Black Fedora

The mirror was hung on a wall in the airport frequent flyer lounge. It appeared suddenly, like someone just found it in the back room and decided to hang it. Before that, the space on the wall where it hangs was just empty. I have no idea how the mirror got there, but I can tell you it doesn’t belong. The airline has a standard décor for their airline lounges, and it does not include a mirror. If you go to enough of them in different cities, you start to notice that it’s the same photographs hanging on the wall and the same type of furniture on the floor. Even the employees look alike, but that could be just because they wear uniforms.  I go to many airport lounges in many airports. Trust me, I’m an expert.

Even though they have a standard décor, they all must fit in their specific airport, and that makes them different. Some are big, some are small. Some are new and glamorous; some are old, and a bit worn. But they are all better than sitting in a crowded gate area on a broken chair that’s connected to another chair that in the rare event no one is sitting in it is likely to have an old food wrapper sitting on top of it, with nothing to plug your computer in to, no place to have a private conversation.

I’ve been to this lounge the mirror hangs in many times. It’s in an airport I frequently pass through, always on my way to another destination. I have never been outside the airport in this particular city; that’s just the way it goes in my world. On Sunday afternoon I go to the airport and fly somewhere, usually with this airport as a midway stop, and then do my business. I’ve been doing this as a job for twenty years, so long that the airline gives me access to the lounge for free, like they upgrade me to first class every week. I have a great job and I work for a great business, with great employees, great customers, and I love it, I really do. I get to wake up in a different place every day and see the world through a different set of eyes. And I like to always feel like the sky is the limit. It is, you know. 

At the lounge entrance there is a reception area, and an always-pleasant agent looks at your boarding pass and give you the status of your upcoming flight.  The lounge itself is a large room strewn with couches and big fluffy chairs. Along one wall there is a window with a view of the runway and a row of tables with more officelike chairs and electrical sockets, so you can plug in your computer or your phone and get some work done while staring out at the traffic on the runway. And opposite the window is the buffet with all the food, and the bar.

The mirror, however it got there, was hung on a wall in a less busy section of the lounge, far from the windows and furthest from the buffet. When people get into the lounge they are usually interested in the food and drink, so they sit mostly in that part of the lounge. The patch of furniture in front of the mirror is usually deserted or nearly so. 

The first time I saw the mirror I was sitting in front of it, in an oversized blue chair. It was Sunday evening, and I had migrated away from everyone else because I was on a conference call, and I was anticipating doing some yelling. I thought to myself, where did that mirror come from, but it was quiet around me and so I sat down in front of it. What had happened was that the client partner that works for me, Henderson, had committed more consultants to one of our projects but hadn’t gotten around to telling the customer they were going to see a ten percent rise in their bill, and I had a meeting with the CEO the next day, and……well, you get the picture. I had been sitting in the lounge for a couple hours, waiting on a long-delayed flight. I wasn’t going to get to Newark till one AM and that meeting with the CEO started at seven AM on Monday morning no less, and I was just anticipating the bite he was going to take out of my rear because of this, so I went to the bar and got a double bourbon and water on the rocks in a nice heavy first-class glass. I figured I had just enough time to drink it before I would have to leave for my gate.

I was sitting in this big deep chair, my briefcase and carryon bag at my side, I had just put my suit coat on, my tie was loose, I had just a little buzz on from the bourbon, and I noticed some movement in the mirror. Very sudden, just an eye blink sort of thing. I saw a man wearing a stylish black hat at a rakish angle, a satisfied grin on his face.  But I knew from my trip to the bar that I was all alone in this section of the lounge, so it couldn’t have reflected the image of someone passing behind me. I remember thinking to myself that it was probably just a side effect of the double bourbon, finished my drink, and left.

Monday night, I was there again in the same spot, in a much better humor. The meeting had gone much better than expected; not only was the CEO okay with the ten percent hike, but we also signed an additional deal for another dozen consultants. Then Henderson and I had sallied across the state line into Manhattan and signed another deal with a Fortune 500 financial firm that made my quota, not only for this year, but for the next. I had considered it a low probability deal, and it came through.

