You Give Good Love

by J. J. Murray

  Hope felt Dylan’s hand loosen.

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Dylan said. “Thank you for your time.” He closed and pocketed his phone. “The monthly lease just went up, not down. They now want twenty-five grand a month instead of twenty. It’s madness.” He sighed and looked once more through the bottom-floor window. “All that glorious space going to waste.”

  “Maybe this is a sign that Art for Kids’ Sake doesn’t belong here,” Hope said.

  “I was so sure,” Dylan said. “You would have been just across the street, the bank is a few doors down, the subway is right here in front of us, Fulton Street is right there . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “This is the perfect location, and yet it’s out of my reach.” He smiled. “I dream too big sometimes, don’t I?”

  Hope kissed his cheek. “I like your dream. You just need to look at it more realistically.” She stepped back, shielding her eyes and looking up. “That is a huge building, Dylan. Fifty students wouldn’t be enough to fill it.”

  “I know,” he said. “I have to start small somewhere first. That seems to be the theme this Christmas. Small presents.”

  “And big dreams,” Hope added. “Start small and build up to your dreams.” She looked again at her ring. This tiny, beautiful ring is just the beginning of a lifelong dream.

  I hope.

  “Let’s go see what Kiki has done with our cards,” Hope said.

  “You want to go to work on a day off?” Dylan asked.

  “It will be a first.”

  They crossed Flatbush and tried to enter Thrifty, but a crowd of women prevented them from getting farther than two steps into the store. Hope saw Kiki running back and forth from the DocuTech to the counter and Justin taking pictures with a digital camera in the back.

  What’s going on?

  “Excuse me,” Hope said to the woman in front of her.

  “Wait your turn,” the woman said, clutching several “Sister Love” cards.

  “I work here,” Hope said, shedding her coat and handing it to Dylan.

  “It’s about time someone did,” the woman said. “I’ve been waiting in line for thirty minutes.”

  “Go to work,” Dylan said. “I’ll just . . . do a little selling.”

  After the woman and several others stepped aside, Hope made it to the counter.

  “Put on your smock, Miss Hope,” Kiki said, ringing up a huge stack of Odd Ducks Christmas cards. She pointed behind her. “You run that machine!”

  “Say cheese!” Justin said, the flash blinding two women holding each other next to a wide sheet of green paper. “Hi, Hope. I hope you can keep up with me.” He smiled at the couple. “It won’t be but a few minutes, ladies. Kiki will call your names when your cards are ready.”

  “What exactly do you need me to do?” Hope asked Kiki.

  “Keep running five of every one of your Christmas cards in that computer, and twenty of every ‘Sister Love’ card,” Kiki said. “We keep running out of them. Look at all the sisters in love in here! They all want to make personalized picture cards for Christmas!”

  Hope looked around. Except for Dylan and Justin, only women stared back at her, many of them holding hands.

  Kiki is always right.

  “Hope, pay attention!” Kiki said.

  “Sorry,” Hope said.

  “Get Dylan to help you restock them.” She waved at Dylan. “Priority one is doing the orders Justin is taking. We are falling behind.” She lowered her voice. “Justin is actually a decent photographer. Who knew? He will give you a flash disk, and you will insert the picture on the inside of the cards before printing.”

  “But isn’t it in black and white?” Hope whispered.

  “They look very good in black and white,” Kiki said. “We will have to see about color in the future, but not today. Now go! Go!”

  Thrifty Digital Printing became the Odd Ducks Greeting Cards capital of the world for the next six hours, and the entire staff stayed well past six to accommodate the last groups of women wanting personalized photographic Christmas cards. While Dylan flirted, stocked displays, played the salesman, and brought in five dozen wings and sodas from Buffalo Boss, Kiki kept the register humming, Justin filled the store with flashes, and Hope worked the DocuTech and Baum relentlessly.

  At 7:07 PM, Justin locked the store while Kiki totaled the day’s receipts.

  “This cannot be right,” Kiki said.

