Can You Keep a Secret?
Page 24
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'You know what I would love above anything?' he says, taking a gulp. 'A one-to-one with him.' He looks at me, his eyes shining. 'A one-to-one with Jack Harper! Wouldn't that be the most fantastic career boost?'
A one-to-one with Jack Harper.
Yup, that boosted my career great.
'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.
'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about business … about the way people work … about life itself.'
Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention the great mysteries of life itself.
And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?
No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.
Great career move, Emma. One of the best.
The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old magazine article about Jack Harper.
'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'
I don't want any background information! I feel like retorting, but Connor's already out of the door.
I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the world and said he was giving it all up.
And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then. He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.
I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on the tube.
Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre, and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of … fibbed. And I mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For … my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says, 'Appraisal.'
A one-to-one with Jack Harper.
Yup, that boosted my career great.
'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.
'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about business … about the way people work … about life itself.'
Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention the great mysteries of life itself.
And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?
No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.
Great career move, Emma. One of the best.
The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old magazine article about Jack Harper.
'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'
I don't want any background information! I feel like retorting, but Connor's already out of the door.
I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the world and said he was giving it all up.
And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then. He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.
I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on the tube.
Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre, and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of … fibbed. And I mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For … my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says, 'Appraisal.'
