by Lisa Acerbo
“Lots of travel,” Geany says, studying me.
I smile. My insides squirm, dying slowly. But I can do this. I am determined to stand strong. I will not let anxiety rule my life. Anymore.
The first two meetings will be in the New York and Chicago, followed by cross country visits to Arizona, Colorado, and California.
“Thanks for all the good work, team,” Alan says with a smile so wide, it appears to hurts his normally tightly-clenched lips. Maddie and I need to begin site visits for those locations and develop the invitations.
The next morning, Geany drags me and Maddie into her office. “Okay, girls, now the fun really begins. Dani, you and I will work on the save-the-dates and the invites. Alan will forward us a list of doctors to send these to. As soon as these are printed, we will send them out. Maddie, you’ll be doing site visits for the remaining locations. Start researching possibilities.”
“Will I be going on-site with her again?” I ask. I twist the lined yellow paper in my hands. A combination of nervous doodling and the desire to rip it to pieces after every inane Maddie comment has left it unsuitable to write on.
Maddie sighs in exasperation. She rises from her chair and heads for the door, throwing her last barb over her shoulder. “Geany, I think you need to explain the difference in job descriptions between a meeting planner and a program planner.”
Ass. I only say it in my head, but it really wants to come out of my mouth. I’m not even aware of my job description since I applied to be a receptionist, and no one has ever shown me anything. All I know is both of us work in the meetings department for the same client.
“A program planner like you runs the on-site meetings known as the program,” Geany says. “You’re in charge of working with the doctors and whatever crisis, of which there will be many, happen once we get on site.”
Noticing my blank expression, Geany elaborates. “Maddie will also be present, but she is responsible for interaction with the hotel staff. Her job is mostly done beforehand. She deals with the hotel contacts, handles the contracts from the hotels, does the site inspections, and works with the clients to meet their needs. I’ll be at your first few meetings as well to keep you both in line.”
I’m not sure if that is supposed to be a joke. I force a weak laugh. “Then why did I go on the site visit and write the report for Florida?” My notes are now a crumpled mess, wrinkled and twisted beyond hope of recovery.
Geany remains silent for a minute, sculpting her reply. The words sound practiced. “We believe going on site with Maddie would be helpful. You could learn more about the job, see all the different aspects to it. You wrote the report because Maddie happened to take her comp day on Monday. She wasn’t supposed to do that, but she’s Maddie.”
“She’s Maddie,” I echo. And so it goes. I spend the week on the phone with doctors, arranging flight plans, contacting car services, and planning for special items such as kosher meals. While Maddie is supposedly in charge of dealing with the hotel, I make all the arrangements with the audio-visual tech, discussing how rooms should be set up, and break-out sessions arranged. I also get to hear all the moaning and complaining from the doctors who can’t travel first class or who cannot squeeze in a round of golf before the sessions let out at three in the afternoon.
I listen to presenters complain how the technology is outdated, their PowerPoint presentations aren’t accurate, or fail to run on their laptop. All the presenters need last-minute changes, which I relay to Mina and Garry. They find someone in the editorial department to fix these. To be fair, Maddie handles the hotel contract and then finds the time at lunch to get a manicure and pedicure.
“It’s a new color.” Maddie waves her fingers in front of my face. “Sunset Suave. Like it?”
“It’s pretty,” I say.
“I’ll be at the hotel the day before you show up. I have tons to do, and I don’t want you to mess up any of my hard work. You and Geany will travel together.”
I’m delighted to be away from Maddie, even if it is only for twenty-four hours.
The day before the first meeting, I’m nauseous, not sure if it’s from nerves or the long and bumpy flight to Hilton Head. I spend the flight running to the bathroom with an upset stomach caused by a mixture of turbulence and monthly cramps. I listen to Geany’s divorce horror story. I suffer for three-plus hours on the plane without an Advil to be found anywhere. Damn the pharmaceutical company we represent for not making pain relief.
