Meeting Diane

 This was part of a writing workshop so there is "some" enhancement but this is pretty much the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The meeting

 

One day in Brussels I ran headlong into a cliché. My life was where I wanted, fast paced, international travel, pivotal, and fun. Jet lag to London, Copenhagen, Brussels, Amsterdam, Georgia, Utah, California and more…always on the move. I was an expert packer and on a first name basis with many of the PanAm business class flight attendants. I was a fixer, a problem solver, a project manager of new and difficult projects. Exciting, maddening, and cool. Meeting after meeting, cocktail party after cocktail party, castle after castle, gala after gala…but always doing business.

 

One day there was a ripple in my pond. A problem had surfaced in Atlanta, Diane from Dayton, who was supposedly on my team had fixed it, but no one had called me. Then I heard of another issue in Utah, again solved by Diane from Dayton, again no phone call to me. Then a bigger problem, again fixed by Diane from Dayton, no call to me. Who was this Diane from Dayton? I flew to there.

 

Diane and I met. Sparks. Not the good kind. I thought it appropriate to tell her how things should work, how she should do her job. She thought me arrogant; I saw myself as confident. She was aggressive, knowledgeable, and nice looking. Our meeting was not confrontational but seemed very formal. She was a person I was happy to have on my team but I thought she was a teeny bit overconfident. Over the following months I came to rely on her to anticipate and solve problems with many of my programs. I appreciated her professionalism but that’s all I looked for in people, I never needed or wanted to dig deeper.

 

Months later, we were in Belgium together for a conference. I was the leader of the US team, Diane was a member of the team. During the conference she adeptly handled the financial and technical issues that came up in her portfolio. She and I unconsciously began to work together and craft strategies and solutions for the projects. In after-hours gatherings, we stood together and continued the day’s conversations with Belgian and US delegates. We found ourselves offering complementary points to everyone. We would leave daytime meetings together and continue discussing the day’s issues. We sat together at lunch and dinner planning outyear requirements in the face of Europe 1992. At some point I wondered, who was this woman? I had never discussed her personal life, didn’t know anything about her beyond what she did for my programs. 

 

We recessed before lunch one day and most of the team retreated to the hotel’s restaurant. Diane and I headed for the street to find a café. We continued discussing the day’s meeting and were readying ourselves for tomorrow’s train trip to The Hague. Who was she? A glimmer caught my eye, a brass kiwi embedded in the sidewalk. I looked at the sign in the door, a picture of the Kiwi and “Kriek Lambic” beer. I suggested we stop here. She agreed.

 

We went down three steps; I opened the door for her, and we went inside. The rest is a blur, I lost track of time and space. I do remember that the room was small, filled with wooden tables and benches, and giant wooden casks.  The air was cool with a smell of fermenting cherries. No one else was there except the waiter. We ordered a pitcher and two glasses. So quiet. 

 

We started talking and couldn’t seem to stop. We talked about our lives, the inner, invisible stuff, not work. I wasn’t used to this and was almost shaking. I was opening myself for the first time in probably 20 years and I sensed she was too. At some point I looked around, we’d finished our second pitcher. The place was full. We hadn’t noticed. We’d been there three hours.

 

As we walked up the steps, I cupped her elbow as support, the first time I remember touching her and it was electric. At the top of the steps we stopped and stood on the brass kiwi. Traffic. Street smells. Honking horns. Pushing people. Work a block away.

 

Now what?