Winning is Everything (4 page)

“All right, I’m serious now/’ said Gary, walking quickly to keep up with Ron’s manic pace. “We cannot afford the place I’ve found for us.”

“You said it was a great apartment,” claimed Ron. “That I was certain to love the view.”

“Screw the view,” said Gary. “The view doesn’t pay the rent. We do. And we can’t. I’m not a best-selling author. Not yet. I’m a poor boy from Cleveland who’s just taken Buckingham Palace for the summer, no furniture, no lease, an air conditioner that barely works, and all I can promise is you’re gonna love the view!”

“Will you calm down?” Ron said, and he stopped in his tracks for emphasis. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Good. Would you mind telling me about it?”

“Not at all,” said Ron as he resumed walking. “We’ll do what I always did in college whenever the fraternity had to raise money.”

“You mean…?”

“Exactly!” Ron’s eyes lit up in joyful anticipation. “We’ll have a party!”

5 

DO NOT REMOVE

Thursday, June 11th

PARTY!!! PARTY!!! PARTY!!!

The Affair of the Fair!
All the Booze You Can Drink!
All the Catered Food You Can Eat!
$3.00 8:00
P
.
M. till ???
245 East 67th Street
Your Hosts: Ron Zinelli & Gary Sergeant

Ron reread the copy he’d composed over a rapid lunch of Belgian waffle and Coca-Cola. After wiping the strawberry stain from the bottom of the paper, he tacked his notice to the staff bulletin board in the employees’ lounge. Then he and Gary went to work.

Assigned to the Product Salon, they reported to their zone leader and waited to be given assignments.

The Product Salon had several futuristic cars on display—engineless fiberglass roadsters of the future.

The zone leader, Hamilton Forsyth, came over to Ron and assigned him to stand near the Philco kitchen display that was encircled by a stuffed and feathered chorus line of dancing penguins. After ten minutes of pointing to men’s and ladies’ rooms, Ron realized the Product Salon was not for him.

Directly around the corner from where the penguins were driving him berserk with the looped monotony of their never-ending song, however, Ron could see the VIP entrance. He watched as well-dressed people casually entered through a private side door and were welcomed by a special team of attractive hosts who whisked them up the back elevators to the front of the ride.

At Ron’s first break he hurried over and, as unobtrusively as possible, quickly scanned the guest book the VIP’s had been asked to sign on their way out of the pavilion.

Bess Myerson and Joshua Logan, Prince Egon Von Furstenberg, Barbara Hutton and more. As Ron felt the adrenaline pumping through his system, he knew he’d found his calling at the World’s Fair.

“Hi,” Ron said to his zone leader several minutes later when he reported back to the Product Salon. “I’m back.”

“Good.” Ham Forsyth checked Ron’s name off a list and pointed to one of the futuristic cars. “Why don’t you get up there on the Aurora for a while, answer questions?”

“I’d rather not,” said Ron, pleasantly as possible. “What I’d like to do is request a transfer around the corner to the VIP section. I think I’d be happier working over there.”

“Listen fella …” The zone leader pointed his pencil at Ron. “It’s your first day here. Don’t get any fancy ideas. Everyone wants to work the VIP area. Waiting list’s as long as your arm. You go where I assign you. Now, hit the Aurora!”

Ron hit the Aurora, jumping up on the platform, standing alongside tomorrow’s station wagon, where he answered inane questions.

Two hours later, on his next break, Ron hurried over to the administrative offices. He moved about, asked a few questions, spoke to a few secretaries, and found out what he needed to know.

The VIP area, Ron learned, was run by the managing director. It was, however, the managing director’s secretary, one Ellenor Robinson, in fact, who processed all the paperwork and knew where all the bodies were buried.

Ron rushed into the men’s room, combed his hair, adjusted his tie, and winked at his reflection. “
You want something in this life “
he quoted his mother,
“you go out and get it!”

* * *

Ellenor Robinson always knew the time would come when she would meet Mr. Right. “
Someday My Prince Will Come
,” her mother used to sing as she rocked baby Ellenor to sleep.