As I exit the airport and jump into a car that whisks us off to the hotel, I hope there might be down time between getting off the plane and working at the hotel, but I’m wrong. Very, very, very wrong. I wander through the hotel doors.
“Drop your luggage here,” Geany says.
“Why?” I ask.
“They’ll deliver it to your room. Head over to the conference room where everyone is waiting.” Geany checks her phone. “Things aren’t going well.”
The client is not ecstatic with how the pre-planning meeting is proceeding. Along with the team from Primus, I recognize some faces I’ve seen roaming the halls, but have never been properly introduced to. George Smith, a gangly, older intellectual and head of the Continuing Education Department, is in charge of regulating all the content to make sure that the material remains unbiased.
Sitting next to George is Jill Chua, small, dark-skinned, with a smile that never leaves her face, a medical editor from Primus. She is also a physician from Australia. I don’t hear much about her other than everyone at the company enjoys working with her. George and Jill greet me as I slide into a chair next to Geany and listen to Alan rant. The client isn’t happy with the last round of changes that George made in the medical education conference content to assure it is fair and balanced.
I tune out Alan’s voice until Geany nudges me none to gently and asks to go over the list of doctors who are presenting and those who had accepted the invitation to the meeting. I discuss the presenters and which doctors requested certain items for their presentations, such as audio and video needs, special handouts, or background studies. Alan’s face remains neutral, a good sign, until I start listing the attending physicians.
“What happened to Rubenstien, Accello, and Bachman?” Alan asks, his frown deepening as the color rises to his cheeks. A bad sign.
I say somewhat haltingly, “Don’t you remember I emailed you last week? Accello and Bachman had declined, and Rubenstien cancelled last-minute because of a family emergency.”
“This is not good. Too many of these docs are B-list. We lost at least half of our A-list people. The client will not be happy, and this is one of the first meetings. That makes me unhappy.” Alan paces the room. “Not good.” His voice rises, intense and angry. “Jesus, why didn’t I know this before? Damn it, people. Get your act together. We can’t let this happen again. I have to call the client. They’ll be here in a couple hours, and I’ve got to do some damage control.” Alan flings his agenda to the floor before stomping out of the room, muttering a few angry, less than pleasant words for all to hear.
I’m in shock, having witnessed my first true Alan outrage. The others are not fazed by his actions.
“Okay,” George says, unperturbed. “We still have Walbaum’s slides. His case studies are too biased.”
The group forgets Alan, focusing instead on the presentations. I’m drafted to record all the possible changes before the presenters and the client arrive. It’s a hectic few hours. Garry and Mina fight with George. It’s intense.
“All the anti-psychotic drugs on the market need to be represented fairly,” George reiterates. “We need to include reference to the other drugs in the same category and the fact that they have equal or less side effects in many cases. You can’t just promote one drug,” George protests.
The debate continues until Alan reenters the room, arm in arm with a tall Japanese woman in a sculpted business suit and high heels. She hugs Garry as if he’s her long-lost love. Behind her trails a small Indian man,
wearing a black turtleneck and dress slacks. Mohit Sinhaha introduces himself as the lead research physician in charge of the drug trials and market release. Alan also introduces Kristi Wong, the Japanese goddess, from the pharma company, who proceeds to shoot all the women in the room the evil eye while simultaneously smiling at every male.
I’m impressed with her facial dexterity. I sit, listen, and record. Evening merges with night and then slides into the early hours of morning. I’m ignored by everyone, except Geany, who has me type every detail on her laptop. Finally, at three-thirty in the morning, we disperse.
“You okay?” Geany asks. “It can get pretty intense.”
“Fine.” I’m bone-weary and grouchy. Breakfast is at seven. Any last-minute details will be hashed out before the first arriving doctor arrives for lunch. I’m expected to execute all the changes, which shouldn’t be a huge problem, especially since I now understand the organization of the meeting better. I’ve studied, planned, and created this one from the first moment.
