“My god, Mary, I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out to catch her before she fell. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Alan,” she said, clutching my arm in an attempt to right herself. “I’m fine.” Her hand brushed coldly over mine as she disengaged. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I have a ten o’clock meeting with Dr. Lancaster in the speaker ready room,” I said truthfully. I didn’t have to explain to Mary that Dr. Douglas Lancaster was our keynote speaker, a mentor of and personally selected by Eleanor Rumsfeld. “He wants to go over the technical requirements of his presentation.”
Mary looked at her watch, the sparkles of its diamonds flashing me as it came out from under the sleeve of her suit jacket. Although much more expensive than the one I wore, it undoubtedly told her the same thing mine would have. It was nine-fifty-six.
“I thought we had set this as the time to discuss the situation with Amy Crawford.”
I suspected that Mary knew we had said nine-thirty and that she was the one who was twenty-six minutes late, but her tone was challenging, daring me to call her out or contradict her. It felt like she was testing me. In a lot of my interactions with Mary lately, I realized, it felt like she was testing me.
“I thought we said nine-thirty,” I said simply. “Should we reschedule?”
“No,” she said quickly. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay,” I said, and then stood there silently. After finding conviction among my recent introspections, I no longer wanted to have this conversation with Mary. It didn’t look like I was going to be able to avoid it, but I certainly didn’t have to initiate anything.
After a pause, Mary carefully checked our surroundings. “Is there anyone in the staff office?”
“No,” I said.
“Let’s go in there.”
“Okay.”
Standing safely behind the closed door, Mary got right down to business.
“First off, Alan, I want to let you know that you did the right thing bringing this to my attention.”
“I did?”
“Yes, absolutely. Our relationship with Wes Howard is a very important one. Had you decided to confront him last night, there’s no telling what kind of damage you might have done.”
The blank look on my face must have prompted Mary’s next response.
“Inadvertently, of course. I’m not saying you would do anything to intentionally harm the firm, Alan. You’ve always demonstrated good judgment in these matters and last night was no exception.”
Wait. She’s praising me? For doing nothing?
“Mary,” I said, my suspicions suddenly on full alert. “Have you already spoken to Wes?”
“Yes. Just now.”
So that’s why she was late.
“He has assured me that he will not bring Amy to any more of our events.”
It took about five seconds -- five seconds of me staring open mouthed at Mary -- for the full meaning of her words to hit me. When they did, I felt like the earth moved under my feet.
“He’s not going to bring Amy to any more of our events?”
“Yes,” Mary said, her voice already shifting to her this-matter-is-closed tone. “As you witnessed, it’s too disruptive. Amy is a former member of our staff, someone who left under difficult circumstances. Her presence brings the questions surrounding those circumstances back to the surface, and too many of our staff members, as young as they are, can’t be expected to parse them appropriately. It will inevitably cause them to compromise their professionalism, and that harms both the firm and the client that Wes represents.”
Mary stopped herself short. “What?” she asked me. “What are you looking at me like that for? Once I explained it to Wes he knew exactly what I was talking about.”
My mind was racing. Four minutes ago I had been ready to fight my way to the top of the pile, and now I felt like my legs were about to give out underneath me. But some of my piss and vinegar was still swirling around in my gut, and it was telling, daring, demanding that I tell Mary how utterly fucked up she and this whole sorry affair was. Mary, it wanted me to say, the problem isn’t that Wes Howard brought Amy Crawford to our event. The problem is that Wes Howard is a predator, and his prey are all the young women you hire to work long hours for little pay. You’re either oblivious to what is really going on or you are complicit in his crimes. All telling him he can’t bring Amy around is going to do is put other members of your staff in his crosshairs. Why the fuck do you think Caroline was crying and begging me to come get her? Amy Crawford isn’t the one who needs to be banned from our events. Wes Howard is!
“Alan? What is it?”
I realize now that this was one of those rare moments of truth. And to my credit, despite all the wrong turns I would take at so many other crossroads, this time I decided to ever so carefully proceed on the high road.
“Mary, I don’t think just getting Wes to agree to not bring Amy around addresses the real issue.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because, there’s nothing to stop him from…”
“From? From what?”
The words were there, I was just having a hard time saying them.
