by Mary Feliz
Someone behind me snorted and I turned to find a plump, frizzy-haired woman wearing a flowing purple skirt with a mint-green T-shirt and Birkenstock sandals. “Anonymous, my foot,” she said, elbowing the dominatrix woman in black who’d been sitting in front of me.
“You’ve got that right,” said the dominatrix. “Darling Dennis DeSoto does it again. Showing us how much more dedicated he is than anyone else, but maintaining his sham humility by making the donation ‘anonymous’.” She did the air-quote thing with the first two manicured fingers of each hand. “But he made sure everyone knew who that anonymous donor was. Typical. How soon do you think we can clear out of here? I’ve got things to do.”
Maybe I’d misjudged them. The snooty Dennis DeSoto couldn’t be all bad if he’d made a huge donation to the school. He’d put his money where his mouth was, at least. The plump earth mother and the dominatrix both had a little bit of the irreverent sarcasm I liked to see in someone who might one day become a friend.
Harrier slapped her iPad again. “This donation is particularly welcome in light of the fact that the district has reported a financial setback that may impede our academic program.”
A murmur of concern rose from the crowd, but it stopped when Harrier slapped her iPad for attention. I entertained the snarky thought that Harrier had the skills to launch a career as a flamenco dancer.
“An accounting discrepancy was discovered in this summer’s audit of foundation accounts. The foundation board has frozen funds pending an investigation and that will delay our receipt of the money that helps us provide programs no longer supported by the State of California. Those who are interested in learning more may wish to attend the board meeting in October.”
October seemed a long way off to begin resolving an important funding issue, but I didn’t say anything. I was too new and too unfamiliar with local issues to have an educated opinion. The parents moved into tight little groups, waving their arms and speaking in voices that rose nearly to the point of shouting. Harrier’s tone implied a temporary setback or slight trimming of funds. But from the noise of the crowd, I guessed that either cutbacks were new to Orchard View or the parents didn’t believe the budget trimming would be as minor as Harrier had suggested. In Stockton, I would have buttonholed one of my best friends, the head of the PTA whose cousin was on the school board, and had the complete story within minutes. I couldn’t do that here. Not yet.
These parents were angry, focused on potential budget cuts, and not interested in meeting new parents like me. Someday maybe, but not today. I picked up my dictionary-sized stack of forms, dropped a copy of the gas company’s letter in the office, and got back to the car just after Belle started to bark.
I dropped the forms in the back of the van and grabbed Belle’s leash. “Let’s make a good impression, girl,” I whispered. “Try to hold it until we get off school grounds.” I didn’t want the parent group’s first impression of us to be the image of my dog desecrating the plush school lawn.
“You know that’s my parking space, right?”
I looked up, confused. A woman wearing pressed khakis, pink ballet flats, and a matching pink sweater stood behind my car, scowling.
“Excuse me?” I said. The woman scanned my clothes and my dusty car. Her expression told me we’d not made a good first impression.
“You’re in my parking space. I had to park clear over on the other side of the campus. I always park here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is my first day. I’m Maggie McDonald. My son started seventh grade today. We’re new.” I reached out my hand to shake hers. She ignored it. Maybe people here didn’t shake hands? I was starting to feel like I might have landed on another planet. Was she kidding about the parking spot or were there really assigned places? I was too new to know.
“Pauline Windsor,” said the woman, looking at her phone. “My daughter Rebecca is student council president.”
“Nice to meet you, Pauline.”
Pauline waved her hand and hiked back to her car, which was parked only a few rows over. I shrugged and set off with Belle, who was much easier to read than the Orchard View humans.
I looked around the neighborhood as we followed a concrete sidewalk past manicured lawns, trimmed bushes, and cheerful fall flowers. The houses were California ranch-style, built in the fifties and sixties. I thought about how easy it would be to fix up Aunt Kay’s house and put it on the market. Her house and land had been appraised at more than fifteen million dollars. Land was scarce in Silicon Valley and prices for even the small tract homes and lots were creeping toward three million.
