We talked about work for a while, things we had done and had yet to do to prepare for the conference. When there was a lull, and after the waiter brought us our second round of drinks, Bethany changed the subject.
“So how’d it go at the board meeting today?”
The board meeting? I remember thinking distantly to myself. Had I been to a board meeting that day?
“What?”
“The board meeting,” Bethany repeated, as if speaking to a moron. “Didn’t you give your report to the board earlier today?”
“Yes,” I said, deciding I had, and confirming it both for her and for myself. “Yes, I did.”
Bethany waited for me to go on. “Well...? How’d it go?”
“Fine,” I said slowly, my brain waking up, and realizing it was uncertain about how much I should share. “It went fine.”
“I hope they realize how much work we’ve put into organizing this conference,” she said pointedly. “You most of all.”
“Mmm mmm,” I said noncommittally, moving the umbrella out of the way and taking a slurp of my mai tai.
“What does that mean? Do they know how hard it’s been or not?”
“Not really,” I said easily, putting my glass down. “They seemed more interested in the bottom line. How many people we had attending. How much money we were likely to make. Stuff like that.”
“Well, that sucks,” she said, taking her own drink and rattling the ice in the bottom of the glass. “With Susan and Michael gone, you’ve bent over backwards to keep this stupid thing on track. We all have. Seems like that should at least be recognized.”
I shrugged, a little surprised by her tone, but not upset about it. There was more I could’ve said, and maybe that’s what she was fishing for. There was Paul’s question about being short-staffed and the lie Mary had made me tell, but I knew better than to share details like that with her. What happened at the board table stayed at the board table. It was a rule that didn’t have to be written down. It was partly the mystique Mary wanted to create about what happened behind that closed door, but it was also an important survival strategy. Having reached a position where I was now invited to attend board meetings, it would be suicide to start telling tales out of school.
“I’m sorry,” Bethany said, probably realizing she sounded more bitter than she wanted to.
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I said with compassion, and then with stoic resignation, “Ours is not to reason why.”
Bethany smiled, but not in a knowing way, and I wondered what she would think about the second line of that couplet.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said, reaching again for the mai tai.
“Did Mary try to sabotage you?”
She startled me with the question, her lips still smiling, but her voice dripping with venom. It seemed both to come out of left field and to be strangely prescient.
I put the glass down without taking a sip. “What?”
“Mary,” she said slowly. “Did she sabotage you? Did she undercut you and try to make you look foolish in front of the board?”
I looked around at the handful of other patrons on the terrace. I didn’t recognize any of them but, for all I knew, they were all people attending our conference.
“Because that’s what she does. She’s a jackal. She sets people up to fail. You of all people must know that.”
“Bethany,” I said. “This isn’t a conversation we should have here.”
She sat there smugly, her arms crossed across under her breasts, not caring, challenging me to contradict her, here and now, to try and prove her wrong. Her nostrils flared while a sea breeze came in and lifted her dark hair off her shoulders.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I said suddenly, surprising myself as much as her.
“A walk?”
“Sure. A walk on the beach. Do you want to? It’s a beautiful night, and with the week we have ahead of us, it might be the last chance we get.” I paused, meeting her eyes without fear. “And we can talk more freely out there.”
“Okay, sure,” she said, now with comprehension. “That would be nice.”
+ + +
“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.
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