Gone Fishin'

“Is it a keeper, Daddy? Is it a big one?” I fondly remember asking my father these fish-related questions over and over, starting when I was about four. Looking back, I don’t think he ever said my fish were too small. If he had caught them, he would have thrown back every one of my fish from those early years, but I was always Daddy’s little girl. He always filleted out my catches, even if they looked more like bait than food.

Mother would bread them and fry them, and both parents would say things like, “Katie, look what a wonderful meal you have brought us,” even though the bulk of it was from my father’s fish.

My secretary snapped me out of my reminiscence by knocking on my door. “Kate, here are those files you asked for. Your 10:00 interview arrived early, and your 2:00 meeting canceled.”

"Thank you, Sally. Tell the folks from Meadow and River that I’ll be there momentarily. Who was set for 2:00?”

“Tom Donovan from Rods and Reels. Would you like me to call him and reschedule?”

“Darn, I really wanted to nail them down today.” I nodded in Sally’s direction. “Yes, call the company back. He’s probably some old fogey who doesn’t want to deal with a woman. Perhaps they’ll send a different representative.”

Sally wrote in her omnipresent day-planner and asked, “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. Thanks again, Sally. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sally smirked, “One of two options; either you’d go insane, or you’d find yourself an equally tolerant secretary.”

As she was swinging the door shut, I bellowed, “Most likely the former.”

I took a sip of my coffee, stood up, and smoothed out my skirt suit. Being one of the only female executives in the male-dominated world of sporting goods didn’t faze me. It’s the job I hoped for after scoring top marks at Northwestern Business School. What bothered me was how boring it was.

As the CEO of a major company, Field’s Sporting Goods, I hoped to interact with team managers, coaches, athletes, and like-minded individuals who enjoyed sports and outdoor activities. It’s why I moved from a rural area to Chicago. Sure, I got to play a round of golf now and again, but so often, I was relegated to an office building, dealing with store managers, wealthy clients, mounds of paperwork, never-ending email trains, and being the pretty face of the company. Ugh. I was all too used to men assuming I was just another pretty face. I had been burned badly by a ladder-climbing boyfriend once before. He had stomped right over me by parading me around and then throwing me under the bus. I wouldn't let that happen again.

My mother would say, “Nothing to it but to get right to it.” It’s how I got a strong work ethic. Thinking of my mom reminded me that I hadn’t made it home for six months. I couldn’t wait to see my parents on Saturday. I missed having a full summer off to fish with Dad and work in the garden or sip fresh-squeezed lemonade with Mom. This weekend was just what I needed.

My interview with the two older gentlemen from Meadow and River magazine went like so many others. They wanted to do an interest story about me because of my gender. I told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

The saying, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity” isn't all it's cracked up to be. Try being on the receiving end of scathing public words. When I first earned my job, one publication wrote that I may have gotten it out of sympathy. Another postulated that the men of Field’s Sporting Goods wanted me around to ogle. The worst claimed I slept my way to the top. I was told I wouldn’t win a lawsuit because they had cleverly written everything as speculation. When that article came out, I screamed inwardly at the injustice and vowed to never allow another interview to be about me. Anyone could ask about the Field’s products or any sport. I’ll talk about anything from neighborhood hockey to professional football, but if they ask about me personally, the interview is over.

I must have come from the meeting holding my breath, because Sally said, “Breathe, Kate.” She could always sense when I was wound up. After a couple of deep breaths, I nodded my appreciation. Sally smiled and said comfortingly, “I rescheduled Tom Donovan for 10:00 tomorrow morning.”

I sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll be in my office, going over proposals and finances.”

I walked away to cool down. It wasn’t Sally's fault I was experiencing a bump in my day. I immersed myself in my work to keep my mind busy. I placed calls, wrote emails, and straightened up my desk three times. I even skipped lunch so that I could leave early. Once home, I kicked off my shoes, put on the Bulls game and sipped some wine. I felt the difficulties of the day melt away.

In the morning, I greeted Sally with a Friday smile, which she mirrored. No matter what happened, the weekend was upon us. I could almost feel the breeze off the lake and the tug of the first nibble on my line.

After addressing 25 documents from the stack of 225 on my desk, I heard a knock on my door. I called, “Come in.” Without looking up, I said, “Whatever it is, please put it in my inbox, Sally.”

A male voice answered, “I’m not sure if I’ll fit in your inbox, but I’m definitely not Sally.”

I stood up so fast that I banged my knee on my desk and dumped the stack of papers I’d been reviewing, which flittered all over the floor like autumn leaves.

Before me, was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. He looked like he was trying to withhold laughter. Feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, I abandoned the paperwork and hastened around my desk.

The hunk held out his hand and said, “I’m Tom Donovan with Rods and Reels.” His confident, deep voice had me mesmerized. To think I thought he was an old fogey wanting to avoid a woman.

When I came to my senses, I gripped his hand for a firm shake as my father had taught me. Then, I babbled, “What happened to Sally? How did you? When? Is it 10:00 already?”