In addition, if we sold Aunt Kay’s house and bought a smaller one within walking distance of both schools, we’d save big on property taxes. We’d have the remainder of the money from the sale to finance the boys’ college expenses and build our retirement nest egg. It was a tempting thought, but didn’t allow for Max’s emotional attachment to Aunt Kay’s house. Nor for the fact that even though we had only been there for a short time, the boys and I had become almost as attached to the house as Max was.
From across the street, I heard another dog barking—the deep woof of a large dog.
Belle strained at her leash, pulling me in the direction of the woof. I looked both ways and crossed the street. It didn’t matter where we walked, as long as I remembered how to get back to the car. Belle pulled, forcing our speed up to a trot. I gave the leash a little tug, reminded her to heel, and pulled a treat from the pocket of my jeans. Her tongue lifted it from my palm.
Two houses up from where we’d crossed, a black BMW was parked in front of a well-landscaped house. I slowed my step. Behind the BMW, on the passenger side, stood the dominatrix from school, waving her arms and calling to me.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” the dominatrix said. “Please, would you mind helping me a moment?”
Help her? She seemed like the type of woman who had every hair in place, every wrinkle ironed out, and every appointment entered in the latest version of the iPhone. Why would she need my help?
I shrugged. I needed all the luck I could get at this point and I figured the best way to make the Fates happy and maximize my good fortune was to help someone else. Even someone I wasn’t anxious to meet and who might throw my schedule off enough that my latte would have to wait.
I pasted a smile on my face as I approached.
“Sure,” I said. “How can I help? I saw you at school, didn’t I?”
“My son Teddy is starting eighth grade. Are you new? I’ve not seen you before. I’m Tess Olmos.”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it. I stood on the driver’s side of the car. I’d expected her to walk toward me and hold out her hand after introducing herself, but something about this whole scenario was off. She sounded friendly, but she hadn’t moved. Should I approach her? Did she have personal-space issues?
“I’m Maggie McDonald,” I said. “My son Brian is in seventh grade and I’ve got a freshman at the high school.”
“Boy or girl?” asked Tess. “Umm . . . would you mind coming closer? I really need your help, but I don’t want to shout it out to the whole neighborhood.”
“Boy. David.” I walked around the car and burst out laughing, then covered my mouth with my hand. I’d just met this woman and the first thing I did was laugh at her? She’d think I was a barbarian with no manners and she’d be right.
“It’s not funny,” Tess said. “Oh hell, of course it is.” She started laughing too.
The fancy kick pleat of her skirt was stuck in the passenger door. I was guessing the car was locked. Her keys had fallen out of reach, along with her purse.
“Can you grab the keys and unlock me?” Tess said. “I’m not sure how this happened. If I’d caught the jacket in the door, I could have taken it off. I was about to try stripping off the skirt, but every time I reached for the zipper, a car went by. I’m so glad you showed up.”
I grabbed the keys and h
er purse and unlocked the door.
Tess smoothed her skirt and threw her arms around me. “Thank you sooo much. Today was not the day I wanted to get naked in my front yard. You have to come in and let me give you coffee, at least.”
I started to decline. “No, we’ve got to get back. I’ve got the movers coming and this one needs a walk and the groceries—”
“Stop right now,” Tess ordered. I obeyed. The dominatrix was back. “Stop. You must come in. I make the best coffee and I’ve got cookies. You need energy for moving. I should know. I’m a real-estate agent. I’ll give you a snack to give your boys. Nothing says home like after-school cookies.”
Trying to disagree with Tess would be as useful as tackling a bulldozer. I didn’t like confrontation and I wasn’t going to fight a battle I wasn’t sure I wanted to win. Coffee and cookies actually sounded wonderful.
