Jennifers surrender, p.2
Jennifer's Surrender, page 2
“I know, I’m sorry, Jim. I never meant to hurt you. You don’t bore me. I love you.” Even as I said it, I knew I was lying. Not about loving him, but about not being bored. I wanted more in our relationship. I knew something was missing, and even just dipping our toes into experimenting with playing in the bedroom, even though it wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped, it felt like I was on to something. Like I was unlocking a door to a part of me that I never really knew existed.
“I love you too, Jen, but I’m not so sure we want the same things any more.” he couldn’t even look at me when he said this.
“Are you breaking up with me because I want to try new things in our sex life?” I tried to sound incredulous.
“It’s not just that. You’ve changed. You’re not the woman I fell in love with. It’s like you’ve become obsessed with this damn ‘lifestyle’ and it’s just not me. And, shit Jen, I have to kind of wonder about what type of person you are if you’re that into it. I mean, what type of woman wants to be hit?”
“Wow. Thank goodness you’re not judging me.” The sarcasm was obvious.
“I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I, I just don’t think I can be who you want me to be.” He stood up and started getting dressed. I knew I should argue more or try to hold him back, but he was right. I knew I should be shocked, hurt, or feeling more than I was. But all I was feeling was relief.
When I didn’t say anything, after he was dressed he looked at me and said, “I’ll come back tomorrow while you’re at work and get my stuff.” I nodded. I figured, it was probably best to let him go, thinking that I was hurt. I knew I had already emasculated him and genuinely didn’t want to hurt him. But he was right. He wasn’t the guy for me. And I wasn’t the woman for him.
CHAPTER 6
They say timing is everything.
It was right around the time that Jim and I broke up that our agency started working on a pitch for a new chain of luxury boutique hotels and resorts. These places offered every type of pampering and indulgence imaginable. They took care of mind, body, spirit, offering a full service spa, yoga, pilates, personal trainers, cleansings… But they were also known to have an amazing night life, bars and clubs that were exclusive. And the rooms, and the grounds, well, they were the crème de la crème. All of us hoped that if we won the account, we’d get to stay at one of the properties for research only, of course.
Before our pitch to any client, we would meet internally, divided up into two or three creative teams — an art director and copywriter — and pitch our team’s idea to Bill Kitt, the owner of the agency. His old partner, John Rand, had sold his half of the agency to Bill years before I got there. When I first joined Kitt & Rand, this internal pitching intimidated the hell out of me. It was one thing to present to strangers, but to have to pitch my idea in front of my peers, people whose opinions I valued and who I’d have to see and work with day in, day out, somehow it was harder. Pitching or presenting to clients, there was a distance. Pitching to my boss with my co-workers listening was so much more intimate. He knew me, knew us. So we couldn’t bullshit, couldn’t pretend. This intimacy, if you will, challenged us, or at least it challenged me. Soon after I did this a couple times at K&R, I realized why Bill did it. We were all competitive and insecure. By nature, most creative people are, since what we’re putting out there is a part of us. Every design, every headline is personal. And trying to explain that to non-creative people sounds silly, but it’s true. So, making us compete against each other drove us all to work harder, prove ourselves over and over again, each of us vying for Bill’s approval.
Even though I had been at this agency for almost eight years, I still got nervous before any one of these internal pitches. I always wanted to win, sure. But more than that, I always sought Bill’s approval. When he liked one of my ideas, his smile and nod from across the table was like a warm hug. And when he looked down and shook his head silently, I felt sick to my stomach. I never wanted that reaction from him. It’s probably a big part of what drove me to work harder and harder.
And Bill rewarded my hard work and dedication. I worked my way up from copywriter to Associate Creative Director to Creative Director. He was tough but fair and I saw a direct correlation between pleasing Bill and being rewarded. I suppose you could say this is true of any employee / employer relationship. But I’m not sure everyone seeks or needs approval like I now know that I do. I’m not sure where this need comes from. I had a pretty normal childhood, no abuse or trauma that I can remember. My parents were so focused on work that it was a struggle to get their attention, and I’m sure that must be the root of it all. I do recall early on, maybe when I was six or so, copying poems out of books and presenting them to my parents as my own. They were impressed and showered praise on me for the work, work, of course, that I didn’t do, that I felt guilt and love simultaneously. So maybe I’m hard-wired to seek approval. To do anything to get someone’s love. I’m sure a therapist could help me figure it out, but by now I know that I am so far gone, trying to unravel this mess would take a lot more than just exploring my childhood.
