One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  Laptop, iPad, business cards, Tic-Tacs.

  Laptop, iPad, business cards, Tic-Tacs.

  ‘Can you just leave already?’ Miranda hurled a Twitter-branded stress ball across the office, narrowly missing my carefully braided head. ‘You’re even making me nervous.’

  ‘I don’t see why you can’t do it,’ I whined, checking the contents of my bag one more time. ‘You know I hate it.’

  ‘Because it’s a panel for and about creative, not account management,’ she replied. ‘And you know I’d come if I could.’

  ‘No, you go with your mum,’ I said, zipping the zip and slipping the strap over my head. ‘She needs you more than me.’

  She didn’t. She was a fifty-four-year-old woman who was afraid of the dentist and needed a filling. I was a thirty-one-year-old woman who was petrified of public speaking and had to give a speech in front of three hundred people. This was not fair.

  ‘Call me when you’re done,’ Mir shouted. ‘Break a leg!’

  ‘I’ll probably break them both,’ I replied, holding my arms away from my body to avoid pit stains. I was already sweating and I wasn’t even outside yet.

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  Sam appeared in the hallway, a very concerned look on his face.

  ‘No, just walking up and down the corridor with my bag for larks,’ I said, continuing on my way to the lift. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to get to grips with your reading list.’ He held a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey aloft. ‘I have some questions. Firstly, is this a real book?’

  ‘Technically, yes. Do you know what, you’re just who I wanted to see,’ I said, beaming from ear-to-ear. ‘Can your books stand to spare you for the next hour?’

  ‘No,’ he replied.

  ‘Brilliant, you’re coming with me.’ I laced my arm through his and pulled him into the lift. ‘We’re going on another excursion.’

  ‘Why would Elaine be reading this?’ Sam asked, still staring at the paperback in his hand as we travelled down to the ground floor. ‘She’s got a master’s degree in Philosophy.’

  ‘Just because you enjoy one thing, doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy another,’ I told him. ‘And she gave Christian five pairs of handcuffs out of five on her book club’s Facebook page.’

  Sam gulped as the doors of the lift opened, right in front of Charlie Wilder.

  ‘Oh, hi, Charlie,’ I said with a big smile. ‘Could you hold on to this for us?’

  I snatched the book out of Sam’s hands and thrust it at Charlie with a wink.

  ‘Thanks ever so,’ I shouted back at him. ‘Feel free to give it a read, you might learn a trick or two.’

  ‘Where are we going this time?’ Sam asked after we hopped into the waiting Toyota Prius and pulled away from the kerb. ‘I haven’t got my coat.’

  ‘Well, it’s July and we’re not going to the Arctic, so I don’t think you’ll need it,’ I replied.

  Our car rolled through London, the narrow, brick-built streets of the east end giving way to the river, the river giving way to the City. There were people everywhere. Tourists in baseballs caps declaring they had in fact visited London or sweatshirts pledging allegiance to Oxford or Cambridge, as though they were rival football teams. The locals were almost as easy to spot. They moved faster, they wove in and out and they all had their heads down.

  London on a proper summer’s day was a wonderful thing. It almost made the rain and the grey worth it, almost. Bare legs and last year’s sunscreen, the promise of wrestling for a seat at a picnic bench outside the pub after work. Even though you’d catch the sun on your shoulders, even though the Pimm’s was watered right down, even though those wooden benches always gave you splinters, it was worth it.

  ‘I always forget how many people still smoke until I go past a pub,’ Sam commented, speaking for the first time as we slowed down at a traffic light. ‘Why do they always have to roll up their shirt sleeves to smoke?’

  A group of four or five men in matching, soulless work wear stood in front one of those tiny, narrow pubs that only had room for two chairs inside, their pint glasses resting on windowsills and surely enough, all of them had their sleeves unbuttoned and rolled right up to the elbow.

  ‘Impossible to say,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never smoked.’

  ‘Good,’ he said with an approving nod. ‘Filthy habit.’

