We need to make sure that, like them, Knobox gets the publicity and credit it’s earned. So I want to spend the next hour brainstorming to make sure we’ve covered all of our bases with our publicity and recognition campaigns.”

I hung back from the conversation for a few minutes, not wanting to seem like an intruder, but joined in after a while with a few well-received ideas. All told, it was a very productive hour. Not only did I get to know everyone better, but I got a chance to see how they approached problem-solving and communications challenges. Eventually, though, Tess broke off the discussion and we went back to our rooms to change for the Winners Cocktail Party that Knobox would be hosting. Wendy hung back to talk to Tess while Tom, Charli, and I caught the elevator.

“Dick, the CEO, is looking forward to rubbing elbows with the CEOs of other winning companies tonight. It’s a great chance for him to network. You’ll like Dick. He’s not a golf-playing CEO. He’d rather do something productive with his time when he’s networking with his peers, like these community service projects. They mean a lot to him, and to his vision of the kind of company Knobox should be,” Tom said, punching the buttons on the elevator. “Wouldn’t you agree, Charli?” he said, glancing at her.

“Oh, absolutely, Tom,” Charli gushed. “I’ve just loved working with Dick.” Charli glanced at me to make sure I’d caught the fact that she was on a first-name basis with the CEO. “He’s so hard-working and dedicated to making Knobox recognized as a responsible community citizen.”

We arrived at my floor, and I left the elevator saying, “I’ll see you all at the cocktail party in a little bit.”

Tom smiled, and Charli nodded.

Another hurdle jumped. Not naturally an outgoing person, this outlay of charm was going to cost me. By the end of the night I’d be a puddle of used-up personality.

The cocktail party featured a who’s who of luminaries in the business world, heads of companies from all over the country. Well-dressed CEOs, with their obligatorily blond wives on their arms, mingled with professional friend and foe alike on the neutral floor of philanthropy. Food and drink abounded, with discreet placards highlighting the corporate sponsors that had underwritten every aspect of tonight’s festivities so that every dollar raised in the charitable campaigns truly supported Community Chest activities.

Tess, carefully timing her move, brought me, my suit now freshened up with the addition of my sparkly evening blouse, over to Dick and his wife, Jennifer. Dick, all politeness, exchanged the obligatory small-talk, but after a few minutes his gaze started moving subtly around the crowded floor, seeking a more fiscally profitable person to talk to. Tess, sensing the change in flow, whisked me away to the bar.

“I’m glad Dick had a chance to meet you, Roz,” she said, accepting a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. “Now he’ll never forget you. He’s phenomenal with names and faces. If you run into him in an elevator in five years, he’ll use your name when he talks to you. It’s amazing.” She looked off into space for a minute, expertly swishing the champagne in her mouth, gauging its quality and making sure it matched what she had paid for, then turned back to me. “I’ve always considered myself immensely lucky. You hear people all the time complaining about what jerks their bosses are, how stupid they are, complaints like that. I’m very fortunate to say that my boss is one of the smartest men I’ve ever known, and one of the hardest-working. He’s not perfect, of course. I’ve seen him lose his temper and man, you don’t want to be in the room when he does, but he’s definitely one of the good guys.”

I nodded. “That’s a real tribute these days.” I studied Dick, working the room. His wife had wandered over to the eye-popping buffet, packed with every delicacy I could―and, over the past few bean-and-rice-filled months, had―imagined. Luxuries I hadn’t seen in years: caviar, lox, the ripest brie, fresh raspberries the size of my thumb, the most exquisitely crafted appetizers, dotted with capers and chives. The closest I’d gotten to a buffet like this recently had been pictures in magazines.

Tess stopped to talk with the catering manager, and I, drawn ineluctably like a moth to a flame, sidled up to the buffet where Jennifer scooped fresh raspberries off a fruit platter and chased them around her plate with a fork.

“I always hate trying to eat at cocktail parties,” she complained, pursuing one rogue berry around her plate. “These foods never cooperate.” Finally, triumphant, she speared the fruit and popped it into her mouth.

Judging by her giggle, I guessed she’d had maybe one too many glasses of champagne. But what the heck, most of us take our small triumphs wherever we can find them.

I swallowed the cracker I’d just decorated with a smidge of caviar and turned with Jennifer to gaze at the room full of elegant people, wracking my brain to think of something to say. 

“So, you’re a writer?” she asked, calling up my recent introduction.

“Yes, I’ve been working with Tess on her America Wins! campaign for a while.”

“I used to be a nurse,” Jennifer said abruptly.

“Oh,” I said, not sure how to handle the shift in conversation.

“I worked in the hospital where Dick got his appendix out about thirty years ago. That’s how we met,” she said, remembering the good old days.

“How nice,” I said, still not sure how to respond to her comments.

“When I married Dick, we moved a lot during the first few years, and the kids were young, so I gave up nursing. Now I tell people”—she turned to me, a bitter smile on her face—“that Dick is my career.” Her eyes moved restlessly over the crowd as that remark sank in, and then she continued. “I keep everything in the house functioning and quiet so he can focus on Knobox and never be distracted by everyday worries. I’ve freed him up so he can concentrate on his job.”

I didn’t know what to say and, frankly, this conversation made me uncomfortable. Jennifer might have sensed this because she said, as she speared a final raspberry off the serving platter, “You’re very lucky you kept your own career and your own identity.” Speechless, I watched her wander back into the gilded cocktail crowd.

Just then Tom and his wife joined me, and I spent the rest of the cocktail hour listening to stories of suburban Little League games.

