I approached my first Executive Committee meeting as president of the Society with a little trepidation. The Executive Committee-the subgroup that actually ran the place-met once a month, but the Christmas holidays had intervened in December, and I think the board members, still reeling from the events of the fall, had wanted to give me a little breathing room in my new position before meeting again. I’d kept the key players informed, at least. For the meeting now I’d prepared all the reports that I thought were needed, but I wasn’t sure if they were going to be enough. I hated committing to paper our lack of progress in several significant areas. But I was doing the best I could. I hoped they would recognize that. Sure, I’d known the members of the board for years, but in an entirely different role. I still had no idea how they would treat me after my sudden elevation to leadership. I knew I had Marty as my champion, but it would take more than one person in my corner to make this work. Plus the board was still reeling from a slew of unwelcome revelations a couple of months earlier, and I had to address their concerns and look like I was handling things. I wasn’t sure what I could tell them that would reassure them, but I had to try.
Most of the members smiled at me as they walked in, which I chose to interpret as a good sign. It felt really strange to be standing at the head of the table when the members congregated in the board room. I’d sent Eric home: the board secretary could handle the minutes from this meeting. Marty gave me a nod when she walked in and took her seat.
At five thirty I began. “Thank you for coming-I know how busy you all are. I’ll try to keep my remarks brief, since it hasn’t been long since our last meeting, but that one was a bit unusual.” A couple of the board members chuckled. “I can report that we don’t appear to have lost any ground since then, although the holiday season is historically slow. At least it gave us some breathing room. If you’ll look at your information packets…” I led them through the reports that they should have read but probably hadn’t: membership status, the final income numbers from our November gala (the last bright moment before the storm), and the status of acquisitions and major grant proposals (nil for both). The treasurer provided a simplified update on the state of our finances, which were, as usual, precarious.
When we’d run through the formal reports, I said, “I’ve had some success in filling some of our vacant positions. I’ve hired Shelby Carver to fill my former slot. I hope she’ll introduce herself to you soon.”
An emeritus member rumbled, “I hope you’re being careful filling positions these days. Background checks and the like. We don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
I debated about how to respond. It was all too easy to fabricate résumés and even cover your tracks in this electronic age, and I’d been relying on Melanie’s due diligence-and my gut reactions-with Shelby and then Eric. “Shelby is very well qualified, and she’s already provided a lot of help. Of course, she’s barely started, so I can’t speak to her fundraising abilities, but give her a chance to settle in. In addition, I’ve hired a new assistant.”
“He’s a he, isn’t he?” the secretary asked. Predictably it was John Rittenhouse, one of our older board members. “He sounds young, on the phone. Nell, you’ve got to remember that this person represents the Society and is often the first contact that our major donors have with us. He has to be right for the position.”
“I understand your concern, and I haven’t offered him the position on a full-time basis yet-he’s on probation. But so far I’ve had no reason to complain. Eric has been careful, polite, discreet, and he can think on his feet. And in case you don’t know it, I really need someone at that desk to keep me from being overwhelmed by the insignificant stuff. I assume you’d all prefer me to deal with more important issues?”
No one argued with me. I pressed on. “I’ve been moving slowly to fill the registrar’s position. We need someone who is well qualified, but we’re somewhat hampered by the salary we can offer. It’s just not competitive in today’s market.”
“You’ve advertised the position?” Lewis Howard, one of our most long-standing board members, asked.
“We already have, but few people were looking for jobs around the holidays, even in this economy. I expect interest will pick up now. But of course we all recognize that our collections management is on hold as long as the position is vacant. We still have a lot of sorting out to do.”
“All the more reason to make sure you find the right person.”
Marty winked at me before jumping in to say, “You may remember that at the last board meeting I suggested that we start a fund in Alfred’s memory, with the income going toward enhancing the salary for collections management positions. That, after all, is our core mission-to preserve and protect our collections, and to make them accessible to the public. We can’t do that if we can’t find them, and that means we need to hire a well-qualified registrar. I’d like to make a formal motion to create this endowed fund, and I’d like to make the first contribution of twenty-five thousand dollars. I hope you’ll all contribute.”
Hooray for Marty! She’d not only stepped up-presumably with money collected from her extended family-but she’d also challenged the others to join her. She knew how to play the game. Before anyone else spoke, I stepped in. “I can ask Shelby to look into grant funding to supplement the income further. And maybe we can suggest that the board will match all funds collected?”
Marty nodded. “Good idea, Nell. There’s a motion on the table. Do I hear a second?”
The motion passed, and I gave an inward sigh of relief.
The meeting wound down after that, and I noticed that a couple of members were looking at their watches. I was ready to adjourn when John Rittenhouse spoke up once again. “Maybe this is none of our business, but I’ve been reading about that problem at Let’s Play. I’m worried that it’s going to open up what happened here all over again. I mean, it looks like there’s a black cloud over Philadelphia museums, and some nosy newshound is bound to pick up on that.”
“How do you propose we address that, John?” I asked. “For public purposes, the police are calling it a tragic accident. Beyond offering our sympathies, what can we do?” If he didn’t know, I wasn’t about to tell him that I was already involved.
“Are you saying it wasn’t an accident? Do you know something more than what’s been announced in the news?” He didn’t voice the next logical thing-that I had contacts with local law enforcement who could tell me more.