  Hope rested in her chair, Dylan sitting on the counter and munching on a hot wing. “If it’s a big number you’ve never seen before,” Hope said, “it’s the right number.”

  “We sold over forty-three hundred cards today,” Kiki said breathlessly. “This store made over sixteen thousand dollars in one day.”

  Which means Dylan and I made over eight thousand dollars in one day!

  Kiki shook a finger at Hope. “You are coming in tomorrow, and I do not care if you and Dylan have plans to make triplets. Word is going out tonight all over Brooklyn, and sisters in love will be coming in to get personalized ‘Sister Love’ cards all day tomorrow, and if you are not here, I will track you down and drag you here whether you are wearing clothing or not.”

  “I don’t know, Kiki,” Hope said. “I was so looking forward to a quiet day of making triplets.”

  Dylan slid off the counter shaking his head. “We will be here, Kiki. I’m thinking . . . curry goat and jerk chicken from The Islands for lunch and Basil Pizza for dinner.” He massaged Hope’s shoulders, whispering, “We can’t afford not to be here, can we?”

  That feels so good. “Add oxtail soup and some of those basil fries, and I’m in.” She smiled at Justin. Another first. “You missed your calling, Mr. Tuggle. You take a mean picture.”

  “Oh, I do some photography on the side,” Justin said. “I’ll bring my Nikon tomorrow.”

  Hope nodded. So maybe Justin was in his office looking at pictures that he had taken. “What kind of photography do you do?”

  Justin blushed. “Um, portraits, um, couples, group shots, that sort of thing.”

  Um, porn.

  “Is business good?” Dylan asked.

  “It’s steady,” Justin said.

  Porn is like that.

  “Well,” Dylan said, “perhaps you can do our portrait one day.”

  Okay, no. Oh, Kiki, please don’t—

  Kiki laughed. “I would love to see the picture Justin takes of you two. Do you also do two women, Justin?”

  “Sure,” Justin said, “and my rates are very reasonable.”

  “Am I missing something?” Dylan asked.

  Hope sighed. “You want to tell him, Justin, or should I wait and tell him when I get home?”

  “I don’t mind telling him,” Justin said. “I specialize in artistic nudes. If you would like to see some of my work, we could step into my office.”

  Hope snatched Dylan’s hand. “That won’t be necessary, Justin.” Dylan has already seen some of your work. She grabbed her coat and pulled Dylan out of the store.

  “What’s all this about?” Dylan asked.

  “Justin does artistic nudes bordering on porn,” Hope said. “Remember that day in his office?”

  “Oh. Oh!” He was quiet for a moment. “So does that mean those three were only posing for that picture?”

  “I don’t think so, Dylan,” Hope said. “That looked like an action shot to me.”

  Dylan was silent for a few moments. “Want to do a few action shots with me? I have a camera. It’s not a Nikon, but I know we would look smashing in front of the Christmas tree.”

  Hope smiled. “Do you want to trim my tree? I want to deck your halls, Mr. Healy.”

  “With boughs of holly.”

  Oh . . . yes.

  After a night in front of and twice slightly under the tree at Dylan’s apartment, and after reviewing the pictures they took in the mirror in Dylan’s room, they returned to Thrifty early Saturday morning. A line of women had already formed all the way up Flatbu
sh to Fulton Street, still others trickling across the street from the subway entrance.

  “Are you ready?” Dylan asked.

  “Maybe they’re in line for breakfast at Golden Krust,” Hope said.

  “They’re facing this way,” Dylan said.

  “I know,” Hope said. We may run out of paper!

  “You might want to open earlier than ten,” Dylan said.

  Hope nodded. “We need to open now.” Impatient women plus long line equals trouble.

  She approached the door and smiled at the first couple in line. “I work here.”

  “You the manager?” the shorter of the two asked. “There are two people already inside, and they refuse to open the door.”

  “We usually open at ten,” Hope said, “but we’ll try to open earlier today.”

  “So when are you opening?” the other woman asked. “We got places to go.”

