I woke from a deep sleep to a world that was still pitch black. My eyelids fluttered open and it took me a moment to process where I was – the tight sheets, the blinking red light on the TV opposite the bed, the shrill ringing of my mobile.
Urgh, hadn’t I just got to sleep? Goddamn you, jetlag, you arsehole.
I sat up and tried to loosen my muscles. I was in the buff and my mouth tasted of yesterday’s blue cheese. My extreme-knackeredness the night before meant I’d stripped off my flight clothes and fallen face-first in the bed without even bothering to open my suitcase and retrieve my toothbrush. Hawt.
‘Hello?’ I croaked, stepping out of bed, pulling the whole duvet with me and moving across the carpet to the window.
‘Good morning! Are you here yet?’ Jon’s chirpy voice seeped into my ear.
‘No, isn’t it like, three a.m.?’ I pulled back the heavy hotel curtain to see that it wasn’t pitch black – it was more fireplace-ash-grey, and yellow cabs were already zooming past the hotel on the street below like they couldn’t believe their luck at the lack of gridlocked traffic.
‘It’s seven thirty – did I wake you?’
‘Seven thirty?! No, no, you didn’t wake me. I am up and raring to go.’ I scratched my boob and stifled a yawn. ‘Good morning to you too.’
‘HeForShe had to get here first thing to help set up for the keynote speaker – I’m such a moron it didn’t even occur to me you wouldn’t be here until later.’
‘Actually, you’ve provided the perfect wake-up call; I should get there a little early to find our stand, and name badges, and . . . ’ There was so much to do, it was a little overwhelming.
But I could do it.
‘Do you need a coffee?’ I asked. One thing at a time.
‘I’d love a tea.’
‘I don’t know if I can get that for you here, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be there in about half an hour. Forty-five minutes. An hour tops.’
I jumped in the shower, turning on the TV for some company, and stood under the hot water to let the plane journey and the shuttle bus and the groggy head slide off me and down the plughole, along with all the nutmeg-scented hotel toiletries I dumped upon myself. I ran through a mental to-do list for the day: get coffee, get team to conference, find stand, get everything set up, hope I don’t cock anything up, try not to trip over and pull stand down with me, get benefactors and interesting people to come on board with Girls of the World, enjoy self. But mainly don’t cock anything up.
Stepping sleepily from the shower, I allowed a short moment to observe myself in the bathroom mirror, and wondered if I’d feel more boss-like if I had arms like Michelle Obama. Probably not – it was a fear of saying something so idiotic that Girls of the World became an internet-meme laughing stock and crumbled to the ground, all because of me, rather than my physical appearance. But even so, thank God I had my Hillary Clinton-inspired business woman outfit with me for day one of the conference. Though I had voted for matching conference T-shirts, like we usually had, but damn democracy got in the way and it was vetoed by the others who ‘just this once wanted to look like stylish New Yorkers’.
I padded towards my suitcase, one eye on E! News – what had Bieber done now? – and unzipped its thick black lid.
Where was my power suit?
Where were my clothes?
Why was my suitcase full of humongous men’s Y-fronts?
No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. I closed the lid with a bang and checked the luggage label.
WHO THE HELL WAS TIMOTHY TAM?
I couldn’t have picked up the wrong bag at baggage claim. I can’t have not checked the label. I can’t only have yesterday’s smelly, crumpled clothes to wear to represent my company – to represent all the youth and the next generation of Girls of the World everywhere in New York City.
Oh God, was there anything I could fashion out of a pair of Y-fronts?
I called the airport with shaking hands.
‘John F. Kennedy airport, how may I help you?’
‘Help – I mean hello, help. I’ve come home with the wrong bag, I—’
‘Let me transfer you to baggage claim.’
I waited, suddenly feeling very exposed in my hotel dressing gown. Maybe I could wear this, and claim kimonos were totes all the rage in London. Why hadn’t I checked the suitcase last night? That would teach me for being too sleepy to bother to get out my toothbrush. I deserved Y-fronts and tooth decay. I glared at the suitcase with resentment.
