Call From The Vestibule

On January 3, 1984, I started a new job, which I hoped would completely change my life. No pressure. At 7:55 a.m., with butterflies dancing in my stomach because this new role would challenge me, I opened the door to the office building’s vestibule. The cold, spartan room contained two plastic chairs and a small table with a beige push-button phone. 

I pressed the buttons for my supervisor’s extension, and the phone rang and rang and rang. Even if it wasn’t my fault, I absolutely, positively couldn’t be late for my first day on the job. I placed the handset back in the cradle and stewed. A few minutes later, I called again. This time, someone answered.

“Lewis’s office. Larry speaking.”

“This is Kristy. May I speak to Lewis?”

“He doesn’t come in till 8:30, but if you’re out front, I’ll be right over to let you in.”

“Yes, thank you.” I took a deep breath, and relief washed over me. I was about to be rescued from the vestibule. 

The unseen voice generated a thought, a thought that I had never had before nor since— this could be the man I marry. It was like the Dating Game. You hear a voice, and then you get to see the man.

Then, I reproached myself. Get it together. You’re starting a new job, a new career path. Focus on that.

I had just gotten out of a relationship. Actually, it was more of an addiction than a relationship, which took months of counseling to extricate myself from. At 24, I felt left behind. My mother—my barometer for measuring my success as a woman—already had two children at my age. Many of my friends were engaged or married. Although I had my MBA, marriage meant belonging, and I felt adrift.

A tall, slender man with well-tailored pants approached my enclosure and opened the door.

“Kristy?” He wore a thick mustache that punctuated his serious nature.

“Yes,” I said, extending my hand.

“I’m Larry,” he said, shaking my hand. “Welcome to General Accounting.”

We spoke little as this handsome man escorted me from the vestibule on a long, colorless journey through offices and cubicles to my new desk. Immediately, I opened the file drawer and plunked my large purse inside. Clunk. I would repeat this action hundreds of times during my tenure at MSI Data Corp. 

 Larry, whose desk sat across the aisle, a few feet away, noticed.

#

I settled into the groove of our team: me, Larry, Rob, and our manager, Lewis. Each Friday at lunchtime, we’d drive to a Chinese restaurant called Al’s Palace. A palace it wasn’t, more like a cross between fast food and a traditional restaurant. It didn’t contain red vinyl booths or memorable art on the walls, but it was quick, easy, and had something for everyone. 

Rob and Lewis were both married and settled into the minutiae of their predictable lives. In contrast, Larry revealed curiosity and introspection that attracted me, like the scent of cotton candy at a fair. He was smart, confident, and well-traveled. During college, he lived in Costa Rica for six months and spoke Spanish fluently. Despite taking Spanish throughout my education, fluency eluded me, so this impressed me.

I admired Larry’s work ethic. We’d work till midnight during quarter-endings because our demanding CFO wanted the profit margin. We’d joke, “Does he want the numbers fast or right? Both!” And we’d laugh to break the pressure of the moment. I inherited my father’s disposition: work hard, don’t make mistakes or let people down. Larry and I were on the same page—we clicked.

#

I made the first move and suggested we go to Al’s Palace someday without Rob and Lewis. Over Moo-shu pork and almond chicken, Larry shared that his rent was going up and that he was searching for a new apartment. That Friday night, I left a note on his car: “How about we look for your new apartment together? Call me tomorrow: 555-1234.” Larry didn’t have a phone at home, so he walked to the grocery store’s payphone that evening, and we made plans. We’d booked our first sorta date. It didn’t escape me that he called a day early.

After another clandestine outing to the County Fair, we’d achieved comfort and familiarity with being together. I got to know him outside of the work environment, noting that he liked sweets and exhibited kindness to animals, an essential trait in my book. 

We decided to take stock. On the precipice of dating, we knew there were risks, the greatest being the possibility the relationship could sour. If so, how could we continue to work together? Larry had a solution.

With a calm, earnest look, he said, “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll quit.”

“Really?” My brows shot up.

“I’m working on my own business idea, and I have money saved up.” Larry disclosed two nuggets of information about himself, which enabled hope and possibility. 

“But let’s face it,” I said. “You’re far more valuable to the company. I’m still learning the ropes. Management will want me to go, not you. I’ll have the checkered resume with short job stints.”

“Don’t worry. Trust me.” I did trust him, but I wondered if I could trust myself. My previous relationship devastated me. Was I willing to risk another failure? Then I remembered that Larry had jumped out of planes one hundred and eighty times. Unlike me, he was fearless. I decided to jump, into a relationship, not out of a plane. That was crazy!

We kept our relationship a secret at work. We drove separately to the annual summer picnic arrived, and got there at different times. At work, we behaved professionally. 

Just over a year after working together and ten months of dating, Valentine’s Day arrived. Like every morning, I entered our work area and opened my file drawer to drop in my purse, but this time, I stopped. I was so startled by the contents that I reclosed the drawer. The aromatized scent lingered around me. 

I opened the drawer again and saw the incomprehensible: a drawer filled with carnations, about fifty of them. The red ones formed a big heart, and the white ones provided a background for the heart's shape. Each carnation was meticulously placed through an unseen cardboard gridiron, with the flowers being the marching band in a precision formation. 

My head snapped to the right to look at my silent co-worker. Larry pretended to be deep in thought as he looked down at his desk, but his face blushed slightly. At last, feeling my stare, he looked at me and saw my hands on my heart and the corners of my mouth smiling to meet my cheeks.

I later learned that each stem had its own baggie filled with water and was secured with a rubber band to keep the blooms fresh. The carnation aroma intoxicated me. That Larry would envision, plan, and then implement this artistic creation, no doubt late at night, made my heart burst. I. Felt. So. Loved. His cupid’s arrow had struck me and had won me over forever more. 

#

A year and one-half later, we got engaged. By then, we had both left the company. We chuckled when we learned we hadn’t outsmarted our co-workers about our relationship for a second. Still, at least we had the bosses fooled, and that was what mattered. Thirty-seven years of marriage later, Larry continues to create file-drawer moments for me. My premonition from the call in the vestibule turned out to be right after all.