When I look back, I wonder if Bill had orchestrated what eventually became my relationship with Master. It doesn’t really matter one way or another. But as I try to put the pieces together, I wonder how much of where I am now is due to happenstance, and how much was planned out. Perhaps if I weren’t with my Master, I would eventually end up with another, though I can’t imagine ever being with anybody else.
Since I was the more senior person on the creative team, I lead the charge. The hotel chain was called “Tutto”, Italian for “everything”. I know I was inspired by my new obsession with the lifestyle, but I kept coming back to the idea of surrendering.
“Seriously, Greg. You’re not a woman. You have to trust me on this. The whole idea behind Tutto is that they have everything your heart could desire. All you have to do is to surrender to it and they’ll take care of you.” I implored.
“Yeah, I get it, Jen. Probably because you’ve been stuck on this idea for days. Look, Bill knows you’re the lead creative. If he doesn’t like it, it’s your neck, not mine.”
“Glad you’ve got my back, Greg.” I said as I threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him.
“You know I do. I actually like the idea.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I rolled my eyes.
“Ok, Jen, Greg, you’re up.” Bill said as he leaned back in his chair. He was a good looking man. He had a quiet sensuality about him. He never did or said anything overtly sexual, but it was almost like he just oozed it. He was big and strong, a fitness fanatic. I wasn’t exactly sure how old he was, but I think he was probably older than anyone thought. I assumed somewhere around 50, but he could easily pass for early 40s.
He had really helped nurture me and my talent over the years. I knew that I wouldn’t be where I was if it weren’t for his patient prodding of me. I looked up to him and appreciated everything he had done, and like I said, I always wanted to please him. It was important to me that I never let him down.
Greg and I had worked hard on our campaign for Tutto, and I was so sure of it. But now that I was faced with saying the words out loud, I suddenly realized what I might sound like. This wasn’t the first time we were pitching an overtly suggestive sell, but there was something that now felt so personal, like I was admitting “I want to be a submissive” to the entire room.
“Whenever you’re ready, Jennifer.” Bill said, snapping me out of my mind. Shit, whenever he used my full name it made me even more intimidated than I already was. I knew that I was turning a bright red, but it was now or never.
“Sorry.” I pushed my hair back nervously behind my ear and started. “Ok, Tutto is all about pampering, taking care of its guests in all ways. And while it appeals to both men and women, more of its services, especially all the spa and fitness offerings, are geared more towards women. Not to mention that, in couples who are going on vacation, women typically drive the hotel choice. So our campaign, while universal, skews towards adult women.” I took a breath as my heart started beating faster.
“With so much conversation in pop culture about submitting, giving in, and being taken care of, Tutto is the ultimate destination for the over-worked woman who does everything. It’s the one place where she can surrender, knowing that she will be well taken care of. So, that’s the concept behind our campaign: Surrender.”
Bill’s eyebrows arched and a slight smile appeared. I exhaled and relaxed for a moment. Before I continued with the rest of the pitch , Bill asked, “and this is your idea, Jen?” the way he said it, I thought I must have completely blown it.
I nodded sheepishly and then turned to Greg and said, “Sorry, partner.” And shrugged my shoulders. He shrugged back, probably just happy I didn’t try to pass it off as our idea.
“Why do you immediately think I hate it, Jen?” Bill asked, now his arms were crossed and he was leaning so far back in his swivel chair that I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift down to his crotch. I immediately looked back up and said,
“Well, the way you asked if it was my idea… it just sounded like you were looking for someone to blame. So, if you are, that would be me. Please don’t drag Greg into this. I know we’re a team, but I kind of forced him to come along on the ride for this one.”
“Why?” was all Bill asked. God this was embarrassing, getting called on the carpet by my boss in front of my peers.
“I was just so sure that this was the appeal. It just seems so clear to me. It was all I could see, frankly.” I was so deflated.
“I agree.” Bill said.
“What?” I asked, not sure I heard him correctly.
Bill laughed, “I agree with your premise, your reasoning, and I think it’s exactly the sell.”
“Really!?!” I shrieked.
Bill laughed again, “Really, Jen. Good job tapping into this. I’m proud of you. I want you to take the lead on this. We’re presenting next week.”