I pick up the agenda I’ve created. When the doctors arrive, they will settle in, and then partake in a gourmet dinner at the hotel. I helped create the menu. This will allow the guests to mix and mingle, have a few drinks to socialize, and then the presentations begin Saturday morning.
The docs meet at nine on Saturday for their first conference, breaking out into small groups at ten-thirty. At noon, the doctors lunch for an hour and then spend the remainder of the afternoon enjoying golf, tennis, or the spa. After another chance to mingle at a five-star restaurant nearby, the physicians are free until Sunday morning to play tourist or spend a quiet evening at the hotel. A brief meeting from ten to twelve on Sunday closes the conference. The doctors can leave anytime afterwards, but many decide to stay and enjoy the perks for an extra few hours or even a day or so.
The meeting agenda, already printed out, has to be redone to reflect the changes the client and George suggest. What a waste of paper. One hundred copies that I organized into personalized folders containing all the doctors’ meal and activity choices, as well as a copy of their arrival and departure schedules, will have to be reorganized. Before I fall into an exhausted sleep, a plan to get my work done in the morning starts forming in my all too tired brain.
My phone alarm blares loud eighties music at five. “Shut up,” I say to no one as my arm flails in an attempt to find my phone and shut it off.
My wake-up call comes a minute later.
“I’m up. Thank you,” I say before I slam the receiver.
I shower half asleep, put on my fresh business suit, and get ready for my big day and my first meeting. I’m ill, seriously ill, and caffeine deprived.
There must be a coffee house somewhere around here. The concierge directs me around the corner. I don’t even have to hurry, having an hour before meeting the rest of the group from Primus. Entering the shop, I breathe in. The store is filled with padded chairs and cozy tables. Clusters of eclectic patrons relax. The consistency of the place, like the coffee, calms my nerves. I don’t even mind being sandwiched in the early morning caffeine addict’s line.
I carry my extra-large latte back to the hotel. The lack of sleep and the busy schedule actually help my anxiety. There’s no time or energy to wonder about what might go wrong or doomsday scenarios. I can’t think or feel anything, I’m so tired. Maddie, who had managed to remain invisible the previous day, relaxes at breakfast in her fashionable gray fitted jacket and matching skirt. A scarlet shirt exposes just enough cleavage to make any man do a double-take and enjoy some less than pious thoughts. I take an empty seat next to Maddie and her visible breasts.
I can’t even find enough energy to be resentful. “Hi. How was your night?”
“I slept so well. Love my room. You?” She stares at me innocently.
“Lovely,” I say and read the menu.
I order more coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. Breakfast is a peaceful affair. The team arrives, and everyone organizes, readying themselves for the incoming physicians. “Do it for the client” becomes the motto of the day, and in giddy expectation, the Primus team goes around yelling it at each other. The doctors begin to show up in drips and drabs, forming puddles of groups.
The physicians mingle with colleagues they haven’t seen since previous meetings. They talk loudly. I sit at the registration desk, checking them in, handing them their personalized folders, and making small talk.
“Hello, Dr. Mintz. Nice to meet you,” I welcome a portly, short man with curly hair. “How was your flight from New Mexico?” Mintz sounded so much taller on the phone, I think to myself.
“As good as could be expected.” He introduces me to his assistant, a woman named Chloe. “Where’s the bar?”
It makes me nervous, especially being privy to which doctors attend with their wives and those with personal companions. I understand way too much, blushing when some of the more promiscuous doctors arrive and introduce themselves. Most docs are extremely pleasant, slowly erasing my discomfort. Few of the physicians are young and dashing like the doctors on soap operas, but the majority are older, with slight to full receding hair lines and giant bank accounts.
I’ve talked to these doctors so many times on the phone that many feel like friends. I wonder if others believe there is more to it. Doctor Winterland arrives at my desk and introduces himself. We’ve had many pleasant phone conversations, some spanning way beyond work-related topics.