“No, I don’t. From what I know of Arabella Heffernan, she’s a lovely person and a good administrator. I know full well the difficulties of the situation she faces, and I hope she-and Let’s Play-can weather them. By the way, I think in light of what happened at Let’s Play, we should revisit the state of our own electrical systems, so that we can reassure the public that our building is safe.” I didn’t mention that I’d already started that process.
“How much will that cost us?” someone grumbled, and we were off on a tangent once again-one that at least led away from Arabella and her problem.
After a few more minutes the meeting broke up and the members dispersed. Marty lingered behind. “You want to grab some dinner?” she asked.
I considered for about three seconds. “Sure, sounds good. I owe you for stepping up on the registrar position. Just let me get my stuff.” Luckily I’d driven in today, anticipating the late meeting, so I didn’t have to worry about catching a train.
We meandered over to the restaurant on the corner and found a quiet booth. Once we were settled and had ordered, I said, “I thought that went pretty well. Of course, we’re all still on good behavior, and there hasn’t been time to accomplish much-or to screw things up.”
Marty gave a slight nod. “I haven’t heard any complaints, but then, they know I’m on your side, so maybe they wouldn’t talk to me. Look, I’ll cut to the chase: Jimmy told me about Arabella’s ex.”
“The so-called IRA terrorist? Why would he tell you?”
Marty shrugged. “He asked me what I knew about him, back in the day, not that I could tell him much. Plus I think he’s keeping an eye on you-and trying to keep you out of trouble.”
I should have figured that James would go to his cousin Marty as the local expert on Philadelphia society. But I didn’t like the way the rest of that sounded. “Marty, I don’t need babysitting. I do think the whole terrorist connection is kind of far-fetched, especially the idea that this guy would come back now just to make trouble at Arabella’s museum. And if James is pursuing this just to keep an eye on me, you can tell him to quit it. It’s a waste of FBI resources.”
Marty smiled.” Look, if there’s a legitimate threat, he’s got to look into it. And if you want him to back off, you tell him. But I think it’s kind of cute that he wants to keep you out of trouble.”
Cute was not the word I would have chosen. Annoying came closer. “Why would I get into trouble?”
“You’ve already gotten together with Arabella a couple of times. And don’t forget Hadley.”
“Hey, Hadley came to me, not the other way around.”
“Drama queen, that one. Why don’t you tell Arabella to take care of her own problems? Not to mention Hadley?”
Our food arrived while I turned over answers in my mind. “A couple of reasons, at least where Arabella is concerned. As for Hadley, I’m happy to tell her to take a hike. But I like Arabella and I don’t think she had anything to do with this, and she doesn’t deserve this kind of trouble. I certainly know what that’s like. And I also feel a professional stake in this; like it or not, if the public believes there’s a threat to our Philadelphia cultural institutions, all our attendance-and our revenues-will drop. You’ll notice that the topic even came up at the board meeting, and they’re usually pretty clueless about things like that. The sooner this is cleared up, the better off we’ll all be. Do you want any more reasons?”
Marty laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it. But just watch your back, will you? If you want to hold on to this job, you have to keep the board happy. That’s your first priority.”
“I know.” I savored my excellent lasagna, which gave me a chance to change the subject. “Marty, did you already know about Arabella’s ex-husband’s ties to the IRA? You hinted at something in her past.”
“Like I told James, I didn’t know the details about him specifically, I just knew there had been problems. And as I’ve said to you before, I admire what I know about Arabella. It sounds like she pulled herself up by her bootstraps under difficult conditions. But I have to say, it makes me wonder-could she really have been that naive back then, married to an IRA activist? If she’s really as smart as she appears to be now, could she have really been in the dark about her husband’s activities? Just think about it, that’s all.”
I didn’t like what I was hearing. James was giving some credence to the terrorist angle, and now Marty was issuing vague warnings? Had Arabella really seen Nolan at the Market? Or was she seeing ghosts now? Her reactions had certainly seemed sincere enough. And if it really had been him, why was he here now?
Marty had résuméd talking, and I had to force myself to pay attention. “How’s Shelby working out?” she asked.
“Good, I think. She may not be old Philadelphia, but when she turns on that southern charm, it works. You should have seen her handle Hadley, getting her out of my office fast, before I said something I’d regret. I’ll have to see how she does with grant proposals. Speaking of which, thank you so much for that funding for the registrar’s position. I’ll do my best to see that we match it with grants and donations from this end.”
“I’ll make sure you do. I had to call in some favors to get my share, but I thought I owed Alfred that much. Uh, off the record, Jimmy chipped in, too.”
“Why off the record? Is he worried that he’ll look like he feels guilty about something? Obviously, if he didn’t want me to know about it, he isn’t using it to impress me. Or buy his way into my affections.”
“Could he?” Marty asked.
“Could he what?”
“How do I put this… you interested? Because if you aren’t, I can tell him to back off and save you the trouble.”
“Marty! We’ve had like one and a half dates, if you want to call them that.”
“Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll shut up about it and let you two muddle along. How’s your lasagna?” And the talk drifted to impersonal things.
It was late when I drove home, but at least the roads were empty and I made good time. I had to laugh at Marty playing matchmaker. I knew she was mistress of all the intricacies of local family connections, past and present, but I’d never thought about her trying to forge new ones, particularly within her extended Pennsylvania clan. Should I be flattered? More important, was I interested in James? Maybe, maybe. But right now I didn’t have time to think about it.