As a group, we walked the two blocks to the Convention Center, which hosted the night’s festivities. ‘Bedlam’ would be the best way to describe the next two hours. Our hosts shoehorned two thousand people into one cavernous room. Tables had been set with salads and desserts in addition to traditional place settings to minimize the number of times waitstaff would thread through tables and bodies while carrying their oversized trays.

The head of the Community Chest organization opened the awards ceremony while we ate our greens, running through the agenda and housekeeping notes. After her speech, waiters served the hot entrees, beef and chicken, both on the same plate so there’d be no fussing with dining preferences. Then music blared, and an up-and-coming country star walked onstage to sing his latest hit about America, and how it had fought so many battles in wars and on other fronts, including poverty and civil rights. The audience went wild. Community Chest carefully crafted the awards ceremony to keep that momentum and excitement building for the next hour.

A multi-colored laser show flashed around the room and balloons fell. America Wins! runners-up received recognition and then finally the pinnacle of the evening, the Knobox award presentation. Dick was brought onstage with a standing ovation and tumultuous applause to receive the crystal trophy. When the emcee introduced him, he also mentioned that Dick had received a special letter tonight to celebrate this award. Dick looked as puzzled as everyone else in the room as he lifted the envelope’s flap. Pulling out the white paper, he did a double-take. Then stepping up to the microphone he cleared his throat, visibly shaken, and said, “It’s from the President of the United States.” Dick read the letter out loud, concluding with, “Knobox truly represents the spirit of service, and I commend you for promoting and exemplifying the compassion and commitment that are such integral parts of the American character.”

Everyone in the room stood again, applauding as he replaced the letter in the envelope, carefully positioned it on the podium, and reached for the crystal America Wins! trophy. We sat, rustling back into our seats, and waited for his acceptance speech. Having written an early draft, I was curious to hear how the final version would sound.

“Tonight,” Dick said, “I accept this award on behalf of the amazing people of Knobox Corporation. Not only do they bring their best work to our factories and offices every day, but they bring their community spirit and dedication with them as well. I couldn’t be prouder of every one of my colleagues. I also need to thank the team that guided our efforts in winning this accolade tonight: Tom, Tess, Charli, and Wendy. They put in many long hours advising our offices and collecting and analyzing reports from the field with campaign results and techniques. I’m going to ask them to stand so we can recognize all their hard work. Knobox would not be here without their whole-hearted dedication.”

I joined everyone in the audience in applauding the people standing at my table. They all looked pleased, and a little embarrassed. After she sat down, Tess reached across the table and patted my hand. Leaning over, she said quietly, “We couldn’t have done this without you, Roz, even though that couldn’t be recognized tonight. I hope you know you have everyone’s appreciation for the great work you’ve done.”

“I do know it, Tess, and I so appreciate your including me in this evening’s festivities. It’s not often that a freelancer gets to see the final result of all of those hours.”

Tess patted my hand again and then sat back, waiting for Dick to return to the table and pass around the crystal award. She’d mentioned in our session this afternoon that Knobox planned to build a custom-designed case for the America Wins! trophy and would place it in the middle of the reception area of their national headquarters. Every visitor entering or leaving the building would see it.

The letter from the President had also aroused my curiosity. I hoped Tess would get me a copy of it for my portfolio. (I bet not a lot of freelancers lead off a collection of their work projects with a copy of a letter from the President of the United States.) All of a sudden, I felt a lot more optimistic about my future job prospects.

After Dick sat down, we carefully passed the award around to admire it. Despite its substance, the crystal flag sparkled as if it flapped in a spanking breeze. Definitely a fitting commemoration of the millions of dollars Knobox employees had raised to help out the people and institutions in their communities. Tonight, I was very proud of my career.

People started to leave the awards ceremony as the country star belted out another hit to close the evening.

“Anyone want to get a drink?” Tom, the irrepressible, asked. We all looked around, waiting to see how others responded, and Dick said, “Tom, it sounds like a great idea, but I’ve got an early morning tomorrow so I’ll have to bow out. You folks go ahead though, if you’d like, and have one on me.” Then Tess followed with, “No, Dick, you’re right. I have a six a.m. flight tomorrow morning so if I’m going to get any sleep I’d better get back to my room.” Once a second person backed out, the initiative collapsed, and we all decided to call it a night.

“Should we walk back and enjoy some fresh air?” Dick said. “We can probably walk quicker than we could find a cab in this mob.”

So once more the group of us set out and ambled toward the Knickerbocker. Thank goodness my heels weren’t impossibly high, like Charli’s. I didn’t envy her.

Once in the hotel lobby, we all said our good nights. Dick gave me a friendly handshake and thanked me for all my hard work while Jennifer said she’d enjoyed our conversation at the buffet. After they left, Tom said, in his jovial fashion, “Tess thinks the world of you, Roz, and has nothing but good things to say about your work on this campaign. Who knows, maybe we’ll be seeing more of you?” and he winked.

Tess and I hugged, and Tess whispered in my ear that she’d be in touch. Then we left the marble-decorated splendor of the lobby for the carpet-hushed hallways.

Still no sign of Bob in our room. It looked just as it had when I’d left hours ago. Jazzed from my exciting evening and eager to share my thoughts, I wandered around the room, picking up various goody bag items. They just weren’t as much fun without someone to show them to. I would have enjoyed sharing them with David but water under the bridge and all that. Besides, he was at chorus tonight, along with our prospective member Penny Mae. She’d wasted no time moving in on him, drat it.

I hemmed and hawed, reluctant to go out again at this hour of the morning especially after so little sleep the night before. Eventually I surrendered, compelled by the prospect of actually seeing the Round Table in action. After scrabbling under the bed for my comfortable shoes, I went downstairs, and asked the doorman to hail me a cab for the Algonquin.