I knew I was grinning ear to ear. I wanted to jump up and down and run around the conference table to give Bill a hug. I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t just all the smut I’d been reading! I was right!
“Jen, our Creative Director, will walk you through the concept.” Bill said as if offering up a tiny mouse to a hungry python. I knew the product and our pitch well enough, but all I knew about the client, Stephen London, aside from what I had read online, was that he and Bill went way back. There was something about him that was so intimidating, so overwhelmingly powerful that I felt like everyone in the room must be able to hear my heart beating, it was pounding so hard. It didn’t help that he was stunningly handsome. He had to be around Bill’s age, so it was a combination of looks, charisma, raw masculinity and confidence. Basically, it was the whole package.
Even before I opened my mouth, I knew that what I was about to say would make me blush. The way he looked at me, just his look, I felt deep down in my belly. And now, here I was, about to explain the concept behind the campaign. It was just a look, but I guess that’s all it took for me to feel like I was the tiny mouse for him to toy with and eventually consume.
I cleared my throat and started to speak, much meeker than usual, but I couldn’t help it. “Our overall concept is, ‘Surrender’” I paused, I knew I was bright red, but his expression was implacable. I glanced over to Bill and his look was one of support, encouragement, which helped. I straightened my shoulders and continued, trying to sound more secure and forceful. “In today’s busy world, many women feel the constant pressure of work, family, home and friends. They have no time to themselves, and they have to take care of everyone and everything in their lives. The notion of giving in, surrendering is foreign, even laughable to many,” I paused and looked down to take a breath. From the minute I started speaking his eyes did not leave mine and I felt as though somehow just his glance was literally taking my breath away.
Before I started speaking again, I took a deep breath and consciously or subconsciously, I don’t know which, I licked my lips. I’d like to think it was because my mouth was dry, but I had lip gloss on and my lips were just fine. I don’t know what made me do it. I’ve never been overtly sexual before with a client. But he liked it as a small, almost imperceptible smile crept across his face. It vanished almost as soon as it had appeared, but I knew I saw it. He approved. He liked what he saw. And that tiny assent lifted my spirits, and I continued, bolstered now by his validation.
“But if the promise to your guests that all they have to do is surrender, and your hotel will take care of the rest, that it will tend to their needs, keep them safe and warm, pamper them and offer them all of the pleasures that daily life does not, then the notion of surrender is no longer seen as weak, but rather it becomes their key to happiness.” I paused, “for at least a night.” I smiled and paused.
There was silence. This was the part where he either loved the idea or hated it.
“Jennifer, is that right?” he asked, confirming my name, though somehow I very much doubted this man ever forgot a name, much less anything else. I don’t know where my reply came from. I’m not from the South and I’ve never called a client ‘sir’ before, so maybe it was from all the books I had been reading, but from somewhere I replied what would be the first of many times,
“Yes, Sir.” And I briefly looked down as I said it. Again, this wasn’t a performance, I wasn’t purposely acting out a role. There was something about his presence that compelled me. I don’t know if it was that moment, or some other, that he knew he had me. But he clearly liked the way I addressed him as he smiled slowly, never taking his eyes off of mine.
“Jennifer, let me ask you a question. You’re a woman. You’re my target audience. Does the notion of surrender appeal to you?” The way he asked it felt so intimate, so personal, yet we were in a conference room of a dozen or so people. I knew I was bright red again, or still.
And all I could ask was, meekly, “Sir?”
“Your concept of surrender, that women who visit my hotels will buy into that notion. Why?” His tone was somehow insistent but calm. His voice didn’t rise, but I got the distinct impression that he didn’t like having to repeat himself, especially when it seemed he already knew the answer.
Somehow I regained my composure, “Well, like I said, they’ll only submit, uh, surrender, if they know that they’re going to be taken care of. Many women today have it all, but that can be exhausting. I think many women fantasize about giving in, letting go, but they can’t if there’s no one who will catch them. No one would buy into the notion of surrendering at motel because there’s no one there to take care of them. But the idea of arriving at your hotel, and having a personal valet or concierge essentially say, you don’t have to think, you don’t have to plan, we will take care of everything, and you’ll love it. Well, I think that’s very attractive proposition. Even aspirational.” I saw some of the women’s heads around the room nodding, and I was thankful for the distraction and I used it, “I see some of you agree.”
And I focused on a plain, slightly heavy woman. Her roots were overdue for a highlight and she looked tired. It didn’t take more than me making eye contact with her for her to see that as an invitation, “I can totally relate!” she said enthusiastically.