He—Mr. Right—was long overdue. He’d been promised to her ever since she could remember; promised by her mother, her grandmother, her older sister. Three generations of Robinsons couldn’t be wrong. And when Elliott Kip Bramer stepped into her office that afternoon, even before Ron got there, Ellenor knew at once that he’d finally shown up, that her mother hadn’t lied, her grandmother had not disappointed her, her sister had known. There he was, her very own knight in shining armor, her own Mr. Right, and now her life would never again be the same.

“Excuse me.” Kip stood in the doorway to Ellenor’s office. “Could you tell me how I can get back to the Loading Zone? It’s my first day here and I guess I’m still a little disoriented.”

“No problem.” Ellenor smiled and sat up straight in her chair. “Elevator around the corner to your right. Take it to the second floor.”

“Thanks!” said Kip, and he was gone and that was it, their first meeting over, finished.

Damn!
Ellenor cursed herself. Why didn’t you introduce yourself? Why didn’t you find out who he was? Loading Zone—isn’t that where he said he was headed? Sure. Pull yourself together, get yourself upstairs, find out who he is, and welcome him to the World’s Fair on behalf of the Ford management.

Ellenor opened her desk drawer, removed a small hand mirror, and began combing her hair and adding a fresh coat of lipstick.

Ellenor liked her hand mirror best. The truth reflected in the small, compact oval was most certainly worth looking at. Full, sensuous lips covered beautiful teeth beneath a perfectly straight nose. Her pretty, clear hazel eyes held tiny speckled dark green lightning bolts. High cheekbones graced an almost perfect complexion.

Yes, it was a very pretty face. Ellenor’s problem was certainly not her face. Her problem was this: Ellenor was fat.

Well, maybe not
fat,
but most assuredly plump. Large shoulders, big torso, thighs gone too soon to flab, hips and a rear which knew too well the meaning of the words “secretarial spread.”

Ellenor rubbed lips together. Her long, naturally thick, dark eyelashes made the need for mascara superfluous. She smiled at her reflection, pleased she was not standing completely exposed before a full-length mirror; pleased it had been some time since she’d last heard someone pay her the classic backhanded compliment: ‘If you’d just lose forty pounds you’d be
so
pretty.”

Easy for others to say. Easy for others who never have to diet, who never know the guilt of late-night binges. If she could just lose forty pounds. Ellenor closed her compact and dropped it back into her purse. Forty pounds! Forty pounds only meant a year of starvation, a year of self-denial, a year Ellenor always promised herself would be coming … the following year.

Ellenor leaned over and placed her purse on the floor, ready to head upstairs to the Loading Zone, and just as she sat up again, a tall young man came in, sporting the most winning smile she’d ever seen.

“Hi,” said Ron with all the charismatic warmth he could muster. “I wanted to introduce myself. I was doing time in the Product Salon, going crazy. This is only my first day, but if I stand by that Philco display much longer, they’re going to have a couple of dead penguins on their hands.”

“It does get a little monotonous, doesn’t it?”

“A bit,” said Ron. “Anyway … I figured what I really needed to do was find a pretty girl who might sympathize with me, and then I passed this office and saw you sitting behind your desk.”

“Well, hello,” said’ Ellenor, receptive enough to let Ron know this project was not going to be too difficult.

“I’m Ron. Ron Zinelli. One N, two L’s.”

“Ellenor Robinson,” said the secretary, offering her hand.

Ron took Ellenor’s hand, and instead of shaking it, brought it to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

Embarrassed and still thinking about the other young man on his way to the loading zone, Ellenor giggled and removed her hand to safety below her desk.

Ron put a fist on each side of the desk, leaned toward her, and asked huskily, “Where you from, Ellenor?”

“Seattle,” Ellenor answered brightly. “Whole bunch of us here came from Seattle. We’re all over the pavilion. Five of us who worked for Ford at the Expo last summer had such a good time we decided to come to New York, take an apartment together, and work here.”

“Hey, let the good times roll, huh?” said Ron, sneakily perching a right thigh atop the desk as he leaned in closer.

“You must be part of the replacement team,” Ellenor said cheerily.