“Look,” Tess continued, pointing at Belle. “Take your gorgeous girl around to the backyard. My Mozart is there. That’s him barking. He’s a German shepherd, but he’s a marshmallow. They can play while we get to know each other. I’m so glad you came by when you did. My lucky day. Go on, now. I’ll head into the house and let you in the back door.”
I wondered why she didn’t invite me in through the front door. I shrugged. People are weird. She took great care with her appearance. Maybe she didn’t think dogs belonged in the house.
I followed a path lined with African iris and lobelia around the side of the house, through a redwood gate, and into the backyard. A German shepherd bounded to greet us, tail wagging. I let Belle off her leash. The pair sniffed each other and then they were off, chasing one another like puppies.
Steps led to a redwood deck that extended across the back of the house and looked like a picture in an upscale garden catalog. Comfy-looking red cushions covered black wrought-iron armchairs and ottomans. The look had the welcoming feel I hoped we’d someday achieve in our new house.
I peered through the window, but it was dark inside the house and I couldn’t see a thing. I tried the knob just as the back door opened. I stumbled into the room and was helped up by a woman who had to be Tess’s twin sister.
She looked like Tess but without the edgy black and red power outfit. This woman’s hair was pulled back in a scruffy ponytail. She wore a gray sweatshirt splotched with white paint and jeans that appeared to be a size or two too large. On her feet were a battered pair of Ugg boots on which I was sure I’d spotted a lump of dried cookie dough.
“Tess?”
“Shh.” She laughed and pulled me into a kitchen that smelled of the cookies. “This is the at-home Tess. I shed those killer heels and that silly power suit the minute I walk through the door.”
I must have looked skeptical, because she pulled me through the house and threw open the door to a room near the front door. The size of a small bedroom, it looked like a Hollywood dressing room with racks of classic black and red suits and snowy white blouses. A lighted counter held scads of cosmetics. A robe lay crumpled on the floor of the adjacent bathroom.
My astonishment showed and Tess laughed—a gentle, burbling laugh that was at odds with the woman I’d seen at the school.
“I keep my business stuff in here. It used to be the guest room. Mozart and the cats aren’t allowed in here—it saves time not to have to swipe off dog and cat hair. I can get changed in a heartbeat if anyone needs me for work. For everyone except my friends I wear these dominatrix clothes. They help me get deals signed quickly.”
I shook my head and smiled. “Um . . . I have to admit that dominatrix is exactly the word I chose to describe you when you were sitting in front of me this morning.”
Tess laughed and tugged me back toward the kitchen. “Isn’t that Miss Harrier awful? I swear she’ll be the death of me. If a form isn’t filled out exactly right she’ll rip it up and send it home. The parents want to kill her. And now with the budget cuts . . .” Tess shook her head.
She pulled cobalt-blue mugs and plates from the cabinet and continued talking as she pointed me toward a chair at a round table covered with a red-checked tablecloth. “Swear-to-God, the only reason she’s still alive is that kids are in middle school for such a short period. By the time parents are ready to throttle her, their kids have moved on to high school.”
Tess measured ground coffee into a paper filter and poured boiling water over it. I found the lack of a computerized coffee machine refreshing. Much as I thrived on fancy coffee, I was glad to know there were people in this town who didn’t need the trendiest appliances.
Tess handed me a steaming cup and pushed a pitcher of cream toward me. I poured the cream until the coffee turned the color of a paper grocery bag, then lifted the mug to my lips. It smelled heavenly. I sipped and Tess passed me the plate of cookies. Oatmeal. Old-fashioned. Homey.
“Now, tell me where you’re from and where you’re living,” Tess said. “Is there anything you need? You said the movers were coming. What time? We’ll watch the clock. You must be swamped. Are you working?”
I looked at the clock. It was five past ten. I still had plenty of time. I glanced out the window, watching the dogs tugging on opposite ends of a knotted rope, growling, but with their tails wagging. I sighed. A contented sigh. I was having fun watching them and getting to know both of Tess’s personalities.