“Do tell, Judy.” Stephen said, in a clipped manner. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I don’t think he wanted anyone else in the room to speak.
“Well, I mean, I’m the one who takes care of the kids, you know, gets them ready in the morning, gets them off to school, then I come here to work, and then it’s my responsibility to have dinner ready when my husband comes home, and have a clean house and then on the weekends, it doesn’t stop between soccer games and ballet classes, it’s exhausting. I think all of my friends would be up for a night or weekend of surrender. Sign me up now!” everyone in the room chuckled, but Stephen simply nodded.
I’m not sure what made me say the next thing, but, it came from somewhere, “But you need to deliver on your end of the bargain.” Perhaps my voice only sounded breathier and sexier to me. I don’t know. And I don’t know where that bravado came from. Where ever it was, it was quickly dashed as Stephen asked flatly,
“Do you have any doubt that I will, Jennifer?”
It was almost as if he had rapped my knuckles with a ruler. I looked down and shook my head and mumbled quietly, “No, Sir.” Apparently too quietly.
“Speak up, Jennifer.” He commanded.
I looked up and straight into his eyes and repeated, “No, Sir.”
Thankfully, Bill regained control of the rest of the meeting, showing Stephen the rest of the campaign. I sat quietly, with my hands in my lap for the rest of the meeting, trying to look anywhere but at him. Every time I did glance over, I felt a wave of disappointment as his focus was on the screen and the work. I felt like I had somehow upset him, though logically, I wasn’t sure how I could have. Later of course, I’d understand just how right on target my instincts were.
CHAPTER 7
The day after the presentation, my office phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I answered, “This is Jen.”
“Hello, Jennifer, this is Stephen London.”
I was immediately tongue tied, “Uh, hi, Stephen, uh, Mr. London.”
“Stephen is fine for now.” He replied.
“Oh, ok, Stephen. Um, how can I help you?” As those words left my mouth, I thought, oh my God, I sound like I work at McDonalds. I just had no idea why this big, important, intimidating man was calling me. Directly. I thought maybe he misdialed and meant to call Bill. I heard a little chuckle on his end and I was thankful he couldn’t see me because I was once again, bright red.
“You could help me by having dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” I was so taken aback, I’m sure I sounded like, well, I’m not sure what I sounded like. I just know I didn’t sound calm, cool, collected.
“I love you too, Jen, but I’m not so sure we want the same things any more.” he couldn’t even look at me when he said this.
“Are you breaking up with me because I want to try new things in our sex life?” I tried to sound incredulous.
“It’s not just that. You’ve changed. You’re not the woman I fell in love with. It’s like you’ve become obsessed with this damn ‘lifestyle’ and it’s just not me. And, shit Jen, I have to kind of wonder about what type of person you are if you’re that into it. I mean, what type of woman wants to be hit?”
“Wow. Thank goodness you’re not judging me.” The sarcasm was obvious.
“I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I, I just don’t think I can be who you want me to be.” He stood up and started getting dressed. I knew I should argue more or try to hold him back, but he was right. I knew I should be shocked, hurt, or feeling more than I was. But all I was feeling was relief.
When I didn’t say anything, after he was dressed he looked at me and said, “I’ll come back tomorrow while you’re at work and get my stuff.” I nodded. I figured, it was probably best to let him go, thinking that I was hurt. I knew I had already emasculated him and genuinely didn’t want to hurt him. But he was right. He wasn’t the guy for me. And I wasn’t the woman for him.
CHAPTER 6
They say timing is everything.
It was right around the time that Jim and I broke up that our agency started working on a pitch for a new chain of luxury boutique hotels and resorts. These places offered every type of pampering and indulgence imaginable. They took care of mind, body, spirit, offering a full service spa, yoga, pilates, personal trainers, cleansings… But they were also known to have an amazing night life, bars and clubs that were exclusive. And the rooms, and the grounds, well, they were the crème de la crème. All of us hoped that if we won the account, we’d get to stay at one of the properties for research only, of course.