“That’s me.” Ron beamed.

“I’m just now processing all your papers,” said Ellenor. “How do you like it so far?”

“Funny you should ask …” said Ron, sliding still closer as he moved in for the kill.

Ten minutes later, his break over, Ron bounced back into the Product Salon, a new man. Not only was Ellenor already putting into motion the process papers necessary to transfer Ron from the Product Salon to the VIP area, she had also accepted his more-than-gracious offer to attend his Thursday-night party absolutely scot-free.

Ellenor tucked her purse under her arm, stood up from her desk, and headed for the elevator. By the time she arrived on the second floor, she had prepared three sets of possible remarks she might use in introducing herself.

She turned the corner, saw the loading zone off in the distance, and was immediately overwhelmed by a strong invasion of butterflies to her stomach.

In an effort to bolster her deflating spirits, she hurried into the nearest ladies’ room, there to make yet another last-minute adjustment before meeting the fellow who she hoped was going to whisk her off into the sunset.

She stood before the mirror above the sink, frantically brushing her thick dark brown hair, adding unnecessary eyeliner, all the while wondering why she was going to all this trouble.

No way he’s going to like me, she told her regrettably larger-than-life reflection. Why get this excited about someone you haven’t even yet met?

Ellenor adjusted her skirt, and sucking in her breath, tucked in her blouse. You’re only setting yourself up for disappointment. As usual.

Oh, go on out there, Ellenor convinced herself. Be friendly, bright, amusing. Say hello. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be more interested in your mind than your thighs. Perhaps it would interest him to know you almost finished the crossword puzzle in yesterday’s Sunday
New York Times.

Ellenor winked for luck at her reflection, turned around, and then, vowing to fast until next February, walked out of the ladies’ room.

The loading zone was packed, but Ellenor spotted Kip immediately. Still tall, still as strikingly handsome as she recalled ten minutes earlier, he was walking back and forth, assisting visitors into automobiles.

This is it, kid! Ellenor convinced herself. Now or never. She stepped onto the moving ramp, walked right up to the man of her fantasies, and studied the blue name tag on his chest. “Kip Bramer!” she said with a cheerful smile. “What a nice name!”

“Thanks.” Kip grinned, and Ellenor’s knees almost buckled. Wouldn’t you know it? Not just incredible-looking, but warm and friendly, too. Say something to him, dummy. Quick, he’s not going to stand there with that warm, open and enchanting smile forever, you know.

“I’m Ellenor Robinson,” Ellenor said at last. “I work for Mr. Thomason … downstairs … in his office. Where you just recently stopped by … I guess you could say I’m his assistant …”

“Glad to meet you,” said Kip, all business, as he helped a family of Midwesterners into a red Galaxie.

“It stopped raining!” Ellenor said brightly, immediately hating herself for the insipidness of her choice of words* Oh, that was real clever!

“Good!” Kip turned his back on Ellenor to assist an elderly lady into the front seat of a Mustang.

“Nice meeting you …” Ellenor said, so quietly that Kip didn’t hear her. He’s busy, she told herself. Can’t you see he’s working? Say goodbye and leave.

“Ah, well …” Ellenor raised her voice, this time to be heard. “Guess I’ll be leaving now….”

“See ya,” Kip called to her over his shoulder.

Ellenor turned away depressed. He had hardly noticed her. Probably she should’ve worn the green-and-blue dress that made her eyes look larger and her hips smaller. You must learn to plan your destiny a little better, she told herself. Next time, she promised herself; next time she would be more polished, more in control. Next time she’d inaugurate a conversation about Proust, about existentialism or the geopolitical climate of the southeastern section of Latin America. Hell, she could discuss phyllo-dough cookies or Fidel Castro; stock dividends or stock-car racing; parity for potato farmers or recipes for potato soup. So why, Ellenor wondered, as she walked back into her office, why had she been so shy and boring?

Frustrated and annoye4 with herself, Ellenor plopped down in the chair behind her desk. She wasn’t certain what else she might be doing that evening after work, but she was now damned sure she’d end up gobbling that Sara Lee chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf of the freezer.