  “Soon,” Hope said. She peered inside and saw Kiki already at the DocuTech and Justin readying a fancy camera on a tripod to her right in front of a tall gray screen. She knocked on the door.

  Justin came smiling to the door, and Hope noticed he was wearing nice jeans and a NYU sweatshirt. “Hi, Hope.”

  He remembered my name. “We need to open soon.”

  Justin stuck his head out the door. “Wow!” He nodded at the first women in line. “We will be opening in five minutes. Are you here for personalized picture cards?”

  The women nodded.

  “Pictures to the right, regular card orders to the left,” Kiki said.

  Justin opened the door, and Hope and Dylan stepped inside as a murmur swept through the crowd. “Dylan, good to see you.”

  Dylan pulled out one of his trusty memo pads. “I might be able to speed this up if I walked the line and took down some information. Then all they have to do is give you the page and sit for the picture.”

  “Great idea,” Justin said.

  Dylan kissed Hope on the cheek. “Ready to rock and roll?”

  This is amazing! “Let’s rock.”

  Ten hours later, they broke Friday’s record by $6,000.

  They almost ran out of thirty-two-pound paper.

  To celebrate, Hope and Dylan took Justin and Kiki out for stuffed meat pizzas and dozens of garlic knots at Not Ray’s Pizza on Fulton, and after Angie showed up, it turned out that Justin, of all people, was the life of the party.

  “I graduated at the very bottom of my class at NYU,” Justin said cheerily. “Not many people can say that. I was the worst in my class, and I didn’t even get to walk with my class. I was on the six-year plan. The Yarmouth and Tuggle families then tried to make me employable for the next ten years in meaningless jobs within the Yarmouth conglomerate.” He smiled. “It’s not much of a conglomerate. My uncle owns a copy shop in Brooklyn, a trucking company out in Ronkonkoma, two pubs near Times Square, and a pub in Queens. I spent most of my time not working at the pubs.” He patted his stomach. “I drank up a lot of the profits.”

  “How’d you get so good at photography?” Hope asked.

  “I have no idea,” Justin said. “Actually, I do. I was the one who took all the family portraits and pictures, mainly because they didn’t want me in the picture. They didn’t want any proof of a Tuggle who didn’t become a success in America.”

  Hope watched Dylan interacting with the others, and she felt so proud. Dylan is so giving, loving, and caring, and it doesn’t matter who he’s with, whether it’s a child, a perverted photographer, a bisexual Jamaican in love with a Hungarian lesbian, or me. He gives everyone time, and it’s not an act. Some people act as if they’re listening. Dylan listens. He treats everyone he meets with respect, honesty, and humor when he could have easily ended up like his brother—or worse.

  The man I love is an American success story, one of those stories you never read about.

  Once Dylan left after a long day of Sunday snuggling and two pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, Hope had a heart-to-heart with herself.

  I have been so selfish. Dylan sacrificed his money for my eyes and he has spent so much on food and my gifts! He has always put my life and health in front of his. My beach house is not nearly as important to me anymore. One day, I’ll get one, even if I can only rent it for a week. That’s why they call them “dream vacations,” right?

  Everyone’s dreams shouldn’t stay out of reach forever.

  I can put Dylan’s dream in his grasp.

  With the money we made this weekend, I will have close to eighty thousand dollars in my beach house fund.

  Which is now officially Dylan’s dream fund.

  I don’t deserve a dream house.

  Dylan deserves his dream.

  I’m going to make Dylan’s dream come true.

  Hope searched the Internet, Craigslist, and real estate websites for the rest of the night and vowed to inquire about the vacant office building across from Thrifty first thing in the morning.

  Maybe I can talk those fools down, but even if I can’t, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.

  The next morning, with Kiki running late, Hope called the number on the “For Lease” sign across from Thrifty.

  “Hello, I am inquiring about leasing a vacant property fronting Flatbush at Nevins Street.”

  “That property is a hot one right now,” an annoying man said.

  He sounds like Mickey Mouse.

  “I’m fielding dozens of calls every day for that space,” he squeaked. “For twenty-seven five, you can move right in today.”