  Typical Sam, I thought as I looked down at my lap and smiled to myself, checking the contents of my handbag one more time for luck.

  ‘Where are we?’ Sam whispered as we walked into a loud, buzzy hall, full of people carrying multiple devices and nodding seriously while their companions spoke, even though they clearly checking their emails and not listening to them at all.

  ‘It’s the TechBubble conference,’ I replied, carefully combing my hair out from behind my ears. ‘I’m giving a talk on how to run a successful social media campaign. How do I look?’

  Sam looked me up and down.

  ‘I could be reading the diaries of the Viscount FitzAlan of Derwent right now,’ he responded, positively aghast. ‘I thought this was one of my bootcamp obligations.’

  ‘It kind of is,’ I said, scrambling for a reason to have him here. ‘You’re supporting your friend. That’s something a good boyfriend does.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he grunted, eyeing me with suspicion. ‘You might have told me that.’

  I blushed from head to toe.

  ‘You asked why people love social media so much,’ I replied. ‘I’m on my way to give a talk about it, I thought you might be interested. And also I’m terrified of public speaking and thought it might be nice to have a friendly face in the crowd.’

  He gave me one of his long looks.

  ‘Really, Annie?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Really. My comfort zone is sitting behind a laptop and making other people look good, not standing on a stage and answering random questions. What could be confusing about that?’

  Sam sighed as though he was explaining a very simple concept to an even more simple human.

  ‘It’s illogical,’ he replied. ‘You’re afraid that people will judge you and in some way find you wanting. If you’re as good at your job as you so often like to say, I can’t understand why you would be worried about speaking about it in front of a crowd.’

  ‘There’s just something about a room full of people that puts me on edge,’ I said, breaking out in a cold sweat at the very thought. ‘I am good at what I do, but that’s because I do it in a room, on my own, with no one watching. Miranda is the mouthy one, she always has been.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she giving the talk this afternoon?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Because she’s an arsehole,’ I replied. ‘And a good daughter or whatever. And it’s about creative roles, not business development. That’s my thing,’ I grumbled on, aware of Sam’s steady gaze and not entirely sure how I felt about it.

  ‘Annie!’

  Asher, the conference organizer and a sort of, kind of friend from uni, waved from the front of the room.

  ‘Sit down and don’t leave,’ I told Sam. ‘It’ll be interesting, I promise.’

  ‘More interesting than the personal diaries of the last lord lieutenant of Ireland?’ he scoffed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Remember that conversation we had about doing things for other people even if you might not really care about them yourself?’ I asked. ‘That’s what this is.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I thought that was about me not wanting to see Les Mis for the umpteenth time?’

  ‘Les Mis and this,’ I clarified. ‘See if you can’t learn something.’

  ‘There you are,’ Asher said, leaning in for a professional double-cheek kiss. ‘I was looking for you.’

  ‘Today was madness,’ I said, my grip tightening around the strap of my bag and trying not to pay attention to the people milling into the room. ‘Sorry, I should have been here sooner.’

  ‘No worries, no worries,’ he replie
d in his thick Australian accent. ‘Listen, there’s been a bit of a change of plan? We were running late so we’ve had to combine your panel with another?’

  ‘But, I’ve got a PowerPoint,’ I said shakily.

  ‘It’s going to be real low key, super casual, don’t even sweat it,’ Asher said. ‘You know Gordon Ossington, right? He said you guys used to work together?’

  ‘I used to work for him,’ I replied, tensing up from head-to-toe. I did not care for Gordon Ossington.

  ‘Yeah, so you’re going to be on the panel with him now.’ He paused and pressed a finger against the earpiece I saw poking out of his curly hair. ‘I’ll ask you some stuff about the industry, how you got started, what you’re doing now. Easy.’

  ‘But my PowerPoint,’ I whispered again.

  ‘Annie, you crack me up,’ he said, slapping me across the arm. ‘I’ve scribbled out some questions but we’ll play it by ear. Jump up on stage, we’ll get you mic’d up.’

