by Julia Ariss
"Oh Dad, you don't have to." But he did have a point. Amid all the useless trivia and bric-a-brac she had crammed in her memory was a small treasure trove of helpful tips. "What made you decide to sell them now?"
"Decluttering."
"Pfft. That's the magic of this place. Nothing ever changes. Why put yourself through all that?"
"I'm thinking about downsizing. It's time."
"Oh."
***
Fanny made her way from her father's office on the Queen's campus to the waterfront trail and walked in the direction of the shops. She loved the energy of the downtown with its historic limestone buildings, bustling market, outdoor cafés and vibrant commercial district. Such delight in her surroundings was bolstered by an awareness of the extra five hundred dollars lining her wallet, an unexpected windfall. She strolled up Brock Street and cut over to Princess past the coffee and novelty shops, restaurants, burger joints and boutiques toward the big box bookstore. Her better instincts told her to march past it and cross and head back down to the indie bookstore but the allure of the knick knacks was strong; the pairing of chocolates with books - genius marketing. She could justify a novel for the train. In her eagerness, she almost bumped into the panhandler sitting outside the store.
His sign said only "Anything Helps" and he looked elderly, possibly before his time. He was distressingly thin with a disfiguring dowager's hump and he shifted about uncomfortably grimacing as he moved, but he managed a smile when he saw her count out five twenty dollar bills and place them into the cardboard container.
"Do you have a place to sleep tonight?"
"Yes, I do. I've been staying at the shelter. They're trying to help me get into assisted living. I got too much pain to work." He got up from his spot with a groan, but he looked relieved. "Maybe, I'll go get one of those gourmet burgers. Thanks again, and you have yourself a great day."
He looked to be abandoning his post for the day which cheered her, but she had qualms about the suitability of the burger place. She couldn't recall whether it had comfortable seating. Booths wouldn't do. What mattered more, she figured, was that she had given him a sense of relief, at least temporarily. It sat right. As she wished him good luck it hit her how woefully uninformed she was about the system. Her father was her ally, an ever dependable source of strength and it sounded as though someone at the shelter was watching out for this man too. But who is looking out for Erasto?
She stared uncertainly through the window into the bookstore and decided to give it a pass. She had always imagined that browsing through a bookstore on a Sunday afternoon would be infinitely more rousing with a yummy yet cerebral boyfriend in tow, enslaved to her after wantonly gorging on her slap-up breakfast. Rather than succumb to gloom she seized on the upside; she could quickly download books much more cheaply on her e-reader and be supporting aspiring authors whilst saving the planet. The money was a one-off anyway; the karma was in paying it forward. Or backward, as the case may be. She swung around and headed to the market in search of fresh strawberries and tomatoes for her father, to stave off the scurvy.
***
Fanny always felt soothed when she first opened the door to her apartment after being away. It was sparsely decorated in muted tones with sentimental objects from the past, plush cushions and throws, ferns, restful paintings she'd picked up at yard sales, and books. She'd tidied before she left in anticipation of this moment. She had just set her suitcase down after arriving home when she heard a rapping at her door. Looking through the peephole she hastily unbolted the door for Mavis, her elderly neighbour.
"Hi Mavis, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine dear. I heard you unlock your door and I wanted to deliver this personally. It's a book club notice. I think you may have missed the last notice so I printed one off again for you."
There was a silky generosity in her approach for which Fanny was grateful; Mavis was giving her the benefit of the doubt without actually letting her off the hook, gently coaxing her out. She reminded herself not to forget to ask after Harold. "Oh thank you. Hmmm...the 'Oldies but Goodies Book Club'. Sounds tempting. There is something appealing about seeking advice from dead men and women of letters. Totally my thing. Ha." Mavis looked baffled so Fanny continued, "Er...mainly the classics, is it Mavis?"
"Of course. With all those dashing heroes. The only kind worth having," she said with a sly dog grin.
"And possibly the only kind worth staying up all night with."
"Yes, well you give it some thought, Fanny. You're welcome to drop by any time and join in the fun or test the waters. And there's always refreshments."
