When I returned to the office, I spoke to a colleague. "Donald, is Charley in? I'd sort of like to just slip into my office without being seen and close the door."
His look was a mixture of surprise and concern. No one called him Donald. We had a new executive join us a few years ago and on the first day he called Donald 'Chief'. Don's proud of his native American heritage and immediately told the jackass that he was to be referred to as Donald or Mr. Walker.
The rest of us gave the guy the cold shoulder and he was gone within a month. We were a tightknit group. Now no one calls him Don or Donald. It's always something that starts with 'Ch'. Chester, Chuck, Chet, Charley, Charles. Always 'Ch', but never 'Chief'. It was our way of making light of the idiot and telling Donald we love him.
"I think he's out of the office. Want me to check?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks."
I relaxed in my office, got some work done, returned some calls from the media and found my thoughts drifting to New York. Hopping on LinkedIn, I went over the profiles of some of the people I'd be working with. Schlomo Goldstein was their Director of Marketing. A good-looking man with a full beard and traditional payot, he was relatively famous in sports marketing circles. He worked with Michael Jordan and Nike years ago, was instrumental in the shaping and marketing of Muhammad Ali's likeness and phrases and had brought unprecedented attention to the NYC Marathon.
Javel Montgomery was a legendary former competitor who now splits time between his native Jamaica and New York, where he acts as a spokesman and Athletes Advocate for the marathon. Reporters are often distracted by the huge array of medals he wears at media events. It's impressive the way they sort of hang there, swaying freely, mesmerizing as he talks up the event.
Martha Tsao was their CFO. Year after year she found ways to do more with less. It was astonishing what she was able to do and how much their event was able to give to related charities. If there was one person that was considered the brains behind their organization, it was Martha.
Then there was Terrance. He was born and raised in Samoa and had only come to the US to attend college at NYU. He fell in love with New York and made his life there. No one was immune to his charms. Terrance was the sort of person that everyone liked. He was friendly, outgoing and when he spoke to you, it felt like the two of you were the only people on Earth.
Terrance could sell glue to a horse and ice to an Eskimo, which leads us to Jared Yazzi. An Inuit native, Jared was a nuts and bolts guy. Hyper detail-oriented, if anyone ever had a question about any facet of the marathon, the clarion call of "Where's Jared?" would ring out. It didn't matter whose purview the question fell under or who should know, Jared's breadth of knowledge seemed to inexhaustible.
These were the sort of A-list colleagues I wanted to be associated with. They weren't better than the people I worked with, it was just that they were so different and exciting. The appeal was undeniable. I had a hard decision to make.
I knocked on Charley's door at 4:30. "Got a minute, boss?"
"Of course. Come in, Emily. Sit down. You can always talk to me."
I hoped that he couldn't see the guilt in my eyes as I sat. "Charley, you know how much I love working here. It's something I'll always treasure, but... I, oh Charley, this is so hard. I need something else. Something you can't give me. I... Charley, I'm leaving. I'm going to take a position with the NY Marathon."
Looking away, he stared at the wall and I felt a knot in my throat. He had been my mentor and now I was leaving. Charley coughed before speaking. "I guess I should have expected this when you started meeting with Terrance. How could you resist him? They are almost double our size."
"Charley, it... it's not just size and it's not just Terrance. It's, I don't know, it's Martha and..."
"Oh, I'm sure. Good old Martha Tsao. She'll give you whatever you want. She's actually eager to do anything. Need extra water stations? Not a problem. Free tee-shirts for VIP's? You got it. All with no extra costs. How the hell can I compete with that?"
"Charley, I'm so sorry. I just feel that if I don't take this opportunity to explore new possibilities, I'd regret it for the rest of my life."
"And what about what you have here, Em? All of a sudden, we're not good enough? No, don't answer. Your minds made up. Just tell me one thing before you leave, did you already start working for them? Have you been doing work for their marathon while you were still with us?"
"What? How can you even ask that? Of course not. I'd never work with them until I was done here. Look, I'll stay here until the fifteenth of next month. That'll give you plenty of time to..."
"No, just pack your stuff and go. We don't need your pity work. Go to your precious New York, Emily."
Stepping out of the building with my cardboard box of personal belongings was one of the most difficult journeys I've ever made. It felt like my car was in the last row of an endless parking lot, the box growing heavier with every step I took.
Less than a week later I was driving south to Manhattan. I constantly had to brush the tears from my eyes until I hit the Massachusetts/Connecticut border. It got easier from that point forward, but I had this nagging feeling that I was losing something I couldn't replace. It was a pleasant drive on I-84 for once and I eventually began to enjoy myself and the mounting feeling of excitement that peaked when I saw the "Now Entering New York" sign.
My first day was spent arranging everything that the movers had left in my new apartment. I had no idea how bad it would be driving through Manhattan to get to the Bronx and had lost some hours there. Exhausted by the time I was finished, I had some real NY pizza delivered, continued my familiarization with Terrance's plans for this year's race, took some notes and went to bed.
Martha Tsao wanted to buy lunch to welcome me to New York. We arranged to meet at the patio of Tom Collicchio's Wichcraft in Tribeca. A stunning, tall, early-thirties, thin, pale, Asian woman stood by the entrance. She wore a beautiful, shimmering, ankle length, red dress with a slit up the side. Next to her was Martha, offering directions in her friendly manner.
"Exactly! Just three more blocks, make a left and you'll see it dead ahead, under the yellow awning. Love your dress, by the way!"
Having no other role in the story, the woman thanked Martha graciously and slinked off, drawing the eye of every man in the vicinity. She haughtily ignored them, being a cliched cold, unfeeling dragon lady.
Martha and I enjoyed our sandwiches and did some people-watching as we discussed inconsequential and harmless office gossip. Who's getting married, who was having a baby, how members of the office's team did at last week's trivia competition at the local bar all helped to familiarize me with the people I'd be working with. She was a sweet woman and our time slipped by too quickly.
I must have spent an hour in front of the mirror the next morning, trying on outfit after outfit. My palms were sweaty and my heart beat faster than normal, but I eventually made a choice and got to the office fifteen minutes early. Terry came out to greet me and I tailed him for the first few days. He introduced me to everyone, even on phone calls which he kept on speaker. There wasn't a person there that wasn't as nice as could be. It turned out that New Yorkers were friendly, respectful people.
Weeks went by and I found my groove. My coworkers were great. They welcomed me with open arms and we had a wonderful synergy. Everything I did seemed to help someone else at their job and every day I found someone else bolstering my efforts and helping me fulfill my responsibilities. Everything was clicking, and it looked like this would be a banner year for the NY Marathon.
They took me to Yankee Stadium and I tried to appear enthusiastic, but it just seemed sterile. There was no history or life to it. I kept looking at the outfield and the short porch in right. It simply looked odd. My eyes expected to see the Green Monster. More time went by and I'd feel a little sad when people talked about how they had to park their car and I'd wonder where the 'h' was in 'park' and 'car'.
They didn't have to take me to CitiField, we were all taken to a Mets game by the Queens Borough President, Octavia Dotero. I had done my research and knew what they wanted. Queens always wanted the largest. Whatever it was, if it was the biggest, Queens had to have it. JFK International Airport wasn't enough, so Queens also built LaGuardia. They had the World's Fair after Seattle's was so well attended. The Mets didn't outdraw the Yankees, so they built Arthur Ashe Stadium and had the US Open. It was embarrassing.