‘John F. Kennedy airport baggage claim, how may we help you?’
‘Oh um, hello.’ Why did I always put on an ultra-British phone voice when abroad, like I was Judi Dench’s protégée? ‘I was on BA flight 0173 yesterday from London Heathrow and I picked up the wrong bag, and this one belongs to a man and I don’t have my clothes and he has no underwear. Except for mine!’ Oh, what if he was wearing my underwear right now?
‘What does your bag look like, ma’am?’
‘It’s black, and square, and quite big, I guess.’
‘Are there any distinguishing features?’
‘No, not really . . . ’ For shame. If I shared luggage taste with Mr Tam, Y-fronts King, maybe it was time to invest in something a bit more stylish.
‘All right. Could you confirm your name and address for me, as written on your luggage tag?’
‘It’s just got my name and email address on it, because I read somewhere that if you put your address down and someone steals your bag, they’ll also know where you live and that you’re not home, so it’s better not to put those things.’
‘All right. Could you confirm your name and email?’
I reeled it off, spelling it all out carefully.
‘All right. Could you tell me something in your bag? Describe some clothing to me, for example?’
‘Yes, I’ve got . . . ’ My mind went blank. What pyjamas did I bring? What outfits did I bring? What shampoo did I bring? Anything? ‘Oh! I have a jumper in there with a squirrel on. A sweater. With an embroidered squirrel, that looks like it’s been picked at.’
‘Is this a child’s sweater, ma’am?’ asked the woman, confused.
‘Nope, it’s mine. It’s cashmere, if that helps . . . make me sound more normal.’
‘All right. We’ve got your bag, ma’am.’
‘You’ve got it?’ I whooped at the poor woman. ‘Can you send it to me at the Hotel Vue on Fifty-Fourth Street, or will I have to come and pick it up from JFK?’
‘We’ll put it on the next shuttle to your hotel, ma’am, and we’ll pick up the gentleman’s case also if you leave it with your concierge. It’ll be with you later on this morning.’
‘Oh thank God, I love you.’
‘All right, thank you, ma’am.’
OK . . . but what now? I looked at the case of underpants.
Dressed in my hotel robe and slippers I knocked lightly on the door of Dee’s room, because this chick owed me. I looked up and down the deserted corridor in case Emma Watson herself suddenly strode by.
There was no answer. I knocked a little louder. This time I heard the sound of a scurry of movement before Dee opened the door without removing the chain.
‘Hello, OLIVIA, yes, work, right . . . ’ Dee panted, wrapped in a duvet, half her hair standing upright.
Are you kidding me? Bonking again? Where did this woman’s energy come from? ‘Nope, not quite yet. Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a massive favour and lend me something to wear – my bag got switched at the airport and all I have is—’
‘Nope, soz, I can’t let you in, I’m afraid,’ said Dee with wide eyes. ‘Could you try Abigail?’
‘She’s about twenty sizes smaller than me unfortunately,’ I laughed, trying to peer into the darkened room. ‘Maybe you could drop something over to my room when you’re, um, dressed?’
‘Sorry,’ Dee said through an ever-decreasing gap in the doorway. ‘I’m just not sure I’ll have time, and I’ve left the shower running, try Jasmine, she’ll have loads of stuff, bye then, bye.’
The door closed. Are you kidding me? I’d laid down on an aeroplane aisle for her, beside discarded flight socks and dropped mini-pretzels, and she couldn’t even throw me a jumper? Don’t these people know I’ve had sleepless nights recently just to make sure they’re all set for this trip and that nothing goes wrong? I’ve carried the bulk of the heavy marketing material to and from the office, to and from the train stations and the airports, just so they don’t have to worry about it. And now I’ve messed up and I need their help and . . .
I took a breath. This inner rant wasn’t helping. Dee wasn’t doing this intentionally, and no, she probably hadn’t thought about or realised all the things I’d been stressing over. She was just trying to enjoy a bit of time away with her man outside working hours.
I turned to face the room of the one person I didn’t want to have to ask for help. I wished Kim was here. I’d never fit in her clothes but at least I could bribe her to ask Jasmine on my behalf.
