Power and Passion (11 page)

Sara nodded, wishing she had brought a pen
and paper so she could take some notes. "And how do I get them
involved? How can I get anyone to commit to something that doesn't
exist yet…and might not at the rate I'm going?" Joan shook her head
as she chewed a bite of her cake. "No commitment. We're just
looking for verbal agreements here. All we have to do is call some
places and ask if they
might
be interested in sponsoring or
attending or donating whatever it is we need from them, and even if
they say 'we'll get back to you,' we can say they've shown some
tentative interest. Do you have someone who can help you make a
database of potentials and make phone calls to all of them?

It's a lot of legwork, but it's necessary,
and it needs to be done as soon as possible."

Sara sighed, blowing her hair away from her
face. She thought of all the people in her office, each of them so
busy with his or her own projects. Isabella would help her, of
course, even if she had to do it on her own time. But who else…

"The interns!" She finally said as that
proverbial light bulb switched on above her head. "We have some
university students working with us for a couple of months. This
would be a perfect job for them."

Joan smiled and pointed a finger at her.
"Now you're talking. Interns are a great resource. My assistant,
Mina, started out as one in my office. She was so good I hired her
right out of school, and she's been with me for three years now. I
couldn't do a thing without her." Joan took a quick sip of her tea.
"Have you heard of the Clinton Global Initiative?" "Oh, of course,"
Sara replied. The Clintons—former US president Bill, former
secretary of state Hillary, and their daughter, Chelsea—were well
known and liked in this region, particularly because of all they
had done to make higher education available to students who could
not afford it on their own. The Clinton Global Initiative, founded
by former president Clinton, often gave scholarships to American
citizens who wished to attend universities and even, on occasion,
made exceptions for young people from other nations with
exceptional talents and, unfortunately, exceptional need. Many,
many people applied, but only a very few were admitted.

"Was Mina in their scholarship program?"
Sara asked. "Yes, she was. Wouldn't have been able to attend
college if she hadn't. And what a waste of a great mind that would
have been. Anyway I'm sure you'll meet her at some point. There's
no way I could take on a project like this without her help."

Sara was quick to jump in. "Oh, Joan, no.
I'm not expecting you to—"

Joan held up a hand to stop her. "I know. I
know you just wanted some advice on what to do. But, listen, I have
experience in this sort of thing.
Lots
of experience. I
don't want to steal the project away from you, but I am sure I can
help you in some very tangible ways to get it off the ground. If
you don't want me to, just say the word, and I'll back off. But I
wish you wouldn't." An image of Mackenzie, her beautiful
granddaughter, flashed through her mind. "I really want to help in
any way I can. The people you work with deserve it."

Sara just looked at her for a moment, the
warm feeling she'd had now growing into an amazing flame. That Joan
would not just give her advice but step in as a partner on this
project…well, Sara could not have dreamed of such a thing. "I am so
grateful," she said, her voice low and humble. "How can I ever
thank you for your help?"

"No need," Joan replied. "All you have to do
is stick with it and see this through to the end. Can you promise
me that?" She held out her hand across the table, waiting for a
shake to seal the deal.

Sara hesitated. This was a big promise. What
if she couldn't get it done? If, despite all her best efforts, the
gala simply was not meant to be? She was not Joan; she had never
done anything like this before.

See, that's the sort of thinking you need
to stop
, Sara told herself.
No comparing, no self-doubt, and
no telling yourself you're not good enough
.

Before she could think about it any further,
she reached out and grasped Joan's hand strongly. They shook then
let their hands part again.

"I am ready to do whatever it takes," Sara
said, her voice now loud and firm. "And I am happy to be able to
work with you on this."

Joan, taking a sip of her tea, shook her
head. "Oh, no,
I
will be working with
you
. Let's get
that straight from the start. I might be the one with more
experience, and I want to share it all with you. I'm an open
book—what's mine is yours. But
you
are the lead on this,
Sara. This is your time to shine. I'm just here to make sure you
don't stumble along the way. Or that if you do, you get back up and
keep moving ahead."

Sara smiled brightly. "Fair enough. I will
appreciate that support."

"Okay. So it's settled then. Now let's talk
about the nuts and bolts of this thing. Let's see what we need to
make it work."

Over the course of the next couple of hours,
Joan told Sara everything she needed to know about proposal
writing: who to call, what to ask, even how to format the document
for easiest reading. After Joan produced a notepad and pen from her
pocketbook, Sara wrote down everything she said, making bulleted
lists of all she needed to get done.

"There's so
much
," she said at one
point with a weary sigh. She ran her finger down the page on which
she was writing. Twelve items on that list alone.

This made Joan laugh. "Well, no one said it
would be easy. But this is the worst part, I promise. In the
beginning you're trying to make something out of nothing. As you
start to build, it gets easier and easier. You'll see. It's a
philosophy applicable to many things in life."

Sara agreed to take her word on it and not
to get too discouraged yet. In fact, despite the enormous amount of
tasks she now had ahead of her, she found herself not feeling put
off at all. She was actually more excited than ever about the gala
because now, with Joan's help, she could see that it was truly
possible. She
could
make it happen if she put her mind to
it.

"Now we come to the most important part,"
Joan said, taking the notepad from Sara and turning to a new
page.

"MONEY," she wrote at the top of the page
and underlined it twice.

