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Mr. Late and Self-Important chooses the chair closest to me and shakes my hand with an upbeat, “Great to meet you.”
Mrs. Power taps a gavel on a small marble block. The board members stop talking mid-sentence. Even though Mrs. Power has already signed my contract I’m here to state my case so these men feel like they’ve had a say.
On the one hand, I find it amusing that Mrs. Power is playing them. On the other, it irritates me that she didn’t simply tell them it was a done deal—that my nest will be installed in the foyer of their grand building whether they like it or not.
“Gentlemen, thank you for indulging me, attending this extra-ordinary meeting. I hope to keep it short so everyone can get back to their day.”
Mrs. Power looks at me. “And thank you, Catherine, for making the trip from Texas to our little city to present your concept for a permanent art installation in our beloved building.”
Brian, the CFO, makes a low grumbling sound in his throat. “Permanent is a long time, Mother.”
“I am aware.” She glowers at her son then turns a smile toward me. “Catherine, can I hand it over to you?”
“Thank you. Yes.” I stand and turn to my covered model, lift it and place it directly in front of me, still covered.
I can see over it without any problem. I’ve worn three-inch heels so I’m an imposing six foot four—equal in height to Will, the tallest man in the room, and several inches taller than the O.G.s.
“When Mrs. Power reached out to me, to discuss a commission for your building, I was uncharacteristically excited about the prospect of creating a custom installation for a corporate office because my work is typically homed in public spaces where it acts as a conduit to conversations about important issues of our time. You may have heard about a piece of mine that made international news recently.”
I pause and look from one man to the next to see who bothered to look me up before this meeting. The three older men are shaking their heads. The four brothers are synchronized slow nodding, as if to say, “yeah, we know who you are.” They are utterly unconvincing.
The only man who appears to have bothered to research me, gushes with, “Un-fucking-believable. It was a fantastic piece. Thank god you were able to save it.” The engineer’s expression changes to one of concern. “How is your hand?”
Instinctively I rub my left palm which has healed but is still sensitive to heat and cold. “It’s, um, it’s better. Thank you for asking.” I feel myself scowl at the thought that this arrogant man might not be as hateable as I’d assumed.
“So,” I recover and resume my pitch, “my work tends toward injecting feminine energy into masculine spaces with the intention of forcing conversations that people don’t like to have. I’m familiar with the public face of Will Power & Brothers and it is,” I tilt my head and point from one brother to the next as I list off adjectives, “virile … driving … forceful … macho.
“And, I understand from Mrs. Power, that you’re embracing a more holistic and inclusive approach to doing business that will make female entrepreneurs feel more at home attending the Come Into Power seminars, and applying for the Power Broker executive coaching program, and even assuming c-suite positions within the corporation.”
“We have a plan,” says Colt, the CEO. He seems to be the dark horse in the family, looking more like an over-caffeinated, under-slept software engineer with his beard and shaggy hair, than the head of a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
I glance at Mr. Eric the Engineer with the thought that he looks more like Colt’s kin than his actual family. Eric is grinning at me with such intensity it makes me think of a lovesick cartoon dog with hearts for eyes.
Great. He’s not just entitled, he’s also comically sexy with some mad flirting skills.
I shake of the flicker of attraction I feel and continue, pulling the cloth from the scale model. It has three walls and looks like the lobby of the Power Brothers’ building. With one addition.
“I call this pieceNestrogen. It represents the struggle and inner conflict that professional women often feel when having to choose how to balance career and family. Bringing this nest made of earthy materials, which represents being tied to home and nurturing children, into the concrete and glass building that is the epitome of career culture and priorities, both softens the space and communicates that the two can co-exist with some effort and creative thinking.”
I finish the pitch and wait for a reaction. The older men look with confusion between the model, myself, and Mrs. Power. Her sons all stare at the model. It takes thirty seconds for the stunned silence to break.
“Mother, it makes no sense.” Colt, the CEO, turns to me, “No offense, Ms. Clay, but the concept is a bit far-fetched for a multi-billion-dollar business development corporation.”
“It’s too far off brand,” Aiden, the VP of Marketing, adds.
“Well then perhaps it’s time for a rebrand,” Mrs. Power says with an eyebrow raise. “I’m disappointed that you’re not as enthusiastic about this project as I am. But sadly, not surprised. Ms. Clay, will you share the alternate design we discussed, please?”
“Of course.”
I bend to lift a closed plexiglass box from the floor.
“Full presentation?” I ask, looking at Mrs. Power.
“Please.”
Before opening the latch to remove the piece, I meet each man’s eyes, a power move, as it were, to let them know that I stand as their equal, not intimidated by their wealth.
“I call this piece,Touch Me.”