"So nice of you to think of me. And by the way, how is Harold?" Harold, of the icy stares, was Mavis's beloved marmalade cat.
"Moody, lately."
"Oh."
"He longs to be part of the outside world. I'm sure you've seen him pouting at the window. When I do take him out he sniffs the air suspiciously and walks around stiff-legged, uncertain what to make of the grass, then demands to be carried back in, immediately. An identity crisis, I suspect."
"Poor Harold, I feel for him. Whenever I put myself out there, I'm desperate to get back home to my own space too. It's a dilemma. Have you tried to introduce him to some of the other cats in the building? Do cats even have play dates?"
"There's the rub. Some of the other cats socialize but Harold doesn't mix well. He can be a pill. I think he's a loner at heart."
"I'm sure he'll snap out of it once he realizes how cushy his life is."
"Yes dear, this too shall pass."
After closing her door Fanny paused to read over the notice again. 'Conviviality and the Classics!' it heralded along with a promising schedule. She was anxious to do her bit, to take a stab at neighbourliness, if only to appease Mavis, whose kindness was genuine. This was her chance to flirt with membership; it would be an outing, an opportunity to connect over tea and cookies, and be... convivial. Still, the notion of an Oldies but Goodies book club gave her a sinking feeling which had little to do with books; the list was nothing less than inspired. But the ladies, weren't they all, well, oldies? The next meeting was weeks away so for now she would mentally file it under pending.
Fanny dragged herself into the office the next morning to make her 7:00 a.m. piloxing class with Evie. Evie had rallied most of the women from their department. The others, presumably from the other floors were unfamiliar to Fanny, with the exception of one. Jack's girlfriend was chatting up the instructor while looking implausibly perky and fit; a perfect specimen. Fanny kept her distance and began staking out a spot in the rear where she could maintain a low profile with people of her own ilk. She understood full well the futility of allowing the reigning front row keeners at these things to demoralize her; otherwise she might never show up again.
Gawd.
"You're a wreck Fanny," Evie exclaimed indignantly. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"It was fits and starts all night worrying I'd reprogrammed my alarm wrong, so I'm a touch frail. I won't disrupt the flow at the back though, out of harm's way."
After taking her place she noted there was only one lone male glancing around sheepishly, but she elected not to mention this embarrassing shortfall to Evie, lest it dampen her 'if you build it, they will come' optimism. As the music pounded from the sound system Fanny craned her neck to follow the instructor's challenges, aiming her jabs upwards from the core, while holding her chair posture and squeezing her glutes which, though easier said than done, was doable, though not a smooth operation nor a pretty sight to behold. But once she got the gist of things, she reassured herself, it would be fun and transformative, or so went the stern party-line she invoked as the commands flew fast and furious. She staggered over to Evie when the music finally stopped after a half hour, and bent over with hands on hips gasping between mouthfuls of air, "That... water break was... criminally short but I held my own. Phew."
"Good. She's just changing the music. Better gear up for the second half.
"
Huh?
Evie, of course, was supercharged when the class ended thirty minutes later. "I'm so revved Fanny. You can't tell me you don't feel energized."
"Oof. I have a stiff neck but I'm hoping it's the good kind. I'm essentially a yoga girl at the core when I do get to class, which is...well, never mind."
"But does yoga tighten your fanny. Fanny?"
"It makes me limber, but... unlucky in love."
"I rest my case," Evie said, lifting her palms upwards. And you can't talk in yoga. All that mindfulness and shushing. Zzzzz... You belong here. By the way, did you get a peek at Jack's girlfriend front and centre. A high flying Public Relations consultant, apparently."
"And an ace piloxing enthusiast."
"She's certainly got the moves."
"Yes, very nimble."
"They say she and Jack are inseparable."
"Not on the week-end they weren't."
"Oh? Do tell."
So she did, sketching out the week-end en route to the change rooms, but selectively, giving Evie the condensed version, and omitting the heady, perplexing parts that might call for further interrogation.