“To answer that line of questioning, Sally told me to knock on your door. How? With my knuckles. When? A minute ago, and yes, it is 10:00.”

Cute and witty. This guy was too much. My expression was as if I’d been watching a scene from a horror movie. I was shocked in a good way. I shook my head. “Sorry, will you meet me in Conference Room A? It’s down the hall on the right. Help yourself to coffee, and I’ll be right there.”

“Certainly, Ms…”

“Call me Kate.”

“Okay, Kate, take your time.” As he walked across my office, I noticed his backside was every bit as appealing as the rest of him. Then, he turned back and caught me staring with my mouth agape. I quickly squatted down behind my desk, acting like I was picking up the scattered documents.

When the door clicked shut, I sat in my office chair and huffed out a breath with my hand on my heart. I could feel it racing. What was wrong with me? I was acting like a giddy schoolgirl.

Sally walked in without knocking and intoned, “Well?”

“Well, what? Why did you send that man to my office?”

Sally shrugged. “I know how you are, all business-like in the conference room. I wanted you to meet Dreamy McDreamboat in a more intimate setting.”

“Well, that backfired. Don’t quit your day job, because your career as a matchmaker tanked in the first round. I made a fool of myself.”

“I don’t know. Judging from his cheeky smile just now, I think he’s into you. Come on Kate, you’re the one who says, ‘When life gets intense, it’s time to hang up the Gone Fishin' sign.’ You’ve been intense. Maybe Tom Donovan is the Gone Fishin’ sign you’ve been waiting for.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “Clever, Sally.” I wrinkled my nose. “We’ll discuss this later. I’m late for my 10:00.”

Sally rolled her eyes and shook her head as I put on my business game face. I entered Conference Room A, determined to be the consummate professional. Tom Donovan was standing by the window with a coffee mug in hand, looking down at the Chicago River.

I greeted him, “Hello, Mr. Donovan. Sorry about the delay.”

“Don’t mention it. Please, call me Tom. I apologize for cancelling yesterday. My nephew broke his arm, and my brother and sister-in-law were unable to take him to the hospital.”

I gestured to the table, and he sat. I opened my laptop, connected it to the projector, and used the remote to lower the blinds and the lights.

“Tom,” I said with my best down-to-business voice, “I know you will be happy with the proposal Fields Sporting Goods is willing to offer. You can see the numbers here.” I advanced the power-point. “Here are the projected sales. The mark-up will be reasonable, and I know our customers will be as delighted with your products as I am. Now, on the next…”

Tom interrupted, “Wait! You really do own R & R products?”

I smiled. “Absolutely. I wore out my first two sets of rods and reels. I’m planning on buying a fourth as soon as we get your products on our shelves. Then my third will be my backup.”

He leaned toward me. His smile seemed genuine, lighting up his eyes. “Where do you fish?”

“I’ve been all over Illinois and many of our surrounding states, but I grew up near Clinton, so I’m partial to Clinton Lake.”

“It’s beautiful there. Do you favor bass, walleye, or stripers?”

I smiled, tilting my head, “I’ll catch and eat anything that puts up a fight. So, you’ve fished there?”

“Many times. I usually go to Pierce Lake for proximity.” He sighed. “I am long overdue for a fishing trip. I should just pack up this weekend.”

I put my hand over my mouth in disbelief. He sounded just like me. I turned the lights up, shut my laptop, and looked at Tom with newfound interest. I said, “I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this, but let’s bug out now and go fishing. I was supposed to leave tomorrow, but I’ve had it with this office building. My parents will be glad to have you in their guest room. We can call it ‘product research.’”

He scratched his head. “Are you always this spontaneous? I’ve always admired people who wing it.”

I shook my head and admitted, “No, this is highly unlike me, which should impress upon you how desperate I am to get out of the city.”

He said, “What the heck? Maybe we can simultaneously learn to be spontaneous. One condition: I want to take a picture of us together to send to my company."

Just when I was beginning to like him, he had to show his true colors. He just wanted to bag the cute CEO for bragging rights. I stood and spoke firmly, "Now, just wait a minute, I'm not some prize trophy you just bagged. I'll send your company my PowerPoint. I believe this meeting is adjourned. Have a pleasant weekend." I stormed off to my office. I put my laptop on the charger and grabbed my purse, prepared to make a hasty departure, when Tom burst through the door.

He said, "I think there has been a misunderstanding here. I don't think of you as a trophy. I was saying that I want a photo of you and I using R and R gear. I'm sorry if that came off wrong. I'll make it up to you by treating you to lunch on the way to Clinton. Come on. This was your idea. I know a really good sports bar on the South Side.”

I sighed and said, “I'm the one who should be apologizing. Thank you for clarifying what you meant. I'll buy the lunch... and I’m driving. Let me tell Sally I'm heading out.”

I was glad that Sally was in the break room, although I wish I could have seen her face when she read the note I left her:

Sally,

You were right. Have a wonderful weekend. If anyone asks where I am, tell them I’ve gone fishin'!”

Your favorite CEO,

Kate