Before our pitch to any client, we would meet internally, divided up into two or three creative teams — an art director and copywriter — and pitch our team’s idea to Bill Kitt, the owner of the agency. His old partner, John Rand, had sold his half of the agency to Bill years before I got there. When I first joined Kitt & Rand, this internal pitching intimidated the hell out of me. It was one thing to present to strangers, but to have to pitch my idea in front of my peers, people whose opinions I valued and who I’d have to see and work with day in, day out, somehow it was harder. Pitching or presenting to clients, there was a distance. Pitching to my boss with my co-workers listening was so much more intimate. He knew me, knew us. So we couldn’t bullshit, couldn’t pretend. This intimacy, if you will, challenged us, or at least it challenged me. Soon after I did this a couple times at K&R, I realized why Bill did it. We were all competitive and insecure. By nature, most creative people are, since what we’re putting out there is a part of us. Every design, every headline is personal. And trying to explain that to non-creative people sounds silly, but it’s true. So, making us compete against each other drove us all to work harder, prove ourselves over and over again, each of us vying for Bill’s approval.
Even though I had been at this agency for almost eight years, I still got nervous before any one of these internal pitches. I always wanted to win, sure. But more than that, I always sought Bill’s approval. When he liked one of my ideas, his smile and nod from across the table was like a warm hug. And when he looked down and shook his head silently, I felt sick to my stomach. I never wanted that reaction from him. It’s probably a big part of what drove me to work harder and harder.
And Bill rewarded my hard work and dedication. I worked my way up from copywriter to Associate Creative Director to Creative Director. He was tough but fair and I saw a direct correlation between pleasing Bill and being rewarded. I suppose you could say this is true of any employee / employer relationship. But I’m not sure everyone seeks or needs approval like I now know that I do. I’m not sure where this need comes from. I had a pretty normal childhood, no abuse or trauma that I can remember. My parents were so focused on work that it was a struggle to get their attention, and I’m sure that must be the root of it all. I do recall early on, maybe when I was six or so, copying poems out of books and presenting them to my parents as my own. They were impressed and showered praise on me for the work, work, of course, that I didn’t do, that I felt guilt and love simultaneously. So maybe I’m hard-wired to seek approval. To do anything to get someone’s love. I’m sure a therapist could help me figure it out, but by now I know that I am so far gone, trying to unravel this mess would take a lot more than just exploring my childhood.
When I look back, I wonder if Bill had orchestrated what eventually became my relationship with Master. It doesn’t really matter one way or another. But as I try to put the pieces together, I wonder how much of where I am now is due to happenstance, and how much was planned out. Perhaps if I weren’t with my Master, I would eventually end up with another, though I can’t imagine ever being with anybody else.
Since I was the more senior person on the creative team, I lead the charge. The hotel chain was called “Tutto”, Italian for “everything”. I know I was inspired by my new obsession with the lifestyle, but I kept coming back to the idea of surrendering.
“Seriously, Greg. You’re not a woman. You have to trust me on this. The whole idea behind Tutto is that they have everything your heart could desire. All you have to do is to surrender to it and they’ll take care of you.” I implored.
“Yeah, I get it, Jen. Probably because you’ve been stuck on this idea for days. Look, Bill knows you’re the lead creative. If he doesn’t like it, it’s your neck, not mine.”
“Glad you’ve got my back, Greg.” I said as I threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him.
“You know I do. I actually like the idea.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I rolled my eyes.
“Ok, Jen, Greg, you’re up.” Bill said as he leaned back in his chair. He was a good looking man. He had a quiet sensuality about him. He never did or said anything overtly sexual, but it was almost like he just oozed it. He was big and strong, a fitness fanatic. I wasn’t exactly sure how old he was, but I think he was probably older than anyone thought. I assumed somewhere around 50, but he could easily pass for early 40s.
He had really helped nurture me and my talent over the years. I knew that I wouldn’t be where I was if it weren’t for his patient prodding of me. I looked up to him and appreciated everything he had done, and like I said, I always wanted to please him. It was important to me that I never let him down.
Greg and I had worked hard on our campaign for Tutto, and I was so sure of it. But now that I was faced with saying the words out loud, I suddenly realized what I might sound like. This wasn’t the first time we were pitching an overtly suggestive sell, but there was something that now felt so personal, like I was admitting “I want to be a submissive” to the entire room.
“Whenever you’re ready, Jennifer.” Bill said, snapping me out of my mind. Shit, whenever he used my full name it made me even more intimidated than I already was. I knew that I was turning a bright red, but it was now or never.