  What? “It was twenty-five thousand on Friday!” This is absurd! “Why have you upped the price?”

  “The property is hot hot hot!”

  You’re not not not! Because you received some random phone calls, you upped the price. Did any of those people call you back? I doubt it!

  “That building has been cold and vacant for two years,” Hope said. “How is raising the lease price going to get it filled?”

  “The economy is coming back,” the man said. “All the signs point to it.”

  “Which ones?” Hope asked.

  “Unemployment is dropping,” the man said. “Didn’t you see today’s Times?”

  “That employment data is a joke,” Hope said. “There are thousands of seasonal workers out there who will be out of jobs as soon as stores do inventory in January. Employment always goes up during the holidays.”

  “Well, Black Friday was a godsend for Brooklyn businesses this year,” the man said. “And the Times says so. The numbers this year are off the charts.”

  And you are out of your mind. “What are they basing those numbers on?”

  “The Times said stores were especially crowded Friday.”

  That doesn’t mean those crowds of shoppers bought a lot of stuff! “I’ve lived in Brooklyn for ten years. A vast majority of the businesses in Brooklyn are small, family operations. You think any of these families can afford that building for what you’re asking?”

  “They’ll have to, won’t they?” the man said. “What is your name? I’d like to send you some more information.”

  My name is Angry, and your name is Stupide. “What if Chase Manhattan Bank vacates the other half of that building? I’ve seen fewer and fewer employees going into and coming out of there these last few months. What is going to anchor that property if Chase leaves?”

  “That building is prime, Miss . . . I didn’t catch your name.”

  Because I didn’t throw it. “Just two months ago it was at twenty thousand a month. Friday, it was at twenty-five. Today, it’s at twenty-seven-five. Will it be at thirty thousand tomorrow?”

  “It might be. The phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  Hope sighed. “Did it ever occur to you that people like me are calling to find out what you’re asking, and that once we hear your ridiculous, inflated lease price, we won’t call you back? You’re pricing that building into permanent vacancy.”

  “Well, Miss . . . um, I still didn’t get your name.”


  You’re still not getting it.

  “What might you be able to afford?” he asked.

  “I might be able to afford twenty, but even that’s a stretch.”

  “What did you have in mind for putting in that space?” he asked.

  “Art for Kids’ Sake,” Hope said, “a day care center for the arts for preschool children.”

  “A day care center?” he said with a laugh. “In that pristine space? You’re joking! That’s seven thousand modern square feet of prime office building, and you want to waste it on some kids.”

  “If I offer you nineteen—”

  Click.

  Bay-it. Hope hung up the phone. I wouldn’t want Dylan’s dream to be there anyway if we have to deal with that fool!

  Kiki arrived a few minutes later. “Are you okay?”

  Hope nodded.

  “You looked vexed.”

  Just angry with “Mickey Mouse” and his foolishness. Hope turned to the mainframe. “I’m fine.”

  After sending the overnight Internet orders to the DocuTech, Hope surfed the Internet looking for properties for several hours before finding a new Craigslist listing at 1001 Flatbush Avenue that came loaded with pictures and information.

  It’s definitely an older building with lots of brick. Three floors with full basement apartment. He could live there. We could live there and save ourselves rent payments. I wonder when his lease is up. Mine is up at the end of December. Nine tall windows face Flatbush to the west, but they’re all bricked in. If we knocked out the bricks, there would be plenty of light from about one o’clock to sundown. Fifty-six hundred square feet, or fourteen hundred square feet per level. Adequate parking around back, and it’s just around the corner from the Loew’s Kings Theatre restoration.

  Art for Kids’ Sake can be part of a cultural revival on Flatbush Avenue.

  Hope used Google to map it. There’s a jeans and sneakers store on one side, a beauty supply store on the other, and a Golden Krust right across the street. She also found a Staples half a block away.

  This is a great location. “Contact Mr. Vacca.” What kind of name is that? I wonder why a lease price isn’t listed. She sighed. Because it’s probably too much.