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Five
     
     
    W hen we touch down in Philly, I’m completely buzzed, although I do my best to try and hide it.  So much for being the consummate professional.  I’m mortified with myself.
    It’s a bit of a haul in our rental van that Ted drives over the Walt Whitman Bridge and down the Expressway to Atlantic City, where the CRM Strategic Conference is being held at the Taj Mahal.  When we check in the hotel, I find that my room looks like a bordello, with red curtains, a purple bedspread, and outlandish fluffy green chairs.  I look up, thinking there will be a disco ball hanging from the ceiling.  Thank heavens, there’s not one.
    I meet the guys back downstairs at the vendor check-in area and get all the paperwork for our space.  I thumb through the registration packet that holds my badge, the itinerary, and drink tickets.  I announce, “There’s a reception tonight with an open bar and another party down the Boardwalk later.”  Lovely, just what I need, more alcohol.
    “It’ll be a great jumping off place to experience the tradeshow world and network with our customers,” Kyle says to me.  “Now that you’re past the flying part.”
    Maybe there’s some medication I can take so I’m not so anxious in the air.  I certainly can’t get blitzed like this every time since I won’t always have Kyle along to assuage my fears.  And while we’re at it, let’s get some medication for Kyle’s constant obsession with business-chatter.
    When Ted asks for the booth key, I realize I’d left it on my desk in Cambridge, like an idiot!
    “Don’t worry.  I know how to pick the lock.”  The gleam in his eye tells me he’s done that a time or two.  See, now Ted’s got the right idea.  Although he’s not in the least bit attractive to me or anyone I’d ever go for, he is more of a corporate raider than a follower with his expense fudging and lock picking.  For that, I’ll give him props.
    Thanks to his instructions, we throw the portable booth up in a heartbeat.  (It’s small enough that we don’t have to use union help.)  The pieces slide together easily, no need for tools.  The whole “build the booth” concept makes a lot more sense to me now as I adhere the Velcro graphic panels in place.  Ted shows me how to set up the pop-up tradeshow booth, which is a lot easier than I imagined.  The panels are decorated with rich graphics and screenshots of our DigitalDirection software.  Very flashy and impressive.  We hook up the TV monitors we’ve rented and then Ted gives us a crash course on the software.  My brain is overloaded with the bells, whistles, and features.  Kyle concentrates on everything Ted says and takes copious notes.  I do my best to follow along so I’ll be able to show attendees what our product is all about.
    Kyle must notice that I’m starting to fade because he offers to finishes the last computer station.  “There you go.  All set.  Anything else I can do?”
    Okay, so he’s helpful.  With muscles like that, he should be.  I resist the urge to reach out and see if they’re actually as solid as they look.  “I think I need a nap before tonight’s reception.  All that wine’s getting the best of me.”
    Ted wraps his arm around my shoulder.  Kyle seems taken aback by the show of affection.  Before today, I’d spoken to Ted maybe six times, now all of a sudden he’s my best bud?
    “I hope you brought your drinking shoes, girly girl.  ‘Cause we got lots of partying to do.  Starting in three hours,” Ted says, looking at his Rolex.
    This isn’t the reason I’m in town.  I have to represent the company.  It’s my job to embody DigitalDirection.  I’m an icon for the corporation.  Maybe partying is simply an aspect of the business I’ve yet to see being stuck in an office all these years.
    I look at Kyle, who’s grinning from ear to ear.  That delectable dimple pops out and makes my stomach flip flop in a delicious pang.  He apparently