He glanced at the long white legal page before staring back across the table.
“So you’re asking me to do what, with this account now?”
“The air in this conference room is always too cold, don’t you think? I guess it’s offset by the tranquil view.” The respondent, a graying man in a navy blue suite peered through the question. “I think they should bring back the old coffee brand, what do you think? I was a really big fan of the sum – ”
“Karl, I have a four o’clock. Sorry, just need some clarity on this.”
This time it stuck. “Right. So as the CFO of this fine organization, I strongly suggest you spend the remaining amount before fiscal year end. I know you’re not quite up to speed on how things in this town work, but it’s a lose it or use it situation with cash.” No one rushed to speak.
“Let me get this straight,” asked the more junior and debonair of the pair. “You want me to spend the savings I’ve been working hard to accumulate, in order to inflate next year’s budget? This, in the face of last quarter’s layoffs.”
“I am not suggesting you inflate anything Geoff. Just spend the money on a nice year-end reception for your staff. God knows they need a morale boost, especially because they lost a few colleagues. Rent a nice banquet room downtown. I don’t care; we’re going to kill our quarterly revenue projections.”
Geoff was a few minutes late for his four o’clock but still managed to repair home on time. The office was conveniently located near Mass Ave, thus affording him easy access to a newly purchased Bethesda home.
The meeting with Karl had rattled him. Their employer, a small beltway research firm that peddled political insight to Wall Street, was scarcely weathering a do-nothing congressional session and dismal economy. They had managed to survive by laying off mid-level managers and analysts, whilst bringing on a few high profile K Street power brokers. He had ridden on the coattails of a phoenix to a new town, a new house and life.
His SUV churned up still taupe fallen leaves onto suburban lawns as he neared his block. An autumn phoenix, contradictory as it was, was better than sifting through ashes, Geoff thought.
He had given up a tidy brownstone on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and daily cross-town commute where he led a research division at a large commercial bank. The division focused on special investment vehicles and made Geoff a hot commodity following the meltdown. With all eyes on Washington, he had skipped town and staked a claim at a boutique firm, trying to stay a step ahead of new regulatory moves. In truth, he felt like a convict who was so adroit the government had started consulting him in exchange for time served. Hollywood stuff. Except no one was incarcerated or losing sleep, save for the poor sops that were on the outside to begin with. He didn’t take sides politically and wasn’t about to now in the District, as the locals termed it.
Still, the notion that he should throw a party and waste precious private funds seemed fantastic to him. Granted his team regularly traversed the eastern seaboard throwing elegant cocktail parties for lawmakers and Geoff understood the point of maintaining a certain level of spending. He could recall the faces of new colleagues, perspiring from the June humidity, as they packed their offices and cubicles. One must slash and burn in order to cultivate at times, he thought.
He reported early the next day and started planning the party. There were several high profile client meetings in the afternoon and he wanted it sorted and the bad taste gone. He phoned his executive assistant. Geoff always wanted to slip the word secretary or a modifier like “secretarial task” in the conversation, but some reserve restrained him.
“Veronica, can you book us a room at the, let’s say, the Sofitel the first week of next month? Get us a banquet room and a spread. Also make sure it’s not a cash bar. Don’t worry about cost; just get an estimate for accounting. I’m sure it will be fine.”
An hour later, whilst he was scouring the Journal, she rang back.
“Geoff, they want to know if you would like French bistro cuisine, as they are known for, or something slightly more exotic.”
Her formal tone irked him. “I trust you are capable of making that decision Veronica. You know the staff much better than I. Have to prepare for today’s meetings now, thanks!” He flipped to a piece on the Eurozone’s future and washed his hands of the business.
The next few weeks passed faster than he was accustomed. His team had become inundated with deciphering some newly proposed Senate bill that everyone knew wouldn’t clear the House. Still, it held some interesting implications for credit derivatives. There was a remote chance a severely watered down version could pass and that alone had his New York clients in fits.
On the eve of the party he left his office early and drove southeast, downtown. He aimed to scope out the lay of the land. Parking and logistics mainly, as it was rumored a group of protesters were occupying a neighboring public park. Geoff found the hotel with relative ease; he had attended a foreign affairs panel there several months prior.
After parking he began to realize the excursion was just an excuse. His staff was perfectly capable of handling themselves and if they weren’t, it was their problem. Rather, he was escaping a boring commute to an empty house where he would continue working against the drone of financial cable networks.
The air between the buildings was still and crisp. Oat strands of low-slung light caught metal street fixtures and caused Geoff to squint. If it wasn’t for the eagerly browned maples, it could have been spring. He leaned against a street light post and unfurled a cigarette pack from his slacks. Having kicked a serious habit as a young trader, he limited himself to one per day, usually consumed in the car following work.
Nearby, low bass notes throbbed, drawing Geoff around the corner of the hotel. What he discovered was remarkable. An entire city of plastic tarp canopies had overtook most of the green space in the downtown business park. Signs hanging from every fence and tent pole spelled derision and anger; the messages a near personal affront to his livelihood.
Having been stymied by the recent uptick in work, Geoff had only heard murmurs of the movement’s development. It hadn’t occurred to him that they were staking a claim, an open sore, at the heart of the power nexus. So befuddled, he had to ask the person suddenly standing in front of him to repeat himself.
“Say, you got another smoke by chance brotha?”