When that happens, you go back to the office and tell your partners that you are just going golfing for the next year. You aren’t, of course but that’s the sort of brag you like to pull out when you think you might get promoted.  If you want to reach the top, you pocket that win and go for another one. The sky’s the limit.

I was in a mood to celebrate, so while I was in Manhattan just told Henderson I’d talk to him later and took myself shopping. I stopped at a hat store and picked up a black fedora.  Just like the image I had seen in the mirror the night before. I can’t say that I bought it because of that image, but I can’t say I didn’t, either. I walked out of the store with it on my head, tilted at a rakish angle. A few hours later I was sitting in the same big blue chair as last night, the fedora on my lap in front of me, and I looked at that mirror. It had a bluish-silver metallic frame. It had a rather futuristic look to it, but at the same time it looked old, something out of the 1960’s someone made to put in a display of how they thought things would look in fifty years.

I went and got a double bourbon and sat there in front of it, my briefcase and carryon suitcase at my side, my tie loosened in a cool-casual sort of way, that black fedora sitting in my lap. I was proud of that hat, and of my day. I just sat and looked at that mirror and sipped my double bourbon. I was on my way to Cleveland that night, and another CEO meeting the next morning.  As I sipped and looked at it, the mirror shimmered briefly. 

Then just for a second, I glimpsed a man wearing a black fedora hat at a rakish angle on his head, a feral grin on his face. In my glimpse, I saw that he was standing in the boardroom of what looked like a long-established company, with wood paneling on the walls and a huge wooden conference table, gleaming like someone had buffed it for days. The picture disappeared. The mirror reflected the wall across the room. I wondered what the man in the mirror was doing. 

Tuesday in Cleveland. I caught a cab from the hotel to an office building downtown, where my clients’ headquarters office was. It was a windy day, and I could see a rain cloud on Lake Erie making its’ way to the shore. I got out of the cab and into the building just before it came pouring down. Henderson was there, and Dan Gibbons, the CEO of the company.

The meeting did not go well. Henderson, cursed was I with his existence, had done it again.  More consultants, more cost, but left me holding the bag to tell Gibbons. And unlike the CEO yesterday in Newark, Gibbons was not happy about it and didn’t want to buy more. In fact, he wanted to buy less.

I’d sooner terminate this whole contract then give you guys a penny more, he said.

Henderson protested. But you need this. Your team agrees.

Doesn’t matter. Gibbons answered. Just doesn’t matter. I didn’t agree to anything.

Gibbons was being difficult and annoying, and I wanted this to end.

  So, what do you want, Gibbons? I asked. We will pull our team out today if they are bothering and upsetting you. No matter the ten percent revenue lift you got last quarter and directly attributed to our work, we can go home today.

No, no, he says, I just don’t want to pay more.

Time for the kill. 

Well, Dan-o, we your trusted advisors are strongly advising this increase in resources to get the job done for you with the quality you have become accustomed to, and to avoid any stoppage of our efforts I recommend a rapid turn around on that change request my colleague mister Henderson has carefully prepared for you. I then caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window, and noticed I had not taken the fedora off yet, and I was standing, and what kind of gleam was that in my eye?

Big Dan Gibbons, Three-time Fortune magazine cover boy and prototype executive, the dreaded CEO of a big old manufacturing company, meekly signed the paperwork. Outside the boardroom I grabbed Henderson’s arm.

That’s twice. I said. Twice THIS WEEK, and it’s only Tuesday. Don’t put me in that situation again.

Then I was back at the Cleveland airport. Dingy place. No lounge. A couple hours later, I was in front of the mirror, fedora at my side, a nice double bourbon on the rocks in my hand. I watched and waited for half an hour. Nothing happened. I was about to chalk the last couple days up as an optical illusion and temporary insanity and then my phone rang. It was Henderson.

No, I am not going to Cincinnati tomorrow, I told him. I have to be in Indianapolis.

No, I have not heard from the client in Cincinnati, and I hope they are not going to call and tell me they are upset that you’ve increased our staffing level there by 10% without my knowledge.

