As much as I have to do it, I hate writing speeches. I hate being cliché. I am an EVP based in the East. There are six of us. Every December we are rolled around to our allocated territories to give performance reviews. That usually coincides with what used to be called the Christmas party. Now it's the "Year-End" Party, by nonsectarian decree of head office. As the most senior executive at my destination, it's my job to make the after-dinner speech. In the past I tried to be entertaining, humorous, topical and insightful.
It doesn't work. It alienates me. It reinforces the belief that head office is disconnected, we think we are smarter than the rest of the company (which of course we are). But when I praise the locals, tell them how highly they are regarded by the board, how much faith we have in their locally-grown leadership, praise their graduate program, acknowledge their amazing social charities and most importantly call it a Christmas party again and thank the family values that only god-fearing folk know how to instil in a company culture - I receive rapturous applause. The company and its satellites are whole.
In head office alcohol is no longer part of any company function - but not so out in the regions. I had to be careful at these events. The locals like to bring the soft side out of the big bosses. They want to humanize us, trip us up, see us stumble, create some gossip, parry a favor, blackmail us. The guys usually want information, some sort of inside knowledge that might help them at head office. The girls want relationships. Nothing untoward, just someone they can say they know at the top to help them leverage their local power.
It sounds terrible, but I enjoy the politics of it. Big companies are interesting.
This year I booked the same hotel as the party. My stay was two weeks. I purposely set my dates a week before and a week after the party. Experience showed me I have fewer problems at an event if the staff know I have another week in the office with them afterward.
"Great speech Michael. Wonderful. Really appreciate your fine words."
"You're welcome Bob, thanks for all your work."
"Me, too, congratulations on your speech. Kind words," Mary gushed.
"Yes, kind words!" Tom agreed.
"Too much, thank you Michael," Wilson said, shaking my hand.
"Do the board really appreciate us so much?" Cherie blushed.
"Bob, Mary, Tom, Wilson, Cherie. Thank you. Head Office has set you as their example to other regions."
I was making myself sick.
The next handshake, however, was more interesting. Jodie Redden. It was the first time we had met. I'd heard her name; I'd been in the approval chain for her hire into Finance Manager earlier in the year. She was from the competition, and expensive. And the rumors that filtered through about her looks were inadequate. Jodie was old-Hollywood, brunette, stylishly tall, she had a great smile and a full figure that was appropriately shown off. And she was not gushing with wholesome self-indulgence. Dressed formally, Jodie was captivating. I told her so, in the least patronizing way I could.
"Oh, I'm sure this is all very conservative compared to home," she laughed charmingly, waving at her long black dress.
"Appropriately so, and stylish, I assure you."
"Let me buy you a drink," she said, taking my arm, "You've not said two words to me since you arrived in this city."
Bob and the crew smiled at me. "She might look sweet, but you better do as she says, she's unforgiving if she doesn't get her way!"
"You flatter me Bob," Jodie smiled back.
"I don't mean to," he quipped.
"Come, let me give you a tour Mr. Richards," Jodie said, ignoring him.
"Please. Michael. Everyone calls me Michael."
"Mr. Richards, I don't think I could, you're old enough to be my Dad."
"Hey, hey. I'm only 45!"
"Well...you could be, if you started young, Mr. Richards."
"I wish I had," I mused.
Jodie walked me around the main hall and the public areas of the hotel where our staff were congregating as the party aged - the bar, the smoking area outside and the lobby. She told me the inside story on each of the groups.
"The grads are in the lobby. They're waiting to see their managers leave," she told me.
"So they can let their hair down?" I assumed.
"No. So they can leave, too. Can't exit a work function before your boss, not at that age, but they've all got somewhere they'd rather be on a Friday night at nine-thirty."
"Oh."
"And those boys outside smoking, the sales guys."
"Why the sales guys, why are they the smokers?"
Jodie shrugged. "Reckless. Non-conformist. If you hit revenues, you can smoke, drive a truck, shoot fish, all is forgiven."
At the bar Jodie bought us a Shiraz each with cash in her clutch purse. There were free drinks inside the ballroom, why pay out here? I suspected she wanted me to say something, so I didn't.
"Who are those staff over there, what's their story?" I asked instead.
"Which ones?"
"I don't know...how about that group?"
Jodie had a good look at them.
"Ah, they're not ours."
"They're not?"
"You head office guys, you really are disconnected! Those ones...and those ones...and those ones, they're ours."
