It's Not Really Work...It's Just the Power to Charm...

I skipped the Lilly Pulitzer party at the Union League Club last Thursday night. I know...it sounded like such a riot, and I would have loved to take in the scene, champagne in hand, while all those blond little sparrows in their pink and green or turquoise and yellow Palm Beach togs all looked to land the big prize -- some Wall Streeter in a pink tie pounding Dark 'n Stormies.... The show alone would have been so up my alley. Oh and I had a chic little silky beady bold floral-y number all picked out, not to mention an extra fun pair of shoes (the metallic gold/coral beaded toe-less t-straps). And some of my fave pals were on the guest list...RJP was hosting and Kerry (aka Miss K) was coming in with Rob and Fred in tow. And you know, it was a tough call, this skipping the fun...I virtually never back out of plans...usually have to be incapacitated or missing a limb or something equally dramatic to willingly let a friend down. But that's just me.

Truth is, I was having a day...kind of grouchy and snappy (thanks YAZ!) and still recovering from Happy Hour the night prior with my Class of '81 besties, Big and TL. I ingested four glasses of California sparkling and not so much as an oyster cracker...always wise. The guys, by the way, tried to mask their massive jealousy (come on, you can admit it, boys...) over last week's post and the kicka** party at Helen's that they missed out on (and just because Helen's photo didn't appear last week does not mean I was inventing a "Helen" character...like Vera on Cheers...proof right here that she exists and was having a blast with her Island-themed bash...). Anyway, when Big and TL pulled that bombastic, bossy, big brotherly ballbusting (awesome alliteration!...and there I go again...) with sarcastic little jabs like: "You must have a lot of time on your hands..." and "Before and after parties? A pre-party shuttle bus? You guys don't mess around...." (like I think I am Keith Richards or someting...see, they are kind of old...Keith Richards is their go-to "hard-core partier" reference...), I answered: "Hello, my friends, I am a fulltime earner here...mother of three...a little reward for my efforts is acceptable, no?" (as you can see, I am well-schooled in guilt tripping...). And anyway, I told them, I can't help it if my friends and I enjoy our time together...we are a fun lot, am I right? So I threw the guys a bone... maybe they can crash the Flying Mueller Brothers bash...a little imported sand and barefooted dancing, some boozy suburbanites and a constant festive buzz...total blast, just like Keith Richards would do. But, you know, neither one of them crosses bridges or travels without a chaperone, so that's not going to happen...oh well, too bad (for them)...Maybe Keith is available...

So anyway, by the time Thursday rolled around I had been out every night... You know how I am...such a weakling, so easily distracted. I am working in the Big City and I cannot resist all the dining and cocktailing and social options...I am texting all my buddies, making the most of every second...spending my full paycheck on Magnolia Bakery cupcakes for Rob and the kids and lunches with RW and my big sis, Cath, and drinks with Tappers (who escaped the clutches of The Oafish Client back in March, praise Jesus...) and inhaling wine and cheese plates with Sam. So even though the Lilly Party had been on the calendar for weeks and months...something had to give. My chic little silky bold beady floral-y number hangs forlornly in the closet and awaits next year's fete...a sartorial wallflower, if you will.

So I guess despite my great efforts to prove otherwise, I am not a kid anymore....which frankly is kind of surprising to me because working everyday with my Dad has provided flashback after flashback...And let me tell you, I am not quite so sure I haven't unwittingly stepped onto the set of one of those craptastic teen/adult body-switching Hollywood masterpieces like Freaky Friday or 13 Going On 30 or Big or Vice Versa (who didn't love that Judge Reinhold/Fred Savage classic??? well, me, for one...)...or actually, even more appropriately, 17 Again. My Dad picks me up every morning and we listen to some Mets-centric radio show with Boomer Esiason on The Fan (some of the call-ins are endlessly idiotic, by the way...) while he wildly weaves in and out of traffic (maybe he's the one who is 17 Again...) and takes short cuts to the bridge through Leonia and circuitous routes down Broadway in Washington Heights so that we can make it to the office on 46th Street 30 seconds earlier than we would have otherwise. And each morning he hands me a $20 as we exit the parking garage...a little cash to cover my iced venti non-fat latte at Starbucks or whatever my daily pleasure happens to be...like he did when I was in high school (back then I stockpiled the cash and on Saturday nights I'd end up covering Chappy and Slawdogs at Matthew's Diner post-kegger...). So at any rate, every morning I am transported by what is essentially a carbon copy of my 17th summer. The year was 1987...and it was the last time I "worked" for my Dad.