"This is going to be your deciding factor,"
she went on. "Oh, no," Sara interrupted. "I'm sorry, I thought I
told you. My fiancé, Pierce, has offered to put up funds for the
whole thing. So money's not a worry at all, thank goodness." Joan
smiled and closed her eyes for a moment. "No, no.

I'm not talking about that kind of money."
She opened her eyes again, looked down at the paper, and began to
write. "What we need to show is exactly where the money we make
will go," she explained as she drew a sort of pie chart and filled
in the slices with descriptions: "overhead," "research,"
"equipment," "sports venues," "travel costs," and a few more. Joan
put down the pen and held the paper up so Sara could see. "These
are just examples so you can get an idea of what I mean. Say we're
going to bring in a million dollars. We need to account for where
every penny of those donations goes. 'Overhead' can pay for the
expenses of the gala, whatever your fiancé might not cover, if
anything. 'Equipment'—are you going to use the funds raised to buy
new sneakers for the athletes? Does the track you use need new
hurdles? Are your soccer balls deflated?"

This made Sara laugh—it was a problem they
actually had.

Joan smiled too. "And for travel. The
Special Olympics event is going to be held in the States early next
year. In New Jersey, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," Sara exclaimed. "We are all so
excited about it. This has motivated all our athletes, families,
and staff. It's an ideal opportunity for our athletes to showcase
their talents and feel like part of a global community. So many of
our athletes and our staff have not been to the United States. We
are hoping that everyone who wants to can go." She shrugged a
little. "Always have to think about the money, you know."

Joan tapped her red-polished fingernail
against the pie chart. "Well, that's where this comes in. What if
we say that twenty percent of the money we make from the gala will
go toward sending people to New Jersey?"

Sara clasped her hands together in front of
her. "Oh, that would be wonderful indeed. Joan, I never would have
thought of such a thing."

Across the table, Joan winked at her. "Well,
that's why you brought me in, right?" She put the notepad down on
the table between them, and they both looked at it for a moment.
"Anyway, it's all about accountability and transparency. In your
proposal, you want to show that you have a plan for where the money
will go and note that after the event the detailed accounts will be
available. And you want to show what
impact
it will have.
That is what will impress the higher-ups: what effects will this
gala have on the organization? How will it help? If you want to
think of it in business terms, what will be the
return on
investment
?"

"Ah, yes, I see it now." Sara looked up at
Joan. "It's not just about making the event itself sound appealing.
It's more about what will happen after the event."

Joan pointed at her emphatically. "Yes! Now
you've got it. That's exactly what we need to show. Sure, your
supervisors will want to see what will go into this project as far
as money and time and manpower. But mostly they want to know what
will come out—what tangible, doable, workable solutions you will
create by going to all this trouble." Joan picked up the notepad
again, closed its cover, and handed it to Sara. "So…are you ready
to get to work?"

Sara accepted the notepad. She held it in
one hand and tapped it against her other palm. Outside the window,
at the bottom of a nearby ski slope, a young boy slid to a stop,
his skis crossed and his poles askew. His parents ran over to him,
clapping their hands, big smiles on their faces. The boy whipped
off his hat and goggles and, holding them, pumped his fists in the
air.

"I did it! I did it!" he mouthed, his voice
inaudible through the thick window's glass.

Sara turned back to Joan once more. "I'm
ready," she said. "I am ready to make this gala happen."

S
ara never was much for parties. Looking
around the great hall full of people in formal attire—the women in
dresses, skirt suits, trouser suits, abayas, and floor-length
gowns, some men in fine suits with ties, others in kanduras—she
braced herself for a stressful evening. She wore an elegant black
dress that fit well on her petite frame, a pair of modest kitten
heels, and delicate gold earrings; Pierce had told her several
times how beautiful she looked, but she did not feel it for
herself. Give her a comfortable blouse and a pair of jeggings and
put her at a bowling alley, a racing track, a swimming pool—that
was her natural habitat. There she felt like a fish out of water.
She just hoped it wasn't obvious to others.

"Better get used to it," Pierce whispered in
her ear from behind, startling her, "if you want to pull off that
gala you keep talking about."

He came around in front of her, a glass of
fresh pineapple juice in each hand. He gave one to her, and they
clinked them together, a silent toast to nothing in particular.
Sara took a sip. Chilled and fresh, just as she liked it.

"Do I look that miserable?" she asked,
trying hard to put a smile on her face. She knew how important
things like this were to her fiancé, or at least to his career,
which depended so much on opportunities to network. She'd been to a
handful of them with him in the few years they'd been together.
What was this one about? Sara thought for a moment.

Oh, yes
, she said to herself as she
took another sip of juice. This event was for the British Embassy,
to promote trade relations between UK citizens and the local
Emirati business base. Pierce had been invited for obvious reasons—
he had been born in London and now worked in Dubai.

Anyway it really was an impressive affair,
Sara had to admit, even compared to the other corporate events she
had attended. That night there'd been a musician strumming an Arab
instrument called an oud, roaming servers offering a dozen
different equally delicious canapés, and, of course, glasses of
fresh juices and wine delicately balanced on silver trays. A
keynote speaker had delivered a very rousing homage to
international partnerships and Middle Eastern industriousness that
many in attendance seemed to agree with, given the amount of
applause he received at the end.