Hill, Bill & Molly
by Molly-Ann Leikin

Two months ago, I was on my way to the chiropractor when I saw President Clinton's motorcade drive by. "Wow", I said to myself. "There's the President of the United States! I'd sure like to meet him. Too bad he's in such a rush. I bet he would love to chat and sample my clever repartee."

Two weeks later, I was on a hiking vacation in Jackson, Wyoming. A huge crowd was gathered in the town square, and somebody said the President and Mrs. Clinton were coming by in a few minutes on their way to dinner. We waited and waited, and when the Pres. finally arrived, waving and holding hands with Hillary, everybody cheered and wished him happy birthday. I told my hiking/sorbet buddy, Judi, that this was certainly exciting, but I always thought of myself as someone who would have dinner with the President. I never thought of myself as just some yutz who camps on sidewalks and waits for the President to go by on his way to dinner with someone else.

Two weeks later, I was invited to a fund-raiser for President Clinton at Greenacres, an estate in Beverly Hills, the one known as "The Harold Lloyd Estate". It is the same one used in the film "The Godfather", where the movie producer wakes up to find the horse's head in his bed. Well, I said to myself, here's my chance for that dinner with Bill.

I'd heard it's very common that when people - including David Letterman - meet Mr. Clinton, they are so in awe of who he is, they turn into tofu, forget their names and can't put together a simple sentence. I was determined this was not going to happen to me. The entire night before the party, I kept telling myself "Hill and Bill are plotzing right now, saying 'wow - we're going to meet Molly-Ann Leikin tomorrow!'" It was either that or imagine our leader naked, and he's already had enough problems with that sort of thing.

The FBI messengered me a very cool sticker for my dashboard, which gave me access to the estate. The evening of the event, I drove past eight hundred cute police and several thousand secret service agents posing as secret service agents, on my way to the valet parker. My purse was searched, I was metal detected and boom - I was in.

The house was magnificent. Whoever owned it must've kept more of his publishing than I did. I made a note to remind myself to ask who his attorney was.

One of the reasons I wanted to go to the party was to meet and network with the other industry people there. I figured that at a $25-per-ticket industry fund-raiser, I'd meet people who could afford $25 and probably had as much clout as a turnip. But this ticket cost more than the GNP of a mid-size, down-sized, third world country, so I assumed the other guests would be high rollers and decision makers. And I was right.

Since the President was two hours late, those ninety-nine of us at the cocktail party got to know a lot about each others allergies and personal trainers, and my business horizons have broadened considerably as a result. Never shy, I introduced myself to everyone, even the guests who figured I couldn't be anybody important since they'd never seen me on the cover of People, and I didn't, to their knowledge, run a movie studio, own a National League Baseball team or a supermarket chain. But Molly made contacts.

The photographers were all going berserk over the movie stars, as well they should have at an event like this, but then I saw something in the hall and started to shake. I grabbed a photographer by the arm. "Come over here - hurry - come on..." But the guy wasn't interested. He was snapping Sharon Stone. I persisted. "Over here - it's important!" I was hyper-ventilating now. "Over here...please..." With the half-nelson I had around his neck, he had no choice but to follow me through the crowd, to the hallway art gallery. "Look," I exclaimed, "it's Monet!" He stared at me a moment, puzzled, then asked "What movie is he in again?"

When President and Mrs. Clinton finally arrived, all ninety-nine of us cocktailees who'd eaten every hors d'oeuvres in sight and had begun nibbling on the lawn, had our pictures taken with the first couple. Determined not to fumble and mumble, I finally said "Hello, Mr. President, I'm Molly-Ann Leikin. I don't need any political favors at the moment, but I sure would appreciate it if you'd lend me Warren Christopher to help my Condo association with a sticky problem". Mr. Clinton laughed, as did Hillary, and we all said "souffle" for our Kodak moment. The cocktailees followed me to the Neville Brothers/Eagles/Streisand concert, and later, while I waited for the valet to bring me my car, I asked a secret service agent to please call Shakey's on his cell phone and order me a pizza. As I ate it on my way home, I wondered when I'd be having dinner with Prince Charles...

I mentioned my adventure for several reasons:

* When I told my friends I had met the president the night before, each of them asked "president of what?" I need to upgrade my list of acquaintances.
* When I saw President Clinton's motorcade drive by that first time, I said I'd like to meet him. A few weeks later, when I saw him in Wyoming, I said out loud that I wanted to have dinner with him. A few weeks later, I was having my picture taken with him. That wasn't an accident. The idea was planted in my consciousness, which gave it validity and let it happen.
* I knew that by attending a fancy social function where potential business associates were also guests, I would be considered their social equal, and as a corollary, a business equal, too. That has paid off very handsomely.
* Next time I have to meet someone important in a business deal, I can use the same mind set I used with the President - "He's been up all night, gasping with excitement over knowing that tomorrow he's going to meet Molly-Ann Leikin!"
* I was having a very good hair day.
* Even if you're broke and wondering where your next Twinkie is going to turn up, if you put yourself in a social situation where successful people are, some of that should rub off on you. Let me know when it does.

© 2000 Molly-Ann Leikin

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