Strapped by Nina G. Jones Page B

business, the handshake. He hates touching people’s hands. Everyone in H.I. thinks he is a germaphobe and he prefers this, but I know it is the touch itself, not the germs, that makes him uneasy. One would think that the need to avoid touch would be more harmful to personal relationships than business relationships, but in the business world, there is nothing more offensive to someone than to stick out his or her hand and to be left hanging. On one occasion, I noticed him try to contain a wince while shaking someone’s hand. He was a client from overseas and there was very little Taylor could do to get out of it. I asked Taylor about it to understand how I could help. He explained he could tolerate an individual here or there, but at a party or a gathering where he would deal with a barrage of hands, he would find the cumulative anxiety more than he could bear. He didn’t elaborate on what the result would be, and I didn’t push for an answer.
    The night before we were to fly out to St. Petersburg, we sat down in his office late in the afternoon for our last recap in the US before flying out. After going through many logistics, I asked him for details about my role at the gala.
    “So, what did you do before me? What did you do with Emily?”
    “Emily was a great assistant, she would intercept items from people, but as usual, I was on my own. She knew about the issues and helped whenever she could.” Emily couldn’t touch him either. Again, I feel very special.
    “What about parties? She didn’t shake hands on your behalf, so what do you do?”
    “Sometimes, I tell people I have a bug, and that I don’t want to give it to them if it’s a smaller gathering. I always make sure to have a drink in one hand and my other hand in my pocket or occupied with something else. This minimizes the odds of people sticking out their hand for a shake. I also do the friendly pat on the shoulder, which requires no skin contact and eliminates the need for a handshake.” I remember Henry greeting him with a pat on the shoulder the first time I met him. He knows too. “I also have gotten really good at pretending I don’t see the hand and go in for the shoulder pat. It’s the no-hand to shoulder pat combo.” He says this with a smile. I think using humor to talk about this is good.
    “So how can I help?” I ask.
    “Well, you have been extremely helpful and discreet so far. There’s not much more you can do.” He pauses. “Well, there is one thing, but it’s not necessary and only if you are comfortable.” I genuinely appreciate the rare moments when he and I can just talk like this.
    “Just tell me. I won’t do anything I am not comfortable with.”
    “Well, you could...uh...hold my hand.” This powerful man, this mega-CEO suddenly reminds me of a boy asking a girl to prom. “It’s a credible way to keep my other arm occupied. You could also hook your arm into mine. It has the same effect.”
    “Are there no end to the terrible things you will make me do?” I say, clearly feigning outrage.
    “Well, if we need to use this tactic, we can, if we can go without it, we will.” He smiles, places his hands on his knees, and rises from his seat. No, please, I will gladly accept.
    ***
    Harrison escorts me to the plane. I am greeted by the pilot and turn to see Taylor sipping on a cup of coffee in a large, camel colored leather chair. Henry is sitting across from Taylor, his back facing me, while on his cell phone.
    “Good morning Taylor...Henry.” I give Henry a very professional nod.
    “Morning Shyla!” Henry says while still on the phone.
    Taylor raises his coffee as if toasting to me, but remains especially quiet this morning. I assume he has a lot on his mind with this upcoming trip and he is in full blown Mr. Holden-mode. I open my huge file of Russian people. I have been so busy with all of the number crunching, errands and proposal writing, that I haven’t really had a chance to dig into this. I hope the