Stroke of luck

Monday morning rolls round after a restful, quiet Sunday, and I am fully energised and ready to take the bull by the horns. First up is an early morning status meeting with Bertha.

I walk into her office this time, ready for her somewhat cold professionalism and understanding that it’s nothing personal; she’s just a very business-like woman.

We go through the marketing numbers for the past month and analyse the market situation from various angles before she tasks me with coming up with new strategies for the next financial year, and I nod my head crisply and start to gather up my papers and fold and tuck my laptop underneath my arm.

But then as I turn around something makes me stop and turn back round to face her.

“Bertha,” I say tentatively, “I was wondering if you would perhaps like to have lunch with me so we can talk away from the office.” I am hoping to be able to be a little cordial with her, even if not BFFs, and I think that lunch might help to break the ice a little bit.

“Oh?” she raises an eyebrow and looks slightly amused.

“Well, it’s just… I don’t want to feel like I am working with a robot…” I shrug my shoulders awkwardly; that last sentence did not come out the way I wanted it to.”

“Okay,” she says. “Proceed.”

“Well, if you’re too broke to spring for lunch I can buy,” I quip, to break the awkwardness, and I am instantly grateful when I see a twinkle in her eye and hear her laughter.

“Well, how can I resist such an offer?” she says. “Speak to Louise, she’ll set up something for us.” I smile, grateful, and hurry out of her office and straight to Louise’s desk.

“You need to set up lunch for me and Bertha immediately,” I yelp.

Louise, who has recently found out from her optometrist that she needs reading glasses, looks up from her computer and pulls her new glasses down her nose to look at me over the top of them.

“Since when did you two become ‘girls’?” she says so pointedly that I can see the quote marks around that last word.

“Just stop arguing and do it, Louise,” I roll my eyes at her. “When can this take place?”

Louise pushes her glasses back up with her index finger and opens a calendar document on her desktop computer. “I’ve got her free for… tomorrow? Is that alright for you? Too soon?”

“No, no,” I yelp. “Tomorrow is good!”

“Ok,” Louise smiles at me. “Shall I make reservations at your favourite place down the road?”

I nod happily, and then walk over to Ciru, my PA and let her know to block my lunch time tomorrow because I will be busy. Then I walk into my office and take a look at my cell phone. No missed calls. I had been hoping Alex would keep pursuing. But oh well.

DAY PASSES IN A BLUR

The rest of the day passes in a blur, and Tuesday lunch time rolls around pretty fast. Before I know it, I am seated across a table from Bertha at the Italian restaurant just down the road from my office, and drinking orange juice like a good girl while I wait for my steak. I look across at the wine counter and wish that I could have just one glass, but… not today. Today is for serious business.

“So tell me how you got to the top of your field,” I say as we break and butter some buns. “I mean, I’m hoping to one day get to your level, and I was hoping you could dispense a few tips for a slightly wayward girl,” I smile.

Bertha laughs. “I’ve done my research on you, you know,” she wags a finger in my general direction.

I am shocked enough to hear that that I momentarily stop chewing my bread. “Oh? I didn’t know this,” I say. “Why?”

“Because I am looking for the best and the brightest in the company, Liz,” she says quite seriously. “You have a lot of potential but you seem… distracted.” Wow. Not only is she an ambitious woman, but she is also perceptive. I can see how she got to where she did. “What I can’t figure out is exactly what area of your life is keeping you from focusing on your job.”

I can. That answer is easy: It’s my chaotic love life. But this is not a detail I want to share with my new boss just yet. Or ever, even.

“Well, you know, it’s a lot of work so sometimes I drop some balls…”

“No, that’s not it,” she gives me a penetrating stare. “I think I know what your problem is,” she says, finally. “But let me use my example to try to help you figure out what you are going through. You see, when I was married my husband Philip was quite the philanderer.”

“Mmhmm,” I nod, chewing my bread and avidly waiting for the rest of the story.

“He ran his own company, an import export business…”

Suddenly, Bertha’s voice fades into the background. I mean, she’s talking, but my mind is calculating: Ex-husband. An ex-husband called Philip who runs an import-export business.

I do believe I am sitting across from Mariam’s boyfriend’s ex-wife. A most serendipitous event.