Smoothing my hair and tilting up my chin, I rapped on Jasmine’s door.
Jasmine swung open the door instantly and looked me up and down. I wish wish wished I wasn’t barefoot at the time (other than hotel slippers), because Jasmine towered over me in chunky-heeled thigh-high boots, worn over smart leggings and a cashmere jumper, a look that I would have surely looked like a chilly hooker in, but Jasmine carried off as winter business chic. She looked so New York it was infuriating.
‘Morning,’ I said pleasantly.
‘You might want to get dressed,’ she answered, clearly thinking I was a total thicko.
‘This is why I’m here. I wondered if you could do me a favour . . . ’
She raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.
‘My luggage got switched at JFK, and I’m not going to get my bag until later today. My travel clothes are gross, so I wondered if I could borrow something of yours?’ Urrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhh. ‘Please?’
‘I don’t know if I have anything that’ll fit,’ she sighed, walking into her room and I followed. My room had a better view than hers. Haha.
Jasmine stared at her array of clothes, neatly arranged in little clusters in her closet. ‘I don’t have much, I planned all my outfits before I came so I don’t have a lot of spare pieces . . . ’ She thumbed reluctantly through her wardrobe.
‘Really, anything will be fine,’ I said.
‘You might fit into this.’ She flung a green pencil skirt at me. ‘Just be careful with it. And this is the only top I can lend you.’ She gave me a thin vest top which is the kind of thing I’d wear under a top rather than as a top.
‘You don’t have a shirt or anything?’
‘Nope. Not without leaving myself with nothing to wear while we’re here.’
. . . ‘Right, OK, well thanks ever so much, you’re a lifesaver. Did you want to head down to the conference together?’
‘No thanks, I’ll see you there. We don’t need to be there until nine, right?’
‘Yep. OK.’ Fine. Good. ‘Thanks again, see you later.’
Back in my room I squeezed myself into Jasmine’s clothes. It wasn’t that I looked bad, I just resembled a fourth, lumpy Kardashian sister. The skirt hugged me and my thighs tightly, and the vest top – which no doubt skimmed Jasmine’s frame modestly, was instead pulled, dragged, over my size-or-two-up torso, to the point that my cleavage was Jessica Rabbit-like and the fabric was bordering on see-through. Hello, ladies. What kind of a first impression was this going to make?
I sniffed the jumper that I’d flown in. It smelt of sweat and plane food; this was going to have to stay here. I pulled on my coat, perhaps I could just keep this on all day?
Sighing at myself in the mirror, I gave a small prayer that there would be merchandise stalls at the conference selling T-shirts. I had to go.
You know those dreams where you’re naked, and at work, and you’re like, I know I’m naked but I really have to go into this meeting so I hope nobody laughs at my vag? Well, even under my vast coat, that’s how I felt walking into the conference venue that first morning. I built it up so much in my head that I could barely look any of the early starters in the eye and instead legged it to Jon’s HeForShe stall.
I squeezed behind the curtain and into his booth and dumped the coffee cups on to the table. Thankfully, he was the only one around. He greeted me with a big smile and leant over to kiss my cheek but I stopped him. ‘Wait, I need you to be honest with me.’
‘Good morning!’
‘Good morning. Tell me the truth; what’s the first thing you think when you see this?’ I flung open my duffel coat to reveal my outfit.
‘Aroooga!’ Jon said, a small blush creeping onto his face. I whipped the coat back closed again. ‘Hey, no, you look great. I just need to take a minute to remind myself of the HeForShe code of ethics, excuse me.’
‘It’s too much though, isn’t it? Could you see my bra?’ I peeked inside my coat. There was definite bra outline.
‘Well, um, just a little bit.’
‘This is a disaster . . . this is a disaster! My first time paving the way for Girls of the World and I march in, nipple first. I’m not promoting women’s rights, I’m just promoting women! She did this deliberately, you know. She knew it wouldn’t fit.’
‘Um . . . what?’
‘Jasmine! She had shirts; I saw the shirts, but noooo.’
