Pittsburgh

I glanced impatiently at the clock on the dashboard of the cab I was riding in the back of, angry with myself for getting into this situation. I was running late to what could quite possibly be the most important night of my life – well, at least my career – which could very well be the last if this traffic didn’t get a move on. The irony of this whole situation was that the very traffic stopping me from getting me to where I needed to be was caused by where I was going: CONSOL Energy Center. The Pittsburgh Penguins were playing their fourth game of the 2014-15 season against the New York Islanders, and whilst it wasn't going to start for another hour and half, I might as well not turn up at all if I wasn't there in 20 minutes.
“Can you pull over here please?” I asked the cab driver as we just managed to make it through an amber traffic light.
“The stadium is still a few minutes away,” he replied, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror. “The game doesn't start for a while; you've got plenty of time.”
Wishing that was actually true, I told him that I was fine to walk the rest of the way.
“In those heels?” he questioned, noticing my shoes as I shuffled out of the cab and paid the fare.
I gave him a swift smile and began my walk to the stadium, which was definitely marred by my outfit of choice. As I was meeting with very important clients, I dressed in a champagne coloured silk blouse, a black high-waisted pencil shirt and black heels. Early October weather in Pittsburgh barely allowed for an outfit like this, and I wished that I had brought a blazer with me.

Having almost snapped a heel three times, and fairly sure I was red in the face, I nevertheless arrived to the stadium right on time. As I worked for PNC Wealth Management, we were meeting our clients in the executive suits, so I headed there hoping my boss wouldn't notice that I was cutting my arrival time incredibly fine.
“You're late,” my colleague – and nemesis – Ryan smirked as I entered the room. “And you might want to fix yourself up before Rockwell gets here; you’re a bit of a mess.”
I glared at him, mentally kicking myself for letting the guy I’ve been in stiff competition with for a promotion get the upper hand over me before the meeting officially began. “You don't look too crash hot yourself, Stevenson,” I replied coolly, walking over to the ladies bathroom. “All that hair gel makes your hair look super greasy.” I smiled to myself as he struggled for a retort, touching his over-gelled hair.
Again, I mentally kicked myself over the fact that Ryan was somewhat right; whilst I wasn't exactly a mess, my cheeks were flushed from racing over here in the cold, my lipstick was smudged and my chestnut hair, which had taken a painstakingly long time to straighten, was slipping out of its high ponytail. I fixed myself up so I was back to looking presentable, sprayed on a little perfume and popped a breath mint in my mouth to freshen up. As I put everything I had used back into my handbag, I noticed the Pittsburgh Penguins pin I was meant to have put on in the cab. After I pinned it to my blouse, I gripped the edge of the sink as I looked at myself in the mirror. “You can do this,” I told myself sternly, “You've worked to hard not to get what you want.”
As I exited the bathroom, my boss Mark entered the suite with our main client – Garry Rockwell – and another suited man whom I could only assume was his lawyer. Although it was not officially agreed upon, we all knew that our company was going to sign a big deal with Rockwell’s. It was actually my idea to do this here tonight: I had overheard Rockwell berating his assistant for forgetting to buy tickets to the game, and after quickly relaying this information to my boss, suggested we invite him to join us in our corporate suite. That earned me praise from Mark and a sneer from Ryan, who knew just as well as I did that whoever contributed the most to closing this deal were going to get the promotion we were both so desperate for.
“Miss Myers!” Rockwell greeted, coming over to give me a firm but friendly handshake. “So lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise,” I replied, smiling as sweetly as I could and returning his firm handshake.
“And you're definitely dressed for the occasion!” he remarked, noticing my outfit was actually Penguins colours; something I ensured to do in order to get Rockwell on side. I did own a Pittsburgh scarf, but it wasn't exactly the right occasion to wear it.
“Of course! When you work for a major sponsor of one of the best teams in the league, you’d be an idiot not to support them.” I flashed a look to Ryan, who – other than black – was not sporting Pittsburgh colours, which was met with a glare from him.
Rockwell laughed, “You're damn straight!” he agreed. “Now let’s just hope they kick some Islander ass!”
I faked a laugh at his crassness, glancing at Mark who gave me a nod and a small smile of approval.
“Now, who else needs a good drink?” Rockwell asked, clapping my boss on the shoulder and heading to the bar. He was a little unorthodox as a client, but it sure beat dealing with the usual stiff suits that were incredibly hard to read.

***

After Pittsburgh sealed the deal in the 3rd period with a late goal from Hornqvist, and Rockwell downed his sixth scotch, it seemed as though everything was heading towards the perfect ending; Pittsburgh were almost a minute away from winning, Rockwell was in good spirits and Mark shot me several nods of approval as I was able to engage Rockwell in a discussion about the game throughout its duration. Although I’d only moved here from Sydney just over five years ago, it was hard not to get swept up in the intoxicating enjoyment of ice hockey.
“Mark,” Rockwell boomed, his cheeks rosy and his speech only slightly slurred, “you've got a hell of a gal here!” giving me a wink.
I smiled at him as I felt Ryan’s glare bore into me. “Well it'll be an absolute pleasure working with you going forward, Mr. Rockwell,” I replied.
“Why Miss Myers, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you set this whole evening up just to get me to sign on the deal!” he tut-tutted. My face fell. “A hockey game is no place for business! I'll be discussing that further with Mark on Monday.”
I looked over to Mark, who was frowning slightly at me, as though our whole cover was blown. Though Rockwell was technically right, saying our plan out loud made it painfully obvious what we were doing.
“Besides,” Rockwell added, motioning to someone to refill his glass. “We'll have plenty of time for more hockey talk in this suite for the rest of the season. I have a feeling we'll have the Stanley Cup this year.”
This time when I looked hopelessly at my boss, he frowned at me in earnest. I didn't even need to look at Ryan to see the huge smirk he was giving me.
I stared blankly at the ice for the last few seconds of the game, only managing a tight smile when the horn sounded at the game’s conclusion.
As the men gathered to leave, my boss pulled me aside, obviously irritated that the deal didn’t go through tonight. “May I remind you Myers that this was your idea?” he hissed in my ear, careful to not let anyone overhear our conversation. “An idea that looks at though it’s going to end up being a very, very expensive idea if it even goes through – which it must – if you even want to be considered for the promotion.”
I nodded, too numb to muster words. I felt sick at the thought of all my hard work over the last 18 months going to waste over one stupid deal.
“Mark!” Rockwell called, bringing our conversation to a close.
“I'll see you Monday,” Mark curtly told me, moving over to talk to Rockwell.
I left the suite without a backwards glance, trying to keep composed as I moved into the crowd of people exiting the stadium. Rather than heading for the exit, I instead chose to go to the First Niagara Club to get myself a much-needed drink. I hadn't had a drop of alcohol all night, but now, it was all I craved.