Fanny had just changed into her work clothes and was approaching the sinks when she recognized Jack's girlfriend leaning in, deftly putting the finishing touches on her make-up.
"You're Fanny Bower, aren't you? I'm Tish Strong," she said, zipping up her case then turning toward her with arms folded firmly against her chest.
"Hello. Nice to meet you," Fanny said, whipping off her shower cap.
"I sent you an email," she said, in a time is money and let's dispense with the niceties shall we, clipped tone.
"Oh did you? I've been away so..."
"It was intended for your eyes only," she said glancing around warily, "but as most people know, I handle the P.R. file here and, to be brief, we want you to steer clear of the press. I'm sure you can understand; those weren't the sort of images we wanted to see on the front page. I endeavored to use very simplistic wording in the memo, to avoid any confusion."
"How considerate of you. I'll make sure I read it through slowly and look up any big words I stumble upon. But... erm, just to avoid any confusion Tish, I haven't exactly been courting the attention."
"I'm merely relaying a message that has been circulating at the very top levels," she said abruptly, raising her eyebrows and leaning in. "Any press that isn't managed at this point is bad press. If you would just, kindly, lie low while we contain things."
"Normally not a big ask but...why the to-do anyway?" Fanny said, taking a step back. "These things usually blow over soon enough."
"One would think. What confounds us is why they think you're newsworthy or even remotely interesting, but they're a fickle bunch. We can only hope that tomorrow you'll be old news."
"Um yes, well...cross our fingers."
Tish swept out of the locker room and Fanny gave a little shudder when she heard the bathroom stall behind her creak as it swung open. Evie emerged triumphantly to wash her hands and gape at Fanny in wide-eyed, delighted horror.
"I do love a kerfuffle. Couldn't help but overhear. Those nasal condescending voices always carry, and she doesn't mince words, that one. She does make the media interest seem... kinda glam, but I'm not sure how you kept a civil tongue."
"I'm not the battle-of-wits type. My best comebacks are crafted too late, when the moment has passed. Her braying...," Fanny said, rifling through her purse. She's brought on a headache."
"Imagine. Fanny Bower: Media Strumpet. Ludicrous."
"And I never get headaches..."
"Come to think of it-"
"Don't even go there Evie. The thing is, if I had an opposite nature, she might have roused my inner contrarian and very convincingly talked me into it. Except I haven't been here long enough to work up a legitimate grudge against Barrington. I think she's manufactured a crisis to generate billable hours for herself. Highest levels. Imagine her thinking I need to be contained, like some kind of upstart, publicity seeking whistle-blower."
"That's rich," Evie said, as she twisted her hair into a top knot and secured it with a clip. "Grasping at straws really," she continued, frowning at her reflection then turning toward her. "She's got moxie though. Commendable. It's probably how she reeled him in."
"Who, Jack? Well, she can have him. They can bask in each other's magnificence."
***
Fanny spent the morning scrolling through her emails, giving Tish's a passing glance without opening it, then deleting most of the forwarded jokes and well-intentioned nonsense from Evie, except for her invitation to a Jewellery party/Flambé Cocktail Night which she would need to respond to, and another one she had flagged as high priority. "JUST SAYIN'!!!" it screamed from the subject line with a link to a news story. Given its urgency she felt obliged to click, though not without trepidation, and so it was relief mixed with exasperation she felt as she skimmed through yet another exhaustive study, this one concluding that extroverted gorillas lived longer. She knew that Evie, who could capably juggle a dizzying array of "work assignments" at any given time, was ever mindful of her favourite pet project, so resistance was futile. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples before reaching for the phone. She was in the process of erasing her voicemails, all nine from the same pesky reporter, when she was approached by the H.R. Director. After the requisite exchange of pleasantries and inquiries after her health she got down to business.
"We're going to rotate you into Data Analytics for a period, Fanny. You'll start right away."
"Oh. Mm hmm. I'll just... I have some loose ends here I should probably tie up first." Googling Data Analytics comes to mind.