“Sorry.” I pushed my hair back nervously behind my ear and started. “Ok, Tutto is all about pampering, taking care of its guests in all ways. And while it appeals to both men and women, more of its services, especially all the spa and fitness offerings, are geared more towards women. Not to mention that, in couples who are going on vacation, women typically drive the hotel choice. So our campaign, while universal, skews towards adult women.” I took a breath as my heart started beating faster.
“With so much conversation in pop culture about submitting, giving in, and being taken care of, Tutto is the ultimate destination for the over-worked woman who does everything. It’s the one place where she can surrender, knowing that she will be well taken care of. So, that’s the concept behind our campaign: Surrender.”
Bill’s eyebrows arched and a slight smile appeared. I exhaled and relaxed for a moment. Before I continued with the rest of the pitch , Bill asked, “and this is your idea, Jen?” the way he said it, I thought I must have completely blown it.
I nodded sheepishly and then turned to Greg and said, “Sorry, partner.” And shrugged my shoulders. He shrugged back, probably just happy I didn’t try to pass it off as our idea.
“Why do you immediately think I hate it, Jen?” Bill asked, now his arms were crossed and he was leaning so far back in his swivel chair that I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift down to his crotch. I immediately looked back up and said,
“Well, the way you asked if it was my idea… it just sounded like you were looking for someone to blame. So, if you are, that would be me. Please don’t drag Greg into this. I know we’re a team, but I kind of forced him to come along on the ride for this one.”
“Why?” was all Bill asked. God this was embarrassing, getting called on the carpet by my boss in front of my peers.
“I was just so sure that this was the appeal. It just seems so clear to me. It was all I could see, frankly.” I was so deflated.
“I agree.” Bill said.
“What?” I asked, not sure I heard him correctly.
Bill laughed, “I agree with your premise, your reasoning, and I think it’s exactly the sell.”
“Really!?!” I shrieked.
Bill laughed again, “Really, Jen. Good job tapping into this. I’m proud of you. I want you to take the lead on this. We’re presenting next week.”
I knew I was grinning ear to ear. I wanted to jump up and down and run around the conference table to give Bill a hug. I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t just all the smut I’d been reading! I was right!
“Jen, our Creative Director, will walk you through the concept.” Bill said as if offering up a tiny mouse to a hungry python. I knew the product and our pitch well enough, but all I knew about the client, Stephen London, aside from what I had read online, was that he and Bill went way back. There was something about him that was so intimidating, so overwhelmingly powerful that I felt like everyone in the room must be able to hear my heart beating, it was pounding so hard. It didn’t help that he was stunningly handsome. He had to be around Bill’s age, so it was a combination of looks, charisma, raw masculinity and confidence. Basically, it was the whole package.
Even before I opened my mouth, I knew that what I was about to say would make me blush. The way he looked at me, just his look, I felt deep down in my belly. And now, here I was, about to explain the concept behind the campaign. It was just a look, but I guess that’s all it took for me to feel like I was the tiny mouse for him to toy with and eventually consume.
I cleared my throat and started to speak, much meeker than usual, but I couldn’t help it. “Our overall concept is, ‘Surrender’” I paused, I knew I was bright red, but his expression was implacable. I glanced over to Bill and his look was one of support, encouragement, which helped. I straightened my shoulders and continued, trying to sound more secure and forceful. “In today’s busy world, many women feel the constant pressure of work, family, home and friends. They have no time to themselves, and they have to take care of everyone and everything in their lives. The notion of giving in, surrendering is foreign, even laughable to many,” I paused and looked down to take a breath. From the minute I started speaking his eyes did not leave mine and I felt as though somehow just his glance was literally taking my breath away.
Before I started speaking again, I took a deep breath and consciously or subconsciously, I don’t know which, I licked my lips. I’d like to think it was because my mouth was dry, but I had lip gloss on and my lips were just fine. I don’t know what made me do it. I’ve never been overtly sexual before with a client. But he liked it as a small, almost imperceptible smile crept across his face. It vanished almost as soon as it had appeared, but I knew I saw it. He approved. He liked what he saw. And that tiny assent lifted my spirits, and I continued, bolstered now by his validation.
“But if the promise to your guests that all they have to do is surrender, and your hotel will take care of the rest, that it will tend to their needs, keep them safe and warm, pamper them and offer them all of the pleasures that daily life does not, then the notion of surrender is no longer seen as weak, but rather it becomes their key to happiness.” I paused, “for at least a night.” I smiled and paused.