‘Why are you wearing Jasmine’s clothes?’
‘I took the wrong suitcase at JFK and mine won’t be delivered to the hotel until later today. It was Jasmine’s spare clothes or yesterday’s very un-fresh woolly leggings and flight socks. What am I going to do? I can’t represent Girls of the World in this, I’m like a fifties secretary.’ I hugged my coat around me, sadly. ‘Thank you though, for saying I looked nice.’
Jon picked up one of the coffees and handed it to me and then put his heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘You want to borrow a shirt?’ he asked kindly.
I love him. ‘You have a spare shirt with you? Here at the conference?’
‘Yep, Mr Prepared. Always take a spare shirt in case you sweat, or meet a damsel in distress. Or in no dress – haha.’
‘A shirt would be perfection!’ I literally could have snogged his face off and had his babies in that moment, as he rifled through his bag.
He pulled out a neatly folded forest green shirt and held it up to me. It matched the skirt perfectly, which wasn’t a good thing. ‘No, you can’t wear this; you’ll look like a Christmas tree. Take my shirt and I’ll switch into this.’
‘No I couldn’t possibly . . . ’ but Jon was already unbuttoning his black shirt.
‘This isn’t a peep show, pervert, turn around,’ he teased.
I smiled and we turned away from each other in the small space, and as he removed the shirt I took off the vest, so pleased to no longer be squeezed into that corset of a top.
‘Are you still looking?’ he asked.
‘No!’ I turned my head just as he did and met his eye.
‘You are!’
‘I was just checking you weren’t looking, which you were.’
‘You are so into me.’ He handed me the shirt and I handed the green one to him. Our eyes met again briefly, both making a point of not looking south, before we turned from each other again. I shook my head, not allowing my gaze to slide to his bare back. As I slipped on the warm black shirt, which was soft and comfortable, and smelled of Jon, our arms bumped and his warmth was like sitting close to a log fire.
I tucked the shirt into the pencil skirt, and when I turned back Jon was in the green shirt, sleeves rolled up, perched on the edge of the table and smiling. ‘Much more respectable. You look nice.’
I looked down. ‘Thank you. I’m sure it’s a bit baggy on me but at least I can breathe. Jon, you’re my hero.’
‘Flirt,’ he teased, not taking his eyes off me. He stood and stretched. ‘Who would have thought that less than twenty-four hours into the trip I’d have the one and only Olivia Forest wearing my shirt and bringing me breakfast.’
‘Knock knock,’ a female voice called, and a smiling American woman poked her head around the curtain. Jon turned and beamed.
‘Dani!’
‘Hey, Jon, good to see you!’
They hugged and I watched them. Mainly her. She was very lovely-looking, and her lob haircut was the kind you see on Pinterest all the time, all golden and wavy. When she let go of Jon and looked at me, keeping her hand warmly on his arm, I felt myself blush a little.
‘Hi,’ she said, with a huge smile and perfect teeth and enviable pink lipstick.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Jon. ‘This is Olivia, she’s fronting the Girls of the World stall this year, we’ve known each other for years now, and Liv, this is Dani, one of my HeForShe US colleagues.’
‘I don’t get to travel to all the conferences, only the US ones,’ Dani explained, shaking my hand. ‘So I haven’t seen this dude for like, a year.’ Jon was a dude. He was smiling at her as she continued. ‘I’ve heard of Girls of the World though, I’m sure. You inspire young women, right? Creatively?’
‘Yes, exactly! That’s exciting that you know us! Come and visit the stand later?’
‘I’d love to! All right, I’ll leave you kids to it, so good to see you again, Jon, you wanna get together some time while you’re here? Catch up?’ She flashed another show-stopping grin and went to leave, but for some reason I felt the need to stop her and explain my presence.
‘I had a wardrobe, um, malfunction this morning so Jon was being a total hero and giving me his shirt.’
Jon, clearly amused by my need to justify my presence, nodded. ‘It looks better on you than me.’