  It was illogical to be afraid of public speaking.

  It was illogical to think all the people in the crowd would be judging me, thinking how stupid I was, talking about me afterwards, gossiping, laughing and telling all their friends.

  It was illogical to even entertain the idea that this one panel could completely destroy my reputation, my company and my life.

  And yet, as I made my way around to the three stairs that led up to the stage, that was all I could think about.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me crashing your party.’

  Gordon was already in place, seated on the first stool, of course. Smooth, suave, total tit.

  ‘Nice to see you, Gordon,’ I muttered as someone ran out from backstage to clip a mic pack onto my blue cotton shirt-dress. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Doing amazing,’ he replied, unbuttoning his cuffs and folding up his sleeves. ‘Thanks.’

  Didn’t bother to ask how I was doing. Because he didn’t care.

  ‘Welcome, everyone, to the last panel of the day!’

  Asher jogged up the stairs and paced the stage while I tried to get comfortable. What kind of sadist put people on high stools on a stage? Gordon rested one foot on the floor and the other on the little bracing bar between the legs. I was too short to reach the floor and my shoes kept slipping off the brace, shaking my balance.

  ‘Bit of a change of plan from what’s in your programmes,’ Asher explained to the completely full room. As well as Annie Higgins from Content London, we’re also joined by Gordon Ossington, owner of the Oz Agency.’

  The crowd clapped politely although I could tell they were getting tired. End of the day, worst possible slot. All anyone wanted at this point was to get out of the panels and into a cheap glass of wine.

  ‘I’m going to ask a few general questions, get the benefit of your expertise and then we’ll throw it open to questions,’ he said.

  Oh good, questions from the crowd. What if I couldn’t answer them? Or worse still, what if no one asked anything?

  ‘Annie, I want to start with you. You’re a woman.’

  ‘Last time, I checked, yes,’ I confirmed, recoiling at the sound of my own amplified voice.

  The crowd gave a good-natured chuckle and I searched for Sam in the darkness but the lights shining on the stage were blinding and I couldn’t make out any one particular face.

  ‘Do you think being a woman has affected the way you approach your business?’

  ‘I think it’s hard to say,’ I replied, blinking. ‘I’m not sure how I would have approached it if I was a man because I’m not one.’

  ‘From my perspective,’ Gordon interjected, as he so liked to do, ‘I’d say the women in my team definitely approach projects with more empathy. I think that’s why there’s a lot of women in social media: they’re so good at seeing both sides of every story. Working out what people really want.’

  Light applause from the audience. Mild annoyance from me.

  ‘That’s interesting, Gordon, that’s interesting,’ Asher rubbed his chin and moved on to the next cue card. ‘Obviously, you’ve been on the scene in many different capacities for a long time but now you’re heading up your own agency. How has it been, striking out on your own?’

  ‘Exceeded expectations,’ Gordon said, tenting his fingers underneath his chin. ‘It’s been a learning experience but so enriching. We’ve really hit the ground running, I couldn’t have asked for more.’

  He also couldn’t have got more clichés into one statement, I thought, keeping the polite smile on my face as I nodded along. No wonder we’d won three out of the four clients we’d competed for in the last six months.

  ‘And, Annie, Content is another new agency specializing in social media,’ Asher said as I attempted to stay on my perch without flashing my knickers at everyone in the room. ‘And your agency is entirely run by women. What was the decision-making process behind that?’

  ‘The decision to have an agency run by women?’ I asked. Asher nodded. ‘There wasn’t one. There was a decision to have an agency run by myself and my business partner, Miranda Johansson. It’s not a no-boys-allowed club, we just both happen to be women.’

  There was low chatter in the audience and I could feel the familiar red rash prickly around my neck. Why couldn’t he just let me give my presentation?

  ‘That’s great, it really is,’ Asher said, bobbing his head and scanning his cards for more questions. ‘Gordon, there are so many different forms of social media now. How do you successfully target your audience without diluting your message?’