No. Henderson is emphatic. They won’t. I haven’t.

I was standing now, with the mirror off to my left side. I could see lounge attendants over at the buffet refilling the hummus and chips. Nothing like fresh hummus. After a couple hours it dries out. I appreciate that sort of attention to detail and I wish Henderson had it. I told him so. He seemed offended.

Okay then. He said.

Do you need something?

Nothing, just checking in. He replied in a short tone that I didn’t like. 

Okay, thanks for your call.

Henderson, I don’t care who you know, this is my turf and I’ve been on it for twenty years. I wanted to say that to him, but he had hung up, so I said it to myself.  A shimmer of the mirror and I saw a man in a fedora, his face red, eyes bulging as he shouted. I walked out to catch my plane to Indianapolis.

Wednesday night I was sitting in front of the mirror with a drink in my hand. Everything was the same as the day before, except I was wearing different clothes. And I had been talking to a different customer. I could clearly recollect my absolute rage as the customer in Indianapolis told me that Henderson had increased our staffing by fifteen percent without his approval, and not only was he never going to pay for it, but he also wanted no more of Henderson and that I should find another client partner. I remember the absolute rage when I got Henderson on the phone and asked him why he lied to me.

I told you Cincinnati. He said. Not Indianapolis.

You knew I was going to Indianapolis. I said. So, you should have told me.

You should have asked. He said. Instead of talking about hummus.

I shouldn’t have to ask, I had shouted into the phone, but the call was disconnected whether by Henderson or me, or God I do not know but it was just as well. So now I was just sitting in front of the mirror, with my briefcase and carryon at my side, my jacket hanging from the carryon, my fedora sitting on my briefcase, my tie undone, and I was tired, just tired. I grabbed my phone and called the boss. I told him Henderson was going to turn my client relations score to crap, and that I wanted him out of my territory. Then I hung up and sat there till I had to get on the plane to Chicago, my last city of the week. On Thursday night I would be flying home, and work Friday in the home office.

I don’t want to talk about Chicago. But I will. Thursday turned out to be routine, and for the first time this week, Henderson did not ruin my day. Late in the day, right before I went into airport security, the boss called. The Big Boss.

Henderson is really killing it this week, he said.

He’s killing me.

No, really. He continued. Sales in your region are up ten percent over the last month, ever since he got there. That was a huge deal he did in New York on Monday.

HE did? I asked.

Team effort, he explained.

Whatever. He’s not being easy to deal with.

He’s making us tons of money. The boss was a big fan of the Henderson show. No shock, since Henderson is a big fan of the boss’s unmarried daughter, and by all accounts, it’s mutual.

Hey, he said. What’s this about moving Henderson to another territory? That’s crazy talk.

The call went downhill from there.   

I visited the lounge again on Thursday evening and sat in my now-usual place in front of the mirror. Some older guy wearing a cowboy hat had just gotten up from the overstuffed chair. I wondered if he had come to the chair once without a hat and saw himself in one. I wondered if the mirror shimmered for him like it did for me. I wondered why it shimmered. I wonder why it had appeared just this week, of all weeks.

The lounge is always crowded on Thursday evening and Sunday afternoon. Sunday afternoon is when all the people like me head out on the road. Thursday evening is when we all go back home. Some people love the life. They excitedly get on a plane Sunday afternoon. They live in a hotel, meet with customers, spend the interim in an airport or on a plane. They go home late Thursday night. Fill the next three days with something – friends, family, work – do your wash, then it’s back on a plane Sunday.  I’ve been doing it for twenty years. It’s all I know, and sometimes it wears on me. Sometimes I wonder what else is out there. Sometimes I wonder if the world would look different from the same place every day. Knowing about a magic mirror that predicts the future has added a little spice to my days. It’s made me wonder what else is out there.

On Thursday night the mirror shimmered for me again. It showed a man wearing a black fedora that tilted at a rakish angle on his head. It showed him carrying a box out of an office building. The box appeared to be full of the sort of things one would keep on one’s desk. The man looked sad in a certain way, yet hopeful. Like maybe the sky was the limit.