‘No it doesn’t.’ Yeah it did. ‘I ended up taking the wrong suitcase to the hotel, and my only option for a top was this tiny see-through vest thing of my colleagues. There was just fat bulging everywhere.’ Why do we women always feel we need to justify our presence by putting ourselves down? I willed my gob to shut up.
Dani just chuckled. ‘Honey, there’s not an inch of fat on you, I bet you looked amazing, but good job on being the hero, Jon. Remember that time you saved me when I spilt wine on my dress at last year’s gala and you gave me your jacket?’
‘I do. What can I say; I guess my clothes just suit women more than they suit me.’
With that, Dani waved goodbye, and I turned back to Jon. ‘Thank you again, I owe you one. If you ever want to borrow a top off me, help yourself. I’d better go.’
‘You’re welcome. Good luck out there.’
‘And to you.’ I inhaled, nervous. ‘Yes, and to me.’
I went off to find our Girls of the World booth, safe in the knowledge that my boobs were no longer hanging out. The booth was in a nice spot between a coffee stand and a book stall, so obviously I was in heaven. We weren’t in a prime position – those were reserved for the bigger foundations, those that sponsored the conference, worked directly with the keynote speakers, or were high profile companies that everyone wanted to be involved with (such as HeForShe). But it was a decent size with a great view of everyone else, and as I remembered how much I loved the industry I was in, my nerves started to slip away.
I set to work setting up our booth, opening the boxes and tubes to reveal all of our promotional material, our posters, our banners. We were there to raise awareness of our company and hopefully to get some interest from American investors with the aim to expand across the pond, but we had a secondary aim of increasing awareness of our existence within the general public. We wanted the women – and men – that visited the conference to feel happy and inspired at our booth.
I was just placing some stacks of Tina Fey’s Bossypants and Amy Poehler’s Yes Please books on the table, next to a basket full of orange Girls of the World activity books, pencils and badges, when the rest of my team trundled in, coffees in hand, yawning. Jasmine’s face fell when she saw that I looked halfway presentable.
‘Hello, sleepyheads! How’s everyone feeling?’
‘Great!’ – Dee.
‘A little tired but feeling pretty good.’ – Ian (gross, no wonder you’re tired, you dirty bugger).
‘Nervous . . . ’ – Abigail.
‘Fine.’ – Jasmine.
‘Right then,’ I continued. ‘We are t-minus fifty minutes, so Ian and Jasmine, you’re on banner- and poster-hanging duty; Abigail, can you set up the Talking Point booth at the back with Dee; I’m going to finish the table and set up the laptop. When you’re done, have a little walk around so you know where the loos, the snack stands, the exits are, and meet back here at ten to ten. All right? Go!’
I quite liked telling people what to do.
All companies with stands at #IWasHereNYC were gathered at one end of the conference venue for a short opening speech from the president of the foundation. ‘OK, ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming, for all your hard work and dedication to spreading the word and making the world a happier place for women to be in, and for gathering here today. The doors open to our public in five minutes, so good luck, enjoy the conference, and I hope to meet as many of you as possible at our seminars and talks over the next three days. And don’t forget the delegate drinks party tonight with the amazing cultural show that’s being put on for us by some of the talented students of Juilliard. Tomorrow is movie night with some great networking opportunities, and then we have the end-of-conference gala on Thursday, which is always a highlight. I can’t wait to meet y’all!’
The microphone was switched off and a hum of excitement buzzed through the conference centre.
I turned to my team and whispered, ‘Five minutes!’
They nodded. Every year there was always a feeling of slight trepidation before a conference started – we loved what we did but we were still on show, still answering questions and trying to sell ourselves, asking people to buy into Girls of the World by giving us their support, be that through funding, contacts, including us in their youth programmes, booking us for talks and seminars and workshops. America was a big pit of possibility, and I was sure we could do well partnering with their summer camps and their extra-curricular activities. But even so. It would still be easier to hide in the back of the booth and not to talk to anyone.
This lot needed a pep talk, and this was on me now.
‘Who wants to go home?’ I asked. They blinked at me. ‘Who wants to run out of here, grab their bags from the hotel, leg it to the airport and go home?’