I smile when he introduces himself and ask my standard line, “How was your flight from New York?”
“Good. How’s the hotel looking?” Winterland asks.
“It’s beautiful. You are in room three twenty-seven.” I hand him his key and folder with schedule and agenda.
“How do I get there?” He eyes me over his round, tortoise-shell glasses. He’s average height and weight proportional. For a middle-aged man, he is overall average, except for the fact that he is a well-known psychiatrist and one of the presenters at the meeting.
“The elevator is to the right.” I point that way.
“Can you show me?” he asks.
Is he serious or joking around? He does have a slightly skewed sense of humor, I think.
I’m not sure what to do. I cannot say no, so I ask Geany to cover the table and walk with him to the elevator. It’s awkward, and all those easy conversations on the phone do not translate to elevator conversation. I’m so happy when the door opens on floor three. I follow the signs on the wall.
“This way.” I point down a long, tastefully decorated corridor adorned with thin tables on which vases full of fresh, white camellias sit. I find his hotel room door. He hands me his room key, and I slide it in the door and force the door open.
“Here we are.” I step back so he can get a good view of the hotel room.
“Nice. Want to come in?” he asks me as he surveys the king-sized bed. His hand touches mine.
“I have to get back to the desk. I can’t be away for too long.” I feel ants all over my skin again. I avoid his eyes. This has shades of Brice, deceptive and shady.
“You don’t have to be gone too long,” he says. His hand moved up my arm in what he must believe is a sensual caress.
I bolt.
The rest of my day proceeds in a similar fashion. I’m popular, never lacking male company. Avoiding the ones trolling for a good time, I enjoy getting to learn more about the docs and their practices. It’s informative for someone who might one day need to see them as a patient. At times, though, when a stray hand finds my butt, I wonder if certain psychiatrists believe I’m one of the benefits of the meeting.
I’m not sure how to counteract this premise, so I do nothing. In fact, by accident, I reinforce it during the cocktail party that precedes dinner. When all the psychiatrists and physicians have gathered, Alan welcomes them and then introduces me as their “contact” from Primus. Alan inclines his head expectantly, willing me to speak.
I’m as purple as a beet as I stand. “Welcome, all. I hope yo
u had a nice trip and enjoy your time at the conference. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me at any time. My room number is two-oh-four.”
A good-natured laugh breaks out in the room as the doctors edge closer. I blush and try to retreat against the wall.
“You know.” Alan whispers into my ear. “I think they really like you. Good work.” He twists away, but then adds before he leaves, “Do it for the client.”
#doitfortheclient
* * * *
I arrive home to my condo at ten-thirty Sunday night after spending the day sending doctors and other members of the Primus staff off to the airport. I could sleep for days in my new queen bed, covered in my silver sheets with elephants on them, but Monday morning calls me back to the office.
I decide I hate Maddie, who takes another Monday comp day. I daydream as I write her report that I’m Wonder Woman—no, a Powerpuff girl—and I take her down. When Tuesday arrives, so does Peter, a new employee. He strolls in and delivers a message from Scott about a meeting in fifteen minutes in editorial.
“Aghbahded,” I say to his request to join them in Primus conference rooms.
His eyebrows become a V, exposing how seriously stupid he believes I am. Peter delivers the same message to Maddie, who smiles seductively and pulls at her clingy, low-cut, black shirt with manicured nails. It reveals too much of her ample cleavage. She tosses her perfectly highlighted brown hair and whispers something that makes Peter laugh. I’m sure it is about me.
Did I mention I hate her?
I console myself by smoothing down my frizzy, non-highlighted natural disaster of a head of hair and grab some chocolate out of my bottom drawer.
Geany comes to my desk. “Want to walk with me to the meeting next door.”
“Sure.”
Outside, I do a double-take as a Jace doppelganger saunters by. All the color drains from my face.
“You okay?” Geany asks. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I might have. But I’m fine.”