"Don't worry about that, Evie can cover for you. You'll work with the statistical analysis manager for a while to round out your experience. Fascinating stuff."
"Yes, refresh my memory..."
"Analyzing people data so we can make more informed decisions about recruitment and so on. You'll find it a lot less pressure."
"Fewer distractions, I suppose." And a lot less human interaction. Fanny wondered darkly if the H.R. director was in cahoots with Tish, having conspired together to hole her away with the number crunchers behind their grey door as a shot at damage control, and to bore her into giving her notice.
"Cutting edge stuff, Fanny, and good for your resumé," she said with a wink.
"Yes, I was just thinking about my resumé," she said, as she mentally inventoried her closet for suitable interview attire.
"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said, with a brisk get crackin' timbre.
Fanny was taking her time arranging her belongings in a box for the trek down the hall when her phone rang.
"What? You don't have an assistant yet?" he said.
It was George. "Oh, hi. It's you!"
"So sorry, Fanny, sorry. When I called you that morning and promised dinner, my coffee-starved brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. I didn't check my calendar and my schedule got impossible."
"I'm not the grudging sort. How are you?"
"I'm just at the airport. I've got some business out of town for a few weeks. I started a new venture two years back that has really taken off. Heck of a ride until recently and now...phenomenal. I couldn't be better. Actually, I could. I'm dying to see you. Have dinner with me when I get back-"
"Yes. Yes, I'd love to."
"Fantastic. Great. Do Fridays work?"
"Of course. I mean, lemme check. Yes. I see here that most are clear."
"Then I'll plan to pick you up after work. And Fanny, is your C.V. up to date? I'll fill you in when I see you."
"Um, okay. Looking forward to it, George."
"I'll be in touch as soon as I get back."
Fanny instantly perked up and shifted into high gear, quickly finishing off her packing, her confidence soaring at the prospect of her upcoming dinner date slash interview. It allowed her to hope, which would be enough to sustain her in the uncertain weeks ahead with her oddly
-timed new job rotation. And. He'd mentioned her resumé too, with special interest, and better yet referred to it as her C.V., which was plummy sounding and held additional promise. Things were definitely looking up, due in part she felt to her clever new mantra. George was dying to see her, one on one, and his was an invitation you didn't decline. She could hardly believe it. Out of nowhere, a date and - dare she dream - a life; it was outrageously good timing.
As she floated past the elevator bank with her things, propelled by giddiness, the doors sprung open and several people spilled out of the overcrowded compartment. Glancing in, her eye caught Jack and Tish standing at the very rear, facing each other, deep in conversation. A few more people stepped on and they huddled closer still, continuing their tête-à-tête, unperturbed by their surroundings. Just as the doors were closing he looked up and gave her a severe but courteous look. Fanny continued on her way but with slightly less oomph. It was the first time she'd seen him since the week-end, and she resented the way he'd just commandeered one of her better daydreams. She bit her lip and tried not to think about the venomous words that were very likely being whispered to him in hushed tones. But surely men in his position would be disinclined to participate in elevator sniping, she reasoned. That's right. Because true professionals prefer their character assassinations to take place safely, behind closed doors.
6
"No-o-o," Evie said, before cupping her hand to her mouth and sucking in her breath with eyes bulging as they waited in line at The Second Cup the following morning. "Not behind the grey door! I hear it's like solitary confinement. They say it's so deathly quiet in there you can hear yourself think. Jeez Fanny, how badly did you screw up?"
"As it turns out - it's not so horrible," Fanny said cautiously. "I've been consulted on my opinions, which is a nice distinction and I'm given scads of time to think up what could reasonably pass for concrete ideas." It was true. Her new supervisor was preretirement and slower paced, a man of few words, prone to long silences and absences with a decided preference for e-mail communication, but he responded with real interest to her correspondence. It appealed to her creative side and she liked the narrow focus, doing one or two things well, rather than a dozen things shoddily. She did not suffer from the disease of restless activity. "It's not overly busy so far. Calming, really."