  I sat on my stool, straightening my back and waiting patiently while Gordon answered his question. This was so much worse than I’d imagined. Right now, I should have been on my sixth slide, comparing a good Twitter campaign to a pepperoni pizza. Instead, I was listening to Gordon Ossington talk absolute twaddle while everyone in the room dozed off.

  ‘Annie, back to you. Why do you think it is that young girls particularly have embraced social media both as content creators and consumers?’

  I wasn’t getting a crack at Gordon’s question, clearly.

  ‘I think social media appeals to young people in general because it’s so available and accessible,’ I replied. ‘A lot of industries are difficult to penetrate but all you need to be successful on social media is a good idea, a phone, determination.’

  ‘And they’re doing so well,’ Gordon said, patting me on the arm. ‘It’s great to see the girls getting a turn.’

  ‘One of the great things about social media,’ I said, correcting him, ‘is that you don’t have to wait for permission to be heard.’

  ‘Right, right, fewer gatekeepers,’ Asher agreed, shuffling his cards. ‘Gordon, the Oz Agency has been nominated for two Techies this year. In your mind, what makes a good social media campaign?’

  ‘Well,’ Gordon rubbed his palms against his jeans. ‘You start by coming to my agency.’

  A smattering of applause accompanied the audience’s laughter as I realized I wasn’t smiling any more.

  ‘We’ve been nominated for three Techies,’ I said, leaning into my mic.

  ‘Which is amazing,’ Gordon said, encouraging the audience to applaud as I slipped off my stool for the thousandth time. ‘That’s got to be a record for a woman-run agency – is it, Annie?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gordon,’ I replied politely. ‘We haven’t been nominated for any “woman-run agency” prizes, just best campaign, best new agency and best boutique agency. Which one of those were you not nominated for?’

  ‘Next question is for you, Annie,’ Asher said, without waiting for Gordon to give his answer. ‘We’ve definitely seen a boom in the number of women in the digital arena—’

  A loud, clear voice called out from the audience.

  ‘Excuse me, I have a question.’

  ‘We’ll take questions at the end of the panel,’ Asher said, blinking into the spotlights. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But I’d like to hear Ms Higgins’ answer to the question about
how to target an audience.’ Squinting into the darkness, I realized it was Sam. ‘So far, all of her questions have been about her gender, and that doesn’t make any sense.’

  The crowd whispered nervously, feeling each other out as a rumble of approving voices began to find each other.

  ‘We’re just making the most of Annie’s perspective,’ Asher answered. ‘I’m sure lots of people in the audience are interested in what she’s got to say about being a woman in the digital industry.’

  ‘We’d also like to hear her answer the same questions as the male panelist,’ a woman in the back called out to a rally of cheers.

  ‘I think what the lady in the back is trying to say, is they’d like to hear a woman’s take on the questions I’ve already answered,’ Gordon said.

  ‘Did you just mansplain my comment?’ the woman shouted. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I think it can be frustrating for women at things like this when we have to spend half the time explaining to men what it’s like to be a woman because, in the end, we won’t have time to answer any other questions,’ I said, my cheeks turning pink. ‘You don’t have to do the explaining because your experience as a man is already the status quo. We’re still ‘other’. It’s like you guys have already started running a marathon while we’re back at the start line explaining what it feels like to be a woman running a marathon. And honestly, I’m pretty sure all the women here already know how it feels to be a woman in digital because they’re women in digital.’

  A crash of applause silenced Asher’s umming and ahhing as he flicked through his cards.

  ‘Do you want to give them to me?’ I asked Asher. He handed them over, head hanging low as I filtered through his questions and then handed them back. ‘Just go with these.’

  ‘Didn’t know you were such a ball-buster, Annie,’ Gordon whispered, covering his microphone. ‘Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.’

  ‘Well, try to behave yourself and we won’t have any problems, will we?’ I said, patting him on the back as the smile slipped off his face. ‘Now, who’s got the next question?’

  Half an hour later, after many questions, all of them for me, I walked out of the conference to find Sam loitering on the street.