It was a short stroll to the conference center along this jewel of the French Riviera. She walked past buildings that ran the gamut from Moroccan to funky-beach architecture, many of the painted in that salmon shade so typical of this area. There were palm trees everywhere, trimmed and stately.
She joined the throngs registering at the event hall. She saw at once that her unique sense of couture style didn’t mark her asother. Mixed in with polo shirts and summer wear, the attendees wore unabashedly unique clothing, from fedoras to bowler hats. There were man buns, shirts in wild color blocks, scarves doubling as halter tops, even bustiers! And, in one case—and how she wanted to know the backstory!—someone was wearing a football jersey over a knee-length kilt.
Orchid fit right in.
Uplifted by the beautiful surroundings and bustle of creative energy, she greeted the couple ahead of her in line.
“Hullo, doll,” said the man, a portly fellow sporting a flamboyant suit that was adorned with sequined lapels.
“Where you from?” asked the other man, who was wearing a graphic tee, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots.
“New York, unless you mean where I’mreally from,” Orchid replied.
“Gawd, if anyone asks you that,” said Mr. Skinny. “I mean, where you’rereallyfrom—sic me on them!”
The chubby guy leaned over and kissed his beau. “I love when you get on your high horse.”
“High? Did someone say high?” said his partner. “I’m ready. Right now.”
“Tonight, doll. Be patient.”
Orchid watched this banter with amusement. “Have you been here before? I don’t even know what the night’s events are.” Chubby fingers clasped her bejeweled ones. “Girlfriend, you stick with us, and you’ll know where they ALL are. Get ‘ur party shoes ready.”
Orchid laughed. “We’ll see.”
They picked up their badges and filed into the opening session, a rousing presentation about the power of messaging, and how it needs to be human-centered.
Before Orchid knew it, half the day had passed. She exchanged numbers with her new friends, and then bade them farewell. “Don’t forget to disco nap,” one of them called out in parting.
Orchid entered the dining hall. An agency executive she knew from home rushed over to greet her. “I was hoping to see you. Join me for lunch!” her friend nearly shouted over the din of conversations and clinking silverware. Orchid wished the volume could be turned down a few decibels.
They joined the buffet line, and then found two seats at an almost-filled table for ten. Orchid pulled out the program and studied the offerings.
“You have to come to this next session,” said the woman, between bites of her buttered roll. “It’s for young execs in advertising. And I’ve heard the presenters are the best speakers.”
“Sure,” Orchid agreed. She closed her program, trusting her friend’s judgment.
After eating, they traipsed to what was billed as theUnder-30 Young Lion Learning Academy.Orchid sank into a back-row seat beside her friend.
The room quieted when the emcee began the introductions. Orchid glanced towards the front of the room, expecting a gray-haired lecturer, similar to the morning’s passionate speaker.
Instead, a good-looking young man ran a hand through waves of brown hair. A navy linen shirt stretched against his well-developed body. Phoenix’s presence scrambled her ability to blink. What were the odds he’d be here, teaching this workshop… with her in the audience?
Her friend expelled a low whistle. “Hot damn. This is why I chose this session. Am I right or am I right?”
“counterAgency,” Orchid uttered, and then remembered his mentioning that he was scheduled for asmall speaking roleat this conference. Orchid didn’t want to give him the impression that she was stalking him, so she hadn’t scoured the schedule for his name. Instead, her plan was to play it cool and stick to sessions on strategy, marketing and business development.
Now here she was. What would he think if he saw her? She calculated that chances were nil he’d even notice her, since she was in the last row.
“Is your camera any good? We’re so far back,” her friend whispered, pointing her camera at the stage.
“It’s just meh,” she replied, showing her phone as evidence. On the screen was a selfie she had taken… with Phoenix.
Her friend sucked a breath. “Are you messing with me? Isn’t that the same hunk?”
She glanced at the photo. “Yeah, in Paris,” she said, as if that could clarify it all.
“You got some ‘splaining to do,” her friend muttered, then gave up trying to snap a pic.