“Let me help you with the moving, Maggie. No one sells houses just after school starts, and I’ve got plenty of time right now. Is your electricity on? Do you need the laundry done? Do you need any help unpacking? Is your Internet up?”
I laughed. “I don’t even know what I need yet. I mean ... I’ve got a list....” I pulled my notebook out of my purse, a small battered backpack that had once been blue and white, but was now more gray and faded denim. “I’m a professional organizer. Lists are my thing. Being prepared for anything and easing people through transitions is what I do.” I shook my head and laughed as I smoothed out the page. “I’m starting to think I need to hire my own organizer.”
My phone rang.
“Excuse me,” I said to Tess, as I rummaged in my backpack. “It might be the movers.
“Hello? This is Maggie.”
“Mrs. McDonald, this is Roberto, from Stockton Movers? I’ve got bad news.”
My heart sank. This reprieve in Tess’s kitchen had lifted my spirits and made me forget that nothing about this move had gone as expected.
“We got the team together this morning and they were on schedule until they got to the windmills.”
“Okay,” I said, waiting for the bad news. I knew where he meant. Thousands of space-age windmills dotted the hills that separated the San Joaquin Valley from the San Francisco Bay Area. The windmills harvested power as gusts roared through the narrowed pass, but wind speeds at the top of the hill had been known to flip heavy big rigs. I imagined the worst—all our worldly belongings being run over by speeding motorists.
“The brakes locked up as they headed down the grade,” Roberto said. “The team pulled the truck over. The crew and your furniture are fine, but we’re going to have to send a new cab out to pull the trailer. We just can’t risk it with the bad brakes.”
“No, you’re right,” I said. “I’m glad no one was hurt. But . . . um . . . Roberto? When will you deliver our furniture?”
“Not for another forty-eight hours, I’m afraid, ma’am. We sent all the other cabs out with teams this morning. We have to wait until one comes back with an empty trailer so we can swap it out for your load.”
I could have argued with him. Pleaded. I could have reminded him that everything we owned was on that trailer, that it was taking longer to get it from Stockton to Orchard View than it would have taken to move it across the country. But I knew he was doing his best. Arguing would waste time and make us both more miserable than we already were.
I sighed. “Roberto? Thanks for letting me know. Thursday will be fine. Should I expect you at noon? . . . That’s right. Twenty-one eleven Briones Hill Road, off Monte Viejo.”
I hung up the phone, made a face, shrugged, and snatched a cookie from the plate.
“Tess?” I asked my new best friend. “Did you mean it when you offered to help with my laundry?”
Before Tess could answer, my phone rang a second time. I glanced at the number, but didn’t recognize it.
“Mom? Can you come back to school?” Brian sniffed. “I’m in trouble and the principal wants to talk to you.” Brian’s voice and his fear were broadcast loudly through the phone, shattering whatever peace remained in Tess’s kitchen.
“I’ll be right there, Brian. Hang tough. We’ll sort it out.”
Tess grabbed her keys. “Leave Belle here with Mozart. I’ll drive you.”
Chapter 7
The organized person will save time by getting to know the most influential and important people in any organization: the front office staff, the custodian, and any security personnel.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, September 2, Midmorning
I ran from Tess’s BMW toward the school. The woman I’d seen in the office earlier met me outside the front door.
“Mrs. McDonald?” Now that she was out from behind the front counter, I could see that she was, indeed, covered head to toe in canary yellow. Her feet sported yellow high-tops. A yellow bow secured her ponytail. Shorter than five feet tall, she looked like a diminutive Big Bird.
“It’s Maggie,” I said. “Is Brian okay?”
“Brian is just inside. He’s fine, Maggie. I’m April Chen, the assistant principal. I wanted to fill you in before you see Brian or Miss Harrier.”
“What happened?”
“I talked to Brian. You requested that he be put in either eighth-grade math or in the seventh-grade algebra class? And in band?”