‘We just got here,’ Abigail said, slowly. If anyone was going to jump at that chance to go home, I thought it would be her.
‘But do you want to be here?’ This time they nodded, unsure what I was getting at. ‘Because it’s nearly time, there are going to be potential investors, companies we could partner with, and most importantly a shit-load of women are going to come through that door any minute now, and I need you guys to help me make this our best conference presence yet.’
Oops, I’d tipped the scale the wrong way and now they were beginning to look afraid. I was putting too much pressure on them. ‘We can do it,’ I continued. ‘Um . . . ’ I glanced around me and in the distance I saw Dani and her big grin as she chatted away easily, now wearing a pink HeForShe T-shirt. She looked like the perfect cheerleader. I turned back to my team. ‘Let’s start again. We’re in America, right? Well, we need to be more American.’
‘YES!’ shouted Dee, getting in the mood.
I looked at my watch. I didn’t quite know what I was prattling on about but the doors would open any second. ‘We’re in an American movie, this is one big high school. Ian, you’re the jock – confident, and cool, and I want you to make everyone like you. Dee, you’re head cheerleader – keep up the peppy attitude and rally anyone that comes near our booth. Abi, you’re the brainiac – you can bedazzle everyone with facts and figures and bring home the trophies, I know you can.’ She grinned at me. ‘And Jasmine, why don’t you play the gothy best friend – make sure you’re speaking to all the shy girls and helping them realise how perfect they all are. Yes, the eye-rolling is perfectly in character.’
And suddenly the music was cranked up and a bell rang somewhere over a tannoy. The doors of the conference centre opened and in streamed the best sight in the world: crowds of people – both women and men – faces flushed with excitement and cold, all eager to be here and stand up for equality. Why had I ever been nervous? These people were me – they were on my side.
A girl appeared before me, a couple of years younger and with a face pink with anticipation. She looked up at the stand with a huge grin and spoke with a thick American accent. ‘“Girls of the World”, I like it. What do you guys do?’
Day one was rushing by and I realised mid-afternoon that I hadn’t stopped for a bite to eat. My stomach growled just as I felt a hand on my back and I turned. Jon.
‘Isn’t this brilliant?’ I said, before he could utter a word. ‘These women are so inspiring; did you hear what Judge Williams said in her keynote about women building their own bridges across the pay gap? She was so cool! And look at all these people, I feel like this is the best conference ever, don’t you think? I’m so hungry. Do you think I should run for prime minister?’
Jon was smiling at me. ‘Do you want to run for prime minister?’
‘Absolutely! Well, no, but I could.’
‘You’d be a great prime minister.’
‘I think I would too. You might need a penis to be powerful in this world now, but vaginas are having an uprising, now more than ever, like superpower stormtroopers. Not that vaginas want to crush the penises, just stand hand in hand with them on top of the world. Wait, what was I talking about . . . ?’
‘I don’t know. I’m left wondering if we’re talking about sex or if I should put on a codpiece.’
‘Are you having a good time?’ I asked, shaking thoughts of penises – his in particular – from my mind.
‘It’s great, and it’s nice to see you enjoying yourself so much, even without Kim. Nerves all gone then?’
‘Completely. I have been having text-pep-talks from Kim in Antigua though. I feel just . . . full of energy. What’s your favourite bit?’
‘You.’
I scanned his face for a moment – what did that mean? Was he making fun of me?
‘What?’
‘You.’
‘Why?’ I hoped this wasn’t about to become awkward. I felt myself start to blush.
‘Because you’re so . . . into it. And you’re standing here saying you’re so inspired by everyone else and talking about your lady bits becoming prime minister or something, but I think you’re inspiring. You’ve made me want my lady bits to be prime minister, too.’
‘I’m not inspiring.’ I brushed him off, embarrassed.
‘Look,’ he said, handing me a polystyrene container, ‘I have to get back, but I picked you up a pulled pork burger from the Montana BBQ stand near HeForShe – I had one earlier and they are amazing. Knowing you, you’ve probably not eaten since breakfast.’
