Caitlin. Jennifer again. Mom. The Absolut vodka rep. One of Oscar’s minions. The Evian account guy. Charles. Finally. Charles. I click open his.
Good wknd, but bad news in real world. Call ASAP!
Bad news? I’ve been out of commission for only what, five hours? How much bad could have happened? Aaron and Tracy didn’t say anything. Either it’s so bad, Charles is keeping it from the rest of the staff or, more likely, nothing’s actually wrong butthere’s a chance it could be, so he’s doing a preventative worst-case scenario.
That is another thing I’ve learned about him during the past three years. Back when I was a publicist in L.A. and he was a rank above me in the New York office, he just seemed in control and like he had a plan. Okay, so his plan had a million different contingencies, but it was a plan. Now that we’re together, and more important, both agency partners, I see how differently we actually work. How I just plow ahead, putting the big picture in motion, dealing with stuff as it comes up — because, let’s face it, women who are any good at their jobs, I mean, really good — not those needy, angry, bossy women who manage up the food chain while creating endless chaos for everyone below them—no, the good women are closers, maniacs for organization, for finishing things and
moving on
.
Men, I don’t know, must be genetic or testosterone or whatever, but they just can’t close anything. Something is always unfinished, some unresolved problem somewhere, and if there’s not, God knows they will
make
one. And if they’re total shits and in a position to do so, they will make someone else deal with it. Ideally, a woman.
Charles isn’t that bad. He just likes to sweat every detail. And sweat it several times over. And then, after everyone is exhausted running the different options, he swoops in and resolves everything. Judging by what I’ve heard from some of the junior publicists in the New York office, it can be annoying, but really, if you think about it, he’s just being conscientious and looking out for everyone’s well-being. Still, I’m happy that as DWP-ED’s grown larger, we’ve also grown more balkanized. That I have my own little event planning division to run the way I want to run it without interference.
I stand there for a minute rereading his e-mail, debating whether to call him, get the so-called bad news over with. Giventhe roar of traffic and my mushrooming headache, I think better of it and drop the BlackBerry into my bag. Time enough for that when I’m in the car. Smoked windows. Air-conditioning. Maybe get the driver to tune in to 88.1. A little jazz to soften the inevitable reentry.
“Think of it this way,” Steven says. “Time out of the office, even if spent with your parents, is better than no time out of the office.”
“You know, it actually turned out fine. Better than fine. I mean, Charles was brilliant,” I say, downing the iced latte Steven has brought me. Actually, it was his latte, but I’m so desperate for caffeine to make it through Afternoon Take Two, I co-opted it.
“Sorry, I was obviously going on old intelligence.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call you again. We just got really busy with the party and everything, and then Jack and Charles and I shot a quick nine holes. And Charles wound up taking us all out for dinner before we left.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he says, looking at me like I’m raving. “Chuck was brilliant.
Brilliant
, I say,” he adds, launching into some imitation of somebody. Usually I’m on his wavelength, but the jet lag must really be getting to me.
“Okay, are we done talking about our weekends now?” I say, draining the latte and tossing the cup in the trash. “How was the walk-through with the magazine?”
“Fine. It always is with Oscar there to hold their hands, and in the case of the publisher, literally.”
“Wait, who is their publisher now?”
“Some woman. She’s new.
Good wknd, but bad news in real world. Call ASAP!
Bad news? I’ve been out of commission for only what, five hours? How much bad could have happened? Aaron and Tracy didn’t say anything. Either it’s so bad, Charles is keeping it from the rest of the staff or, more likely, nothing’s actually wrong butthere’s a chance it could be, so he’s doing a preventative worst-case scenario.
That is another thing I’ve learned about him during the past three years. Back when I was a publicist in L.A. and he was a rank above me in the New York office, he just seemed in control and like he had a plan. Okay, so his plan had a million different contingencies, but it was a plan. Now that we’re together, and more important, both agency partners, I see how differently we actually work. How I just plow ahead, putting the big picture in motion, dealing with stuff as it comes up — because, let’s face it, women who are any good at their jobs, I mean, really good — not those needy, angry, bossy women who manage up the food chain while creating endless chaos for everyone below them—no, the good women are closers, maniacs for organization, for finishing things and
moving on
.
Men, I don’t know, must be genetic or testosterone or whatever, but they just can’t close anything. Something is always unfinished, some unresolved problem somewhere, and if there’s not, God knows they will
make
one. And if they’re total shits and in a position to do so, they will make someone else deal with it. Ideally, a woman.
Charles isn’t that bad. He just likes to sweat every detail. And sweat it several times over. And then, after everyone is exhausted running the different options, he swoops in and resolves everything. Judging by what I’ve heard from some of the junior publicists in the New York office, it can be annoying, but really, if you think about it, he’s just being conscientious and looking out for everyone’s well-being. Still, I’m happy that as DWP-ED’s grown larger, we’ve also grown more balkanized. That I have my own little event planning division to run the way I want to run it without interference.
I stand there for a minute rereading his e-mail, debating whether to call him, get the so-called bad news over with. Giventhe roar of traffic and my mushrooming headache, I think better of it and drop the BlackBerry into my bag. Time enough for that when I’m in the car. Smoked windows. Air-conditioning. Maybe get the driver to tune in to 88.1. A little jazz to soften the inevitable reentry.
“Think of it this way,” Steven says. “Time out of the office, even if spent with your parents, is better than no time out of the office.”
“You know, it actually turned out fine. Better than fine. I mean, Charles was brilliant,” I say, downing the iced latte Steven has brought me. Actually, it was his latte, but I’m so desperate for caffeine to make it through Afternoon Take Two, I co-opted it.
“Sorry, I was obviously going on old intelligence.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call you again. We just got really busy with the party and everything, and then Jack and Charles and I shot a quick nine holes. And Charles wound up taking us all out for dinner before we left.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he says, looking at me like I’m raving. “Chuck was brilliant.
Brilliant
, I say,” he adds, launching into some imitation of somebody. Usually I’m on his wavelength, but the jet lag must really be getting to me.
“Okay, are we done talking about our weekends now?” I say, draining the latte and tossing the cup in the trash. “How was the walk-through with the magazine?”
“Fine. It always is with Oscar there to hold their hands, and in the case of the publisher, literally.”
“Wait, who is their publisher now?”
“Some woman. She’s new.
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