The inquirer was a young white man in his 20s, sporting dreadlocked hair and donning what appeared to be a rug for a shirt.
“Sure do. I’ll part with one if you tell me what you’re mad about. Not anyone else, but you specifically.”
“Well man, ya see? I’m pretty pissed that we bailed out those big banks and then they didn’t bail us out when the going got tough, ya know? If it was up to me, I’d fire the whole congress and start fresh. Too much corruption and personal greed. A few people are winning at our expense, ya know?”
Geoff forked over the smoke, nodded dismissively and returned to his car. The whole encounter, the whole scene, had irked him. He was mostly confused. As a realist, he understood their frustration, but didn’t understand how their actions were going to change anything. What naivety? Why weren’t they volunteering at soup kitchens helping out those in worse situations? What about looking for work? Where did the park’s regular homeless go?
He rushed back to suburbia in a daze. Deciding to forego further work, he quickly swilled several lowball glasses of bourbon before retiring. Outside the wind kicked up spiraling a skeleton crew of leaves into the house’s flanks.
Geoff passed the next day at the office with his thoughts adrift. In the middle of several calls he blanked and had to cover his tracks. While the impending forced social gathering weighed slight in his mind, it was the scene he had encountered the day before that threw him. Son of a second generation immigrant, he had always believed that individual moxie would trump hard times and shortcomings. His economic knowledge and common sense had been tugging at that sentiment lately. Seeing the encampment filled with young people driven to such ends further disillusioned him.
The day ran its course and he made his way down to the venue. Purposefully he avoided the park and its inhabitants fearing another glimpse would fester his self-doubt. Opting to valet his car, he entered the hotel and sought out the bar.
Inside, off-white crown moldings subtly reflected the soft light of crystal chandeliers. High ceilings and plush carpets graced the banquet room. His staff was only twenty or so, but the room looked to accommodate twice that with ease. A mobile mahogany bar was set across one corner and he strode over to the tuxedoed barkeep.
Geoff had to squint while addressing him as the unblocked sun streamed through slits in the antique wrought iron window grilles.
“Maker’s, neat please.”
He spent the next half hour stalking about the room awaiting Veronica and the rest of his team. A few minutes before the majority arrived, the kitchen staff laid out the evening’s feast. It appeared Veronica had opted for the more exotic fare as a cold bar complete with oysters on the half shell and crab legs sat adjacent to a mini chocolate fondue fountain.
Hell, we’re going to chew right through the reserves tonight, he thought.
“Another Maker’s please.”
As they shuffled in, in small groups, Geoff greeted each with a smile and most with a handshake. The workplace was somewhat tiered in that the more junior analysts tended to associate separately from the senior policy and subject experts. Geoff spent most of his time delivering research to clients, so he wasn’t too familiar with anyone yet. It set the stage for an awkward evening.
At first he rotated between the groups like an island ferry. Casual chatter here, shop talk there. Most seemed genuinely impressed with the venue and spread. Geoff was beginning to come to terms with the event being a necessary evil. After a few rounds, he ran out of ice breakers and parked himself by the cold bar. There he was able to survey the field, answer passersby’s questions and slurp oysters in peace.
The relative idle state though, jogged his thoughts. He began to recall the names and faces of those he had let go, just a few weeks into his tenure. Some had been employed since the firm’s founding ten years ago. The images from the park replayed in his mind more sharply. If his former colleagues, some of the brightest and most astute individuals in the area couldn’t assert their worth, what chance did these kids have?
Brooding, he began to judge his surroundings. Perry, the Fed expert, looked so clichéd in his purple pinstriped suit, his red bowtie and caramel wingtips. Josa-, he couldn’t quite recall her name, was gluttonously ambushing passing hors d'oeuvre servers two at a time. He felt disconnected, superior and ashamed for having judged.
A few more Maker’s, a few more trite greetings. He grew restless. Suddenly he fixated on the crab leg display. Spiny limbs sprung towards the heavens like spring tulips anchored in a loose ice loam. No one had even touched them; too perfect was their planting. He rested his glass on the bar and gripped the stainless steel garden bed.
Geoff felt himself flushing with exhilaration as he hoisted the tray and marched toward a side exit. Flinging the door open with an upward knee, he nearly tumbled onto the sidewalk. Glancing wildly up and down the now empty street, he started towards a near sidewalk bench.
The sun had slipped lower but the air didn’t have any true bite yet. The stillness of the air contrasted sharply with his mood but did soothe his flushed skin. Underfoot, once tanned leaves turned burnt coffee, slowed Geoff as he sloshed forward.
There on the bench a disheveled elderly black man with a graying beard sat. Geoff had noticed him there the other day and assumed he was destitute. He calmly glanced Geoff up and down.
“Here, I want you to have these.”
A nervous chuckle as he met Geoff eyes. “And what the Hell am I supposed to do wit ‘em?”
“Well, thought you probably are having trouble cus of those protesters and all.”
A more relaxed laugh. “Nah man. They ain’t bothering me. They actually give me food and space in a tent when I need. Say, wacha want me to do with those things? I could sell ‘em maybe.” More raucous laughter as he waved Geoff off.
His fingers numb from cold and arms burning with stress, Geoff slinked back towards the hotel. He quietly dumped the tray in a street trash can and motioned for the valet attendant to fetch his car. Dusk entrenched the street and cast the hotel in a gothic light. Geoff wondered what an appropriate tip was for the man.