‘When you’re on a roll, you’re on a— mmmmohmygod, these are amazing.’ I chomped into the burger without even finishing my sentence.
‘Dani’s going to come over in a bit; she’s really interested in getting to know you.’
‘Me?’ I said, mouth full.
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I told her you’re a lovable weirdo with a party trick of eating a whole burger in under thirty seconds.’
Jon was amazing. This burger was amazing. Dani’s hair was amazing. I was in love with everyone and everything right now; maybe I should calm down.
The rest of the day went by in a blur of people, activities, speakers and fun. My shoes and my cheeks were killing me by the time we said goodbye to our final guest at the stand.
‘What a day,’ I said to nobody in particular, but all my team agreed with me nonetheless. ‘Who’s ready for the drinks and cultural show?’
Ian yawned and Abigail rubbed her eyes.
I popped a party popper at them. ‘No time for sleeping, we are here in New York and we don’t have long and we can sleep when we get back to the UK.’ An image of my bed, my flat, my lovely, people-free flat flashed through my mind. Good things come to those who wait . . . ‘Let’s clean up the stand so we don’t have to do it in the morning, and then let’s have a well-deserved drink. Yes? Yes.’
I was entranced. It was later that evening and I was watching some of the USA’s finest young dancers and musicians perform an adaptation of The Nutcracker that took us through Christmas in different neighbourhoods of New York. When the performance finished I shot up to applaud so fast that Jon wobbled on his seat next to me.
‘Those are the types of women I want to connect with if we bring Girls of the World to the US,’ I babbled to Jon. ‘Imagine how inspiring they would be to anyone with a dream to be a dancer? Look at their strong bodies, and their confidence!’
‘Excuse me,’ said a well-dressed woman with voice of silk who approached me. ‘Are you Olivia Forest?’
‘I am – hello!’ I answered, admiring her immaculate hair. ‘You have amazing hair. Are you from New York? I’m noticing more and more that New York women really are so well put-together, not just in looks but also in life. I’m sorry, I’ve been talking all day and I can’t seem to stop, I think it’s the adrenalin.’
The woman laughed. ‘It has been a good day. I’m Lara Green, I run the Green PR firm here in New York – which is, yes, where I live. We have a meeting tomorrow, I believe?’
‘We do! Lara, it’s so good to meet you, Scheana’s told me so much about you.’ In particular, how important it was that this meeting went well. Lara had well-established and respected government connections, a great reputation, and Scheana really thought she might get on board with helping us branch out over here in the US.
‘I literally love Scheana, she’s the best. But listen, my calendar is kerrazy busy tomorrow; I swear it fills up more by the hour, even though it was already full. How would you feel about skipping the networking and movie screening tomorrow night and having our meeting over dinner and drinks?’
‘That sounds great!’ Whatever she wanted. I just hoped my team would be OK without me . . .
I faced Jon once she’d left and he gave my shoulder an affectionate little squeeze. ‘You just got yourself a date,’ he said.
‘She wants to spend the evening with me! That’s a good sign, isn’t it? If she thought there was no hope in our little company she’d have just left me as one of her short day-meetings.’ This was better than I could have hoped. Now I just had to make her like me. A lot. ‘What’s my least likeable quality?’
‘Wow, talk about putting a guy on the spot! I can’t think of one.’
‘Yes you—’
‘Actually, yes I can,’ he said. Hmph. ‘I think you suck because you don’t work at HeForShe, and I’m jealous that Girls of the World get you instead.’
I laughed. ‘Maybe one day I’ll come and do a keynote talk at one of your little seminars. You know, if you grow tired of Emma Watson or Kiefer Sutherland.’
‘I have no doubt about it.’ Jon grinned, shaking his head.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I owe you for this morning – let me buy you a free drink.’
As we walked towards the bar, I gave myself a mental high-five, and threw in a mental hug too because why the hell not? I was doing OK – day one was nearly at a close and everything was going well. Really well. Told you you could do it, I told Olivia-from-the-past. I would be delivering keynote speeches one day . . . I’m coming for you, world.