None of these are sexy in themselves, and yet there seems to be something about a conference in a hotel that unleashes the sexual beings behind the drab grey flannel. My friend Maddie, herself a wonderful photographer, has paid the rent since graduation by working in sales for a large software company. Her peers from all points of the region convene annually in our largest conference suite and spend four days being hectored by people with the demeanour of hellfire preachers. One can almost hear the hallelujahs filtering out from the double doors and into Reception. Sales is a scary world, it seems.
Despite, or perhaps because of, the fervour and fever in the air, Maddie always looks forward to these extravaganzas. Partly for the hotel room and free food, partly for the sex. Soberly single for the rest of the year, Maddie treats the conference as her annual binge; a chance for some string-free exploration of her sexuality. She does not really care about the career consequences, because it isn't t
he job she wants to be doing for life anyway – and so far, I gather, it has worked out as a brilliant networking scheme.
Last year was her fifth and wildest conference. With her permission, I shall relate the tale.
She knew that Phil was going to be there, and she was looking out for him from the moment they were all herded together in the meeting room. He had been last year's memorable conquest; Salesman of the Year for the Thames Valley region, all charm and sincerity and Hugo Boss. Maddie was not surprised he sold so much software – it was him that the punters bought, not his product. He was expert at the art of drawing you in, making you feel important and special, crinkling those spaniel-brown eyes in sympathy and understanding, then, wham, sucker punch, you had signed up for twenty thousand grand's worth of indifferently coded programs. Or sex, in Maddie's case. Great sex, new sex, sexy things she had never done before – in the shower, and over the windowsill with the window open. He had let her photograph him naked and she in return had made him the gift of her virgin backside. It had been amazing, like a full relationship in frantic fast-forward mode, but without the dilemma of whether to keep it going at the end.
He had given her his phone number, but she had not called him. Phil, for her, existed in this hotel, along with her sexual self. Outside in the streets, in their homes and offices, they greyed into ghostlike versions of those Technicolor lovers. Reality would spoil it, thought Maddie. But the conference was not reality, and Phil's name had been on the mailing list.
Waiting for his grand entrance, she amused herself by casting her eye over the male delegates as they trickled in, consigning them to the categories of Definitely, Possibly and Not.
Novelty tie: Not. Nice suit but badly trimmed moustache: Possibly. Horrible shiny suit, ferret eyes: Not. Lanky, square-framed spectacles, beautiful olive skin: Definitely. Barking into a mobile phone and glaring round the room to make sure everybody understands how important he is: Not. Phil: oh God, definitely, definitely.
He was even more handsome than she remembered, with his sweep of honey-blond hair, his warm melty eyes and his broad white smile. His lightweight jacket was slung across a shoulder, his crisp white shirt open at the neck, inviting foraging female hands. He cast his eyes around the room and Maddie almost jumped up from her seat to signal herself, but before he saw her he lit on the good-looking olive-skinned man, gave him a thumbs-up and went to sit beside him.
Maddie ignored the way her ribcage seemed to drop; there was plenty of time, and besides, he had probably arranged to meet up with his friend. They might work together as a sales team, though she did not recognise the other man, a new recruit perhaps. Sitting side by side they made a stunning contrast; fair and dark, lighthearted and intense, frothy mousse and bitter chocolate. She thought she would like to photograph them together.
At length they were called into the conference hall for the first session. Maddie managed to swarm up behind Phil, bumping shoulders with him as they squeezed through the doors.
'Hello,' he said effusively, that wide, bright smile dazzling down. 'It's great to see you.'
'Likewise. You're looking well,' said Maddie, then they moved to different parts of the room. Maddie always preferred to lurk on the fringes while Phil favoured high visibility. Not so high that he couldn't indulge in a bit of text-flirting, though, Maddie decided. Putting her mobile on vibrate, she began to key a message as discreetly as she could, hoping that Phil was the kind of man who could never quite bring himself to disconnect from his cellular lifeline. Most salesmen were like that, she had found.
'This brings back memories,' she jabbed.
The phone came to life under the desk within half a minute. Maddie bit her lip to avoid giggling with delight. 'Gd ones, I hope?' read the message.
'The best. Who's ur m8?'
'Meet us in the bar l8r & Ill introduce u.'
'Sounds gr8.'
Maddie, buoyed by the prospect of taking up her fling with Phil where she had left off, decided to switch off the flirtation and concentrate on the session: 'Closing the Deal: Inspirational Techniques from the US'. She tried to skim-read the densely printed handout she had been given, but her phone vibrated once more and she had to look.
'R u wearing those red knickers?'
Maddie blushed and switched off the phone. She was going to have to put Phil out of her mind for the next two hours. But judging by the slight dampness in those notorious red knickers she wore, this would not be easy.
Such was Phil's general popularity that it took him a long time to negotiate the crowded bar to the corner where Maddie sat, pretending to read over her notes. She looked up to see his pale-blue silk tie hanging in front of her as he leant over the table, grinning into her face.
'You didn't call me. You met someone else?'
Maddie coughed, intent on playing it cool but finding that the heat in her groin obstructed her purpose. 'No,' she said. 'Nobody else. I've just been busy.'
'With your camera?'
She smiled, feeling that a joke was being shared.
'Not sharing a room, are you?' asked Phil, sitting down in the bucket chair across from her.
'No, I'm in a single, though. One of the pokier rooms at the back of the building.' We'll have to use yours, she managed to avoid saying.
'Ah, really?' Phil frowned, then waved over at his tall friend, whose head was visible above the mass of unwinding sales reps. 'Thing is, Maddie, I've been put in a twin room. With Damo there.'
Maddie tried to keep her cheekbones still and her lips curved upwards. 'Oh?'