"Oh," I said, embarrassed.
"My fellow Finance team is over there. They like to drink but not socialize, not outside Finance, so they bring their drinks out here. The three over there are new and probably don't know anyone inside. And those idiots at the end doing shots...more sales guys."
"When did you start with us?" I asked, leaning on the bar.
"Why? You think I have too many opinions for the new guy, Mr. Richards?" Jodie asked, touching my arm.
"Ha. The opposite. I was thinking you are perceptive."
It was becoming flirtatious, I could feel it.
"You want I should read you, too?" she quizzed.
"No, better not do that right now."
"Hmmm. Executive away from home. All alone. Room upstairs. I don't know you well enough to make a conclusion, Mr. Richards."
"Well, I can help," I smiled at her; she really was beautiful in that dress. "I'm the guy that is always away from home and always alone and usually staying upstairs. It's true. I also think that zips on dresses make the most beautiful sound in the world, especially when they are pulling down. But unfortunately I'm also the father-figure, as you put it 'Miss' Redden. People have expectations of me in my role. If I was Head of Sales, then as you said, maybe it wouldn't matter. But I'm the guy who makes speeches. I'm the guy who determines the ratings that determines the bonuses. I'm obliged to behave even when I don't want to."
Jodie stepped back and sized me up again.
"You do make speeches. It's true."
I laughed and drank my wine.
"Perception is reality," she continued, "So is it safe for you to talk alone with me like this?"
"Of course! In public areas. It's always good for the boss to have stylish women talking with him. Come on, drink up. It's my turn to buy. We'll go back inside for it," I laughed.
"You cheapskate," Jodie accused.
"It's the same brand here as inside there. You know that right?"
"Okay, fine, let's go to the free side."
I'm not sure if Jodie walked in front on purpose to tease me. The zip at the rear of her dress ran all the way down below the small of her back. I sighed.
**********
In the ballroom we took a wine each and stood at the back. There were only a few busy tables left.
"Who are all the pretty young girls?"
"Over there? The interns. They are our little princesses."
"Why is that? You screen by looks? Surely not. The rest of the office, they're not exactly..."
"Not exactly what?" Jodie screeched, hitting me playfully.
"Except for you, of course," I appeased.
"You see that guy over there? He does our regular recruitment. He's a lay-missionary, so they say. But. See that guy? The hippy? He organizes the intern pool. Interviews them face to face first, and only sends the line managers the pretty girls."
"Those guys around Malcolm are all HR?"
"Absolutely. They won't leave while there is free beer in the room, they'll be the last ones here."
"Well, HR salaries are tough," I admitted.
"Not like Finance you mean?"
"Yes, exactly," I grinned. "Especially not like Finance."
Jodie was about to launch into a defence of her worth when Bob and Cherie and Tom decided she had seconded me enough. Standing by the wine trolley I held audience with various members of my management team until the end. Jodie was right about the HR guys staying late, but I didn't have a chance to tell her. She had disappeared into the night.
**********
On the way back to my room around eleven-thirty, I was busting to pee but couldn't spot a men's room. On the mezzanine level there was a wheelchair toilet. Looking around I saw no one. It would do. I opened the door and wow! There was a stunningly gorgeous girl in there, she looked something similar to Emma Watson. Her trousers and panties were mid-thigh; she was leaning against the wall. Her hair was completely messed up, her face pushed against the cold tiles. She appeared to be three-quarters out of it. A young guy was knelt on the floor behind her, kneading her ass with one hand and pushing fingers up between her legs with the other. The way his right hand was bunched up it looked like he had at least three up her.
"Hey, you guys really should lock the door...," I said, embarrassed. But hey, was that guy one of ours? Was he out smoking when Jodie had pointed out the sales guys? Was she one of ours? She didn't look in control of what was happening.
"...Hey. Do I know you? Are you in my company?"
The guy did a double take of me, trying to focus, his hand motionless inside her.
"Are you in the sales team?" I asked. That was enough for the guy's penny to drop.
"Shit!" he cursed. Removing his hands from the girl with a squelch, he stood and bolted. I tried to grab him but he broke through and sprinted down through the hotel. There was no point to go after him, especially with the girl there. I stepped fully in and the door closed. I pulled her face from the wall, she was definitely one of ours, from the princess table.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "Can you hear me?"
There was no response. She was nearly asleep, upright.
