The search for Sandie was not as easy as I had initially hoped. After seeing the work environment of Kerrigan & Moore I assumed that it might be common practice to hang out with colleagues after work to kiss up to superiors and the such, most probably during a drink in a nearby bar, and there were many of them in the neighborhood. Stalking her, like waiting for her near the elevator shafts, came to mind, but only as a last resort.

Today was the day that we would meet Jonathan O’Keeffe, General Manager at Kerrigan & Moore, to introduce and discuss my book. To reflect the importance of the meeting for my personal future, I wore my black Armani suit, white shirt, and red power tie.

It seems impossible to live in the heart of New York City and not have a life, but in less than two weeks, my life had turned into a mind-numbing daily routine. The only leisurely activity came in form of an extensive morning workout using the in-house facilities, or jogging through Central Park, followed by a long, hot shower and a healthy breakfast.

The first week after moving into the Herold Towers was agonizing for me, because there was virtually nothing on my calendar. I had an appointment with my agent, Janice Vandenberg, but she was on a business trip to visit publishers on the West Coast, namely San Francisco. She had promised to promote my book, and we would talk about the result the day after her return. That day was today, and the appointment was in the afternoon.

The Herald Towers Apartments are located on West 34th Street in the Garment District of Manhattan. It is twenty-six stories high and its three prewar towers, in the shadow of the iconic Empire State Building, accommodate 690 luxury residential units. The location, nestled at the crossroads of all major New York City subway lines, was more than perfect for me.

I had consulted with Steve about the idea of going to the conference. After months of participating in various Online forums, writing entries after entries to “build my platform”, I was sick and tired of receiving advice and critique from other amateurs. My hope was to meet world-class professionals whose brain I could pick.

The Union Station on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, DC, was built at the beginning of the twentieth century, and at the time it was the largest train station in the world. It is also considered one of the finest examples of the Beaux-Arts style of architecture. In every aspect, it was designed to be monumental.

Steve arrived late, as usual. Knowing him and his profound lack of punctuality, we had asked him to come by around 6:00 pm but had prepared supper to be served at 7:00. Despite our efforts, he beat us yet again. He arrived at 7:30. I had prepared a black bean soup that, thanks to Steve’s late arrival, needed several refills of chicken broth while simmering on the stove.

I woke up with a headache and checked the alarm clock. It was Sunday at 2:24 in the morning. Sandie and I had been partying all night, and the mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke was never a good combination for me.