So Dad was the President and CEO of EF Hutton & Co....and my BFF, Allison, and I needed summer jobs. And of course, there was no stint at the bagel shop or Kilroy's Wonder Market or the Indian Trail Club patio or Tice's Farm or anything for us...g*d no! That would have been too much fun and way too normal. Instead my Dad thought it would be a good experience for us to take part in the Summer Intern program at Hutton. That's right....an elite group of college kids from top-notch universities and young professionals in graduate school...and Allison and me. Being naive fools, it sounded like the sweet life to us...we would travel in with him and his driver, Carmine (more to come on him...right out of Central Casting for The Sopranos, by the way...), and we would be placed together in the company's Research Library, where I still am not sure what they stored and catalogued and kept on microfiche or whatever...proxies, possibly? I have no clue...didn't know then either. Anyway, being that we were B- high school students at best, we weren't given a plum assignment or anything. Instead, we spent the summer as low rent secretaries to the two Research Librarians (Sheila and Joan...such tragic dorks...) and their team of administrative slaves, each one coming from some Borough or neighborhood we had and would never set foot in. There was Geneva (the dumb one), Sherelle (the ghetto fab-a-lous BFF), Nichelle (the brown-noser), Cynthia (also 17...her dad was the Director of Maintenance), Teresa (the religious zealot...she told me that AIDS was a Biblical plague, wiping out sinners and that Armageddon was looming...even at 17 I knew she was f&%ked), Wanda (the no-BS one), Cathy (the withering drunk...totally ran to the bathroom and chugged from a flask every 90 minutes or so), and then there was the one we think was called Jen, or maybe it was Michelle, (aged 19, a little LI princess from Garden City...her dad was some Sales Manager or Trader or Marketing Exec...). What a motley f&%$ing crew. And why, tell me, did they need quite so many of them? That may explain a few things about the '80s and Wall Street right there.

So at any rate, it was just like I said...Carmine (who kind of looked like a kinder, gentler Paulie Walnuts) would retrieve Dad and I sometime around 6:15 a.m. and it was this wordless exchange...we'd get in the back seat and Carmine would hand back the newspapers and a cup of coffee he had snagged from the late great Forum Diner en route from his place on Crosby Street in Little Italy to our house in Franklin Lakes. And then we'd go pick up Allison, and as she slid into her seat, Carmine would hand her a cup of hot tea and a toasted corn muffin, also from the Forum. What is hilarious about that is that I am quite certain Allison has not looked at a corn muffin since 1987, but back then, she scarfed one every morning. And then she'd snooze for the rest of the ride. Somehow, in an odd show of restraint for me, I abstained from the daily diner order and read my dirty and naughty Jackie Collins novels instead. We would sail in at that hour and we girls were always the first ones to punch-in at the Research Library...usually by 7 a.m.

So we'd sit at our communal desk and gossip and catch up and review the happenings of the night prior until the rest of the crew arrived and we could giggle and make jokes and harass the analysts that sat in cubes outside the Library walls (oh that cranky b*tch Deb was so jealous that all the guys thought we were adorable and funny, though seven and eight years their junior...she thought we were such brats...us? is that possible?). And there was this guy we always chatted with who looked like a cross between Tom Hanks and John Travolta and who had been officially reprimanded by my father for sending a questionably sexist joke out to his field reps (Top 25 Reasons Why Beer Is Better Than Women, as I recall...). And he was so proud of the reprimand that he hung it on his office wall and happily showed it to me like it was a solid gold bong signed by Keith Richards (I am going with the "Keith" theme here...). And everyday Allison and I would call Murph at her law firm job with the great Mike Murphy (or was that the summer she worked at Super GAP???). And Murph became phone buds with our resident ghetto fab BFF, Sherelle, who eventually became the namesake of Murph's happening Hyundai, a gift upon her 17th birthday that October. Either way, Allison and I did a little filing here and there in the giant electronic mobile file walls that shifted on these levers and rails... and we did some data entry and we took calls... We also attended "Intern" functions and lunches and there would always be a whispered buzz among the other Interns when we walked onto the shuttle bus to our event destination..."That's his daughter..."...and Allison and I would bust a gut laughing. So mature...just as we are today.

So...on top of all of this...there was not one night that entire summer on which we didn't go out with our extended high school posse...even if it was just to burn gas or hit the movies. In fact, I fully remember that by the end of the summer we counted the nights we girls had spent hanging with Chappy and Slawdogs and Nick, and it amounted to virtual around the clock contact. And every night we would be in bed way too late and we'd be yawning and punchy all day long at the Research Library. But...the best moment of all...the jewel in our professional crown that summer of '87, was the morning after we went to the David Bowie concert at Giants Stadium. Get ready...especially those of you who have teenage children or are business owners or manage staff or...hell, even those of you who are just normal, professional, upstanding individuals. This one is a classic....

Ok, so...like I said, it was the David Bowie concert...and we were out all night, until almost 3 a.m. And as always, Carmine showed up at 6:15 the next morning to pick up Dad and I...and five minutes later we were at Allison's house. As she slid into her seat she gave me a pained look...and she denied Carmine's hot tea/muffin offer so that she could curl up, her head on my shoulder, and sleep. I didn't want Dad to know how late we had been out and at what time I had snuck into the house, so I forced myself to stay alert. When we arrived at the Research Library we promptly moaned and groaned and b*tched and complained as we rested our heads on the communal desk. And we started to zone out....but minutes in I came to and noticed Allison was missing, no longer beside me....and I turned to look over my shoulder and there she was, looking back up at me from the floor in between two of the largest electronic mobile files and she goes: "I am laying down right here."

