Christine Malone was conducting a meeting of her executive team in her corner office. As the President of Malone Financial, she led a prestigious financial services organization that had been founded seventy three years ago by her grandfather. After her father stepped aside two years ago, Christine took the reins of one of the largest privately-held financial companies in the country. Although only 32, she had been preparing for this role for most of her life, and under her skilled guidance Malone Financial was enjoying great success and growth.
She gathered the key vice-presidents and directors in her office each week for strategic planning meetings. The spacious corner office contained a large wood conference table, surrounded by 12 leather rolling chairs, situated near a wall of windows that overlooked the harbor. Along an adjacent wall was a long leather sofa, and near the other interior wall was Christine's antique mahogany desk. Bookshelves with a collection of hardbound books, several awards and a few paintings on the paneled walls completed the executive suite.
On this late afternoon, the confident leader was wrapping up the session by stressing a few key points. She commanded their attention with her words and her movements. Standing at the head of the table, speaking in a firm, motivating tone, Christine exuded self-confidence and leadership. Tall and slender, with golden blonde shoulder-length hair cut in a soft shag that framed her beautiful face, Christine was dressed in an elegantly tailored blue suit jacket and skirt, with coffee-colored nylons and a pair of dark blue slingback pumps with pencil-thin, four inch heels. A beautiful woman whose appearance never undermined her role as president, Christine was no "pretty face" figurehead. She was an intelligent, experienced professional whose actions and leadership brought success to her and her company.
She concluded the meeting and dismissed her team. Most of the six male and three female executives were set to fly out of town that night to attend a national conference. Two of them were scheduled to meet with important clients for dinner that evening. They gathered their folders and left Christine's office immediately while Christine returned to her desk and scanned her e-mail messages. One remained seated at the conference table.
Catherine Jennings' eyes were focused on the screen of her laptop computer and she tapped at the keyboard as the others left. Christine's administrative assistant, Mary, appeared in the office doorway and asked Christine if there were any more items to be completed today. With a smile and wave, Christine told her, "No, Mary, that's all for today. Go on home. I'll see you tomorrow." Mary turned, grabbed her coat from her desk chair and headed for the exit. A few minutes later, Catherine concluded her typing, snapped closed her laptop, and swiveled in her chair towards Christine.
"Do you think they know?" she asked softly.
Christine was gently startled from her work by the question, and asked reflexively, "What?"
"Do you think they know?" Catherine repeated. She slid her right leg up along her left and smoothly crossed it over her left knee. "I wonder if any of them suspect." She sat back comfortably in the leather chair, now turned to directly face Christine. Her right foot, clad in a black leather high-heeled pump, swung slightly up and down. Her brown eyes peered through gold-framed glasses searching for a response while her face remained expressionless. Her eyes did catch the slight changes in Christine's line of vision, noticing Christine's focus subtly shift from Catherine's face to her black shoe and then back again.
The 28-year old Catherine was the picture of business professionalism. Her long brown hair was perfectly combed back and pinned up in a neat bun so that not a single strand hung down out of place. One, simple pearl earring adorned each ear, and her beautiful facial features were subtly complimented by understated make-up -- a bit of blush, light amounts of eyeliner, and some pale red lipstick. Her glasses added a 'studious' look, while the dark grey suit she wore was conservative yet elegant. A tailored, two-button jacket covered a simple, collared white linen blouse that was buttoned up to just below her neck where a short strand of pearls was draped. The slim skirt, tailored of the same fine grey pinstriped material as the jacket, came down to Catherine's knees. Seated as she was now, the hem of the skirt rested an inch or so above her right knee, maintaining a conservative, demure appearance. Her legs were sheathed in sheer hosiery with the slightest pale black tint, and on her feet she wore a pair of black pumps. They were simple and classic, each with a pointed toe and a slim, four and a half inch stiletto heel. The heels were a bit too high for true professional decorum, but this was the only minor detail that conflicted with her otherwise conservative, business-like appearance.
"I don't think there's any reason to be concerned," Christine said with quiet reassurance. With that she looked back at her computer screen. Part of her hoped that would be the end of the discussion.
"I just can't help but think that someone will find out," Catherine said.
She removed her glasses with both hands, focused her gaze in front of her as she folded the glasses and then silently slipped them into the outside breast pocket of her jacket. Catherine looked up again at Christine, and stood up.
"Every day I keep thinking that today will be the day one of them discovers me for what I truly am."
She walked with slow, graceful steps from the conference table towards the double office doors and continued to talk.
"Trying to be the Director of Special Projects for such a large, successful company is a huge responsibility. I'm constantly worrying about what I do and if it will be good enough. Can I pull it off, while I'm trying so hard not to be distracted?"
Catherine reached out for the one large wooden door that was open, slowly closed it, and turned the brass lock to secure it.
At the sound of the bolt clicking into the locked position, Christine reflexively pushed her high-backed leather desk chair a few inches back and swiveled it to her right. She looked intently at Catherine while her hands grasped the soft leather armrests of the chair and she crossed her legs at the ankles. Her throat was suddenly dry and she swallowed with some effort while her lips parted slightly. She softly said, "You perform your duties well. There's no reason for that to be questioned." Christine struggled to speak in a calm, controlled tone as the rate and intensity of her heartbeat increased.
Catherine's hands came together at the top button of her suit jacket and her long, slender fingers with their perfect, French-manicured nails pushed the pearl black button through its buttonhole. As she continued onto the second button, she responded.
"But does anyone ever question the frequent closed-door meetings, the extended lunch appointments?" A soft sigh escaped from her mouth, and then she softly said, "I have to take off this jacket."
Catherine shrugged it off her shoulders, slipped her left arm out and then took hold of the collar while it dropped off her right arm. She gave the garment a toss so that it landed on the arm of the sofa nearest the doorway. She turned so that her back was again to the doors and she faced Christine.
"What would they say if they knew why I'm really here? Do any of them have any idea?" she said in a low, throaty voice. As she spoke, Catherine's hands were slowly, deliberately removing the pins from her hair, one by one. As she removed each pin, she dropped it to the floor at her feet.
"You know that I try my best to play the role. The suits... the hair style... the focused, professional attitude. Reserved, rational, unemotional. The ideal executive." She sighed, "It's so hard to do, day after day."