There was silence. This was the part where he either loved the idea or hated it.
“Jennifer, is that right?” he asked, confirming my name, though somehow I very much doubted this man ever forgot a name, much less anything else. I don’t know where my reply came from. I’m not from the South and I’ve never called a client ‘sir’ before, so maybe it was from all the books I had been reading, but from somewhere I replied what would be the first of many times,
“Yes, Sir.” And I briefly looked down as I said it. Again, this wasn’t a performance, I wasn’t purposely acting out a role. There was something about his presence that compelled me. I don’t know if it was that moment, or some other, that he knew he had me. But he clearly liked the way I addressed him as he smiled slowly, never taking his eyes off of mine.
“Jennifer, let me ask you a question. You’re a woman. You’re my target audience. Does the notion of surrender appeal to you?” The way he asked it felt so intimate, so personal, yet we were in a conference room of a dozen or so people. I knew I was bright red again, or still.
And all I could ask was, meekly, “Sir?”
“Your concept of surrender, that women who visit my hotels will buy into that notion. Why?” His tone was somehow insistent but calm. His voice didn’t rise, but I got the distinct impression that he didn’t like having to repeat himself, especially when it seemed he already knew the answer.
Somehow I regained my composure, “Well, like I said, they’ll only submit, uh, surrender, if they know that they’re going to be taken care of. Many women today have it all, but that can be exhausting. I think many women fantasize about giving in, letting go, but they can’t if there’s no one who will catch them. No one would buy into the notion of surrendering at motel because there’s no one there to take care of them. But the idea of arriving at your hotel, and having a personal valet or concierge essentially say, you don’t have to think, you don’t have to plan, we will take care of everything, and you’ll love it. Well, I think that’s very attractive proposition. Even aspirational.” I saw some of the women’s heads around the room nodding, and I was thankful for the distraction and I used it, “I see some of you agree.”
And I focused on a plain, slightly heavy woman. Her roots were overdue for a highlight and she looked tired. It didn’t take more than me making eye contact with her for her to see that as an invitation, “I can totally relate!” she said enthusiastically.
“Do tell, Judy.” Stephen said, in a clipped manner. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I don’t think he wanted anyone else in the room to speak.
“Well, I mean, I’m the one who takes care of the kids, you know, gets them ready in the morning, gets them off to school, then I come here to work, and then it’s my responsibility to have dinner ready when my husband comes home, and have a clean house and then on the weekends, it doesn’t stop between soccer games and ballet classes, it’s exhausting. I think all of my friends would be up for a night or weekend of surrender. Sign me up now!” everyone in the room chuckled, but Stephen simply nodded.
I’m not sure what made me say the next thing, but, it came from somewhere, “But you need to deliver on your end of the bargain.” Perhaps my voice only sounded breathier and sexier to me. I don’t know. And I don’t know where that bravado came from. Where ever it was, it was quickly dashed as Stephen asked flatly,
“Do you have any doubt that I will, Jennifer?”
It was almost as if he had rapped my knuckles with a ruler. I looked down and shook my head and mumbled quietly, “No, Sir.” Apparently too quietly.
“Speak up, Jennifer.” He commanded.
I looked up and straight into his eyes and repeated, “No, Sir.”
Thankfully, Bill regained control of the rest of the meeting, showing Stephen the rest of the campaign. I sat quietly, with my hands in my lap for the rest of the meeting, trying to look anywhere but at him. Every time I did glance over, I felt a wave of disappointment as his focus was on the screen and the work. I felt like I had somehow upset him, though logically, I wasn’t sure how I could have. Later of course, I’d understand just how right on target my instincts were.
CHAPTER 7
The day after the presentation, my office phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number so I answered, “This is Jen.”
“Hello, Jennifer, this is Stephen London.”
I was immediately tongue tied, “Uh, hi, Stephen, uh, Mr. London.”
“Stephen is fine for now.” He replied.
“Oh, ok, Stephen. Um, how can I help you?” As those words left my mouth, I thought, oh my God, I sound like I work at McDonalds. I just had no idea why this big, important, intimidating man was calling me. Directly. I thought maybe he misdialed and meant to call Bill. I heard a little chuckle on his end and I was thankful he couldn’t see me because I was once again, bright red.
“You could help me by having dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” I was so taken aback, I’m sure I sounded like, well, I’m not sure what I sounded like. I just know I didn’t sound calm, cool, collected.