And you would think I might snap to attention and bring her to her senses...like, Hey get up! We can't sleep here! But I didn't...no way. I thought it was an awesome idea. Wordlessly I rose from my chair and laid down next to her....I was asleep before my head hit the industrial commercial carpeting....

That's right, you read it correctly....the daughter of the President and CEO was passed out, curled in the fetal position and likely chattering in her sleep, on the floor of the company's international headquarters....even Cathy the drunk never stooped quite so low. And she actually had a quasi excuse.

Who knows how long we laid there between the giant mobile files...I woke to Allison tapping me as she knelt beside me. The lights in the office were blazing and we could hear Sheila or Joan or whoever clicking away at a keyboard. We silently communicated with our deer in headlight eyes...and agreed to never speak of it again. We scrambled to the communal desk and tried to look busy. Soon the rest of the admin slaves arrived and we went about our day...every once in a while glancing at one another with the secret wink and reminder: just keep your mouth shut!

So about 1 o'clock we were sitting at the desk when Wanda (the no-BS one) passed by all earnest and businesslike...and without breaking her stride she simply said:

"A little tired this morning, ladies?"

Our jaws dropped open and she just kept walking...we were shaking in our sheer cream-colored nylons (ick...g*d...cannot believe I ever had to wear those things...) and avoided making eye contact with anyone else the rest of the day for fear that we'd be called in and given a tongue lashing by Joan or Sheila or maybe even my Dad (oh yes, am quite sure this would have risen to the list of his priorities....what could be more pressing?).

But that never happened...Wanda never narc-ed on us.... She really was no-BS after all.

The next day though, Allison and I were separated...and I worked directly for Joan, sitting at a computer in her office while Allison started some filing project for Sheila. And eventually we wrapped up our summer gig a few weeks later...said goodbye to the admin slaves and took the final weeks of the summer to hang round the clock with Chappy and Slawdogs and Nick....getting ready for our Senior year at The Academy of the Holy Angels...certain to be model students with all this incredible professional experience under our belts. Right....

It wasn't until February break sitting on the Islandside patio of the Longboat Key Club, that Allison and I finally cracked and came clean to my Mom and Dad about that morning on the floor of the Research Library. And after a brief moment of complete disbelief...the two of them almost choked on their Gulf Coast chili...they were laughing their a**es off. A proud moment for them, I am sure... but let me tell you, it is one of the stories my Dad still tells, in hysterics, to this day...

But you know...I amounted to something eventually...I figured out the ins-and-outs of being a professional. And Dad trusted me again...he even let me come back to work for him...so this time it's a smaller operation, but crazy busy...and we sit mere feet from one another. And even though it is a limited project, I really wish it were long term because I love it so much...because each morning as we drive in together, even as he weaves and bobs and avoids death on the Westside highway...and even as he drinks hot coffee and fiddles with his brandy-new Blackberry as I shudder and shake in fear...even then I get to talk to him like a grown up...and I get to share my opinions and points of view on the team's projects and plans and needs and next steps. And I get to hear all these stories that make my head spin...all about the high stakes mind-games and bloated personalities and big time negotiations that he was dealing with back in '87, keeping that place afloat while Allison and I called Murph and harassed analysts and stayed out all night and fell asleep on the floor of the the Research Library. And he is still such a cool guy for accepting me regardless, seeing me as someone who has something to offer...someone who would never in her life consider taking privileges for granted...And you know, I think maybe even if he reprimanded me in writing for emailing my friends or slacking off or making some offensive comment to the team...maybe I might even tack it up on my cubicle wall and show it off like it was some solid gold bong signed by Keith Richards...you know, because just like every other little girl on the planet...I'll always think that my Dad is a rock star.

xoxo, Suz

Photo 1: Never too early to begin the husband search at the Lilly Pulitzer Party...

Photo 2: That chic little silky bold floral-y number...may make an appearance at The Fourways...

Photo 3: The "Vera" of this blog...proof that there is a "Helen"...

Photo 4: World class hardcore partier...I am so bringing him as my guest to the Flying Mueller Brothers...

Photo 5: My jealous and possessive 5 1/2 year old, tearing himself away from me for only a minute to ogle the cupcakes...

Photo 6: Me and Allison "working" extra hard at the Research Library...1987 fashions and beauty techniques all over that shot...Love that Zinc Pink!

Photo 7: At the Research Library...Allison, Sherelle (on phone with Murph), me and Jen/Michelle...again, a busy day apparently...but at least we are awake.

Photo 8: Will the real Carmine please stand up...and bring me one of those sausage breads you used to give Dad while you're at it...

Photo 9: Hero-worshipper, sexist and bonehead...Tom Hanks' twin...

Photo 10: Me, Allison and Murph...at an "Intern Function" at Jeremy's downtown...

Photo 11: I'd stay out all night for him any day...well, unless I had anywhere to be in the morning...

Photo 12: My kids all passed out on Will's bedroom floor...must run in the family...at least they were done working for the day..

Photo 13: Daddy and Me....