“There’s nothing to stop him from...from hitting on other members of our staff.”
“Oh, Alan! Don’t start with that, please! We’re talking about grown-ups here.”
“Yes, Mary, we are. And as grown-ups, we shouldn’t be afraid to admit what’s really going on.”
I’ve subsequently had a lot of time to think about those words, those words that came so blithely out of my mouth when I was alone with Mary in our conference staff office. And with the benefit of tremendous hindsight, I see that few words spoken have ever been more both the absolutely right and the absolutely wrong things to say.
Mary visibly paled. “Look Alan,” she said with sudden frailty. “I won’t have you speaking to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“With such disrespect.”
I put up a pair of surrendering hands. “I meant no disrespect, Mary. It’s just that people are talking, and they don’t see this thing the way you do. The problem isn’t Amy Crawford. The problem is Wes Howard.”
“You know, Alan,” Mary said, her voice shifting tone again, regaining most of the self-satisfied dominance she typically displayed. “People are talking about more than just Amy Crawford and Wes Howard. They’re talking about you. You and your inability to lead them effectively.”
It was probably meant to knock me off my feet. But these were the trenches, and despite the legitimate power Mary was able to wield over me, the trenches were where I was used to fighting.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said icily. “Michael resigned because of you, and now Gerald is asking me to reassign him to another client.”
“He asked you what?” I couldn’t help it. I knew she was only trying to rattle me, but the idea of Gerald talking about me behind my back did exactly that.
“He doesn’t want to work with you anymore. He says you’re a terrible leader.”
I had a few choice words about Gerald, too, but I bit my tongue.
“Everyone is entitled to their opinion, Mary. What’s yours?”
Judging by the expression that passed over her face, I’d have to say I both surprised and impressed her with that one.
“Honestly, Alan, I’m no longer sure.” Now she was a mother, expressing her disappointment with an ill-behaved child. “You’ve shown so much promise in so many areas, but ever since this latest promotion your priorities seems to be off.”
“Off?”
“Yes, off. You don’t seem as dedicated to the client’s success as you used to be. I’ve opened several doors for you, but you’ve been reluctant to step through them.”
“What are you talking about?” I really didn’t have any idea. Her corporate-speak was like a foreign language I had forgotten how to speak.
“Even Eleanor has noticed,” Mary continued. “She thinks I’ve promoted you too soon.”
That didn’t answer my question. “Mary,” I said again, doing my best to keep my voice level. “What are you talking about? What doors haven’t I stepped through? I’ve been working my ass off, doubly so since Susan left.”
“You probably shouldn’t bring up Susan with me, Alan,” Mary said, her voice under better control than mine. “She’d still be with us if you would’ve handled that situation better. Both Don and I think you’re the reason she decided to leave, too.”
Now I was starting to feel dizzy. What the fuck are you talking about?
I will probably never know if those last words actually came out of my mouth, or if they only rang out in my enraged mind, because at that very moment the staff office door opened and Angie Ferguson came barrelling into the room, a balanced stack of empty registration boxes in her arms.
“Alan!” she practically shouted. “There you are! Dr. Lancaster is waiting for you in the speaker ready room. Did you forget or something?”
“I didn’t forget!” I snapped back. “I’m having a conversation here.”
The stack of boxes and the way the door opened prevented her from seeing Mary. She turned in place and, in her surprise and movement, tipped the stack of boxes in Mary’s direction, who had to bat them out of the way to keep them from hitting her in the face.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry, Mary. Didn’t see you there.”
“It’s all right,” Mary said in a tone that indicated it was anything but all right.
Angie kept moving into the room, tossing the few boxes that remained in her grasp into a corner of the room, the place we had already designated as the trash zone. “Should I tell him you’ll be late?” she said as she busied herself with retrieving the remaining boxes from around Mary’s feet.
“Mary?” I asked.
“Go,” she said, her attention seemingly more on Angie’s movements than anything that had been said between us. “Don’t keep Dr. Lancaster waiting any longer.”
I stood there for a moment, waiting for Mary to say something else. We’ll talk later. We’re not finished here. I’ll get you, you son of a bitch. Anything that would acknowledge the hostile and unprofessional exchange we had just had, but there was nothing more coming.
“Okay,” I eventually said and left 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.
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