I had never actually been to a board meeting before and didn’t know what to expect. The leadership conference Mary had taken me to earlier in the year to introduce me around had included a board meeting, but it had been more perfunctory than anything else—two hours of parliamentary motions, amendments, and question calls whizzing by before my eyes like a swift-moving freight train. What was happening now was a very different affair—a day and a half of environmental scanning, strategic conversations, and long-range planning prior to the start of our organization’s national conference. Decisions made here would be slow and deliberate, and they would reverberate throughout the year ahead as Mary worked to reshape the services we provided to align with the priorities and resource allocations selected by the board.
It was all very secretive. Mary liked it that way. Looking at the closed meeting room door I knew she was in there with them. She had come in two nights before—her sleeping room guaranteed for late arrival at the same overpriced hotel Eleanor had wanted for herself—and she had met with the board all day yesterday, and then taken them out for dinner at one of the best restaurants in town. Like Eleanor, no expense was spared when it came to the board’s itinerary, and Mary always included herself in their activities. My new position, as unique as it was, didn’t grant me access to their exclusive club. They would make most of their decisions without me, and it clearly wasn’t necessary for me to enjoy the same luxury accommodations they did.
But there was more to it than just where I sat in the pecking order. I’d done the math. My shorter itinerary and less-opulent housing were saving the organization more than eight hundred dollars in total—almost enough to offset one night’s lodging in Eleanor’s suite. And there were other planned cutbacks in the conference budget, enough to make up the rest of the difference, and in places where the VIPs and other attendees were unlikely to notice. Mary had been very precise in her line-item vetoes. The staff and the vendors we worked with—the people who actually made the conference happen—we would take it on the chin. She knew we’d suck it up and perform the best we could—our jobs depended on it. But ask the volunteers to give up one of their perks? Or ask the conference attendees to shoulder some piece of the burden? That was unthinkable.
When it was ten minutes past their scheduled break time, I stealthily approached the door and peeked through the little fish-eyed lens that allowed convention service staff to check on meetings inside without disturbing them. The most prominent feature I saw was the conference table itself—a mahogany monstrosity with cherry wood inlays and electrical, phone, and Internet jacks at every executive place setting. The people around the table seemed like afterthoughts, blurry figures shrunk down and widely separated from one another. Even with the distortion, however, I had no problem identifying Eleanor and Mary, two women sitting side by side at one end of the table, while fifteen other board members faced them, all men, their colorful ties slashing down their white shirts like open wounds. Pressing my ear against the door I struggled to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t make anything out.
I sat back down in the comfortable chair that had been placed opposite the board room door, an abstract painting and an ornate credenza with a house phone and a spread of daily newspapers forming a tasteful grouping for the executive with a few minutes to kill. After a while a banquet captain came by and placed a small tray with a bottle of spring water and a chilled glass with a wedge of lime on the credenza next to me. He was dark-complexioned and wore a short tuxedo jacket and a crisply pressed shirt.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Our compliments, sir,” he said. “In case you're thirsty.”
I looked at the bottle and then back at him, realizing I was thirsty, that I hadn’t had anything to drink since the eight ounces of Diet Coke on the plane from Memphis, and marveling at the idea that he had known that when I hadn’t. Damn, I thought, the service here was good.
“Thanks,” I said.
“A pleasure.” He nodded, and then moved off down the corridor.
I had only drunk half of the spring water when the board room door opened and one of the board members came darting out. I recognized him by the picture we had on our website—now clearly ten or fifteen years out of date—but couldn’t remember his name. He gave me a quick wave as I came up out of the chair, and then dashed down the hall and into the men’s room. He’d left the board room door open behind him, and I could see other members of the board inside rising from their chairs, stretching their arms, and joking good-naturedly with each other.
From my perspective I could see neither Mary nor Eleanor, but deciding they had finally gone on break—twenty-five minutes late—I ventured into the room, stopping just inside the door, the bright sunshine from a long bank of windows causing me to blink and momentarily shield my eyes. They weren’t just windows, I realized, but full glass doors, two of them slid open and I saw several board members out on a small tile-floored terrace beyond. An infinity of blue sky surrounded their solid forms.
“How was your flight?”
I turned to my right and there stood Mary, dressed in one of her power suits and looking more at home than I had ever seen her in the office.
“It was good,” I said, nodding the hello instead of vocalizing it.
“Any delays?”
“Nope. Smooth sailing, start to finish.”
“And your hotel?”
“It’s nice,” I said, wondering why all the small talk. “What I saw of it, at least. I just dropped my bags and left in order to get over here on time.” I saw Eleanor over Mary’s shoulder, in a conversation with another board member. She was also dressed professionally, her hair recently permed in a style no longer in fashion. “How are things here?”
“They’re nice. Eleanor is very happy with her suite.”
It wasn’t the information I was looking for. I was really asking about how the board meeting was going, but I decided not to clarify because I saw Eleanor break out of her conversation and turn towards us.
“Alan!” she said warmly, stepping forward and shaking my hand in both of hers. “It’s good to see you again. We’re all looking forward to your presentation this afternoon. It looks like another record-breaking conference. Congratulations!”
The effusiveness of her praise took me by surprise. It was true the written report I had submitted in advance of the board meeting had shown us on track to beat last year’s attendance record, but a lot still depended on the on-site registrations. I found myself mumbling something to that effect.
“No worries!” Eleanor said. “With all the hard work you’ve put into this conference, I’ve every confidence that the numbers will come in. It’s one of the few things we can count on this year, eh, Mary?”
Eleanor was still jovial, but Mary’s face paled as if she had been stabbed in the side with a letter opener. Mary’s flat response, I thought, was even more revealing.
“If you say so, Eleanor.”
It sounded nearly insubordinate to me, but if Eleanor thought so, she showed no outward signs. She gave me a smile and a reassuring squeeze on the elbow, and then moved on to another conversation.
“What was that all about?” I asked as soon as Eleanor was out of earshot.
“It’s nothing,” Mary said, her reptilian mask coming back down over her face. “Just stick to your script during your presentation. And during the question and answer period...” She left the sentence dangling, as if waiting for me to confirm that I was listening.
“Uh huh?”
She stepped closer to me, close enough for me to smell her perfume, closer than I was frankly comfortable with, and spoke without pretense.
“Don’t say anything. I’ll field all the questions and, no matter what I say—don’t contradict me. Just keep your mouth shut. Understood?”
“Suuurrre,” I said slowly, knowing this was not the time to ask questions, but curious as all hell as to what was going on.
Mary’s hand came up as if to grasp me, to squeeze my arm as Eleanor had done, to communicate some kind of human feeling that existed below the surface of her words, but Mary’s hand stopped short, hovering in the air like a hawk before falling away. Then she moved past me, weaving around two other board members and out of the room.
+ + +
“Dragons” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For more information, go here.
This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.
Image Source
http://lres.com/heres-why-amcs-need-to-pay-close-attention-to-looming-regulatory-changes/businessman-in-the-middle-of-a-labyrinth/
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