by Gail Cleare
We had been getting great advance publicity all week, thanks to a lack of terrorist activity and natural disasters. Slow news is good news, when you’re hoping for free advertising. Sarah Bennet reported to me that the phone at her office was ringing off the hook, with people calling from around the region for more information.
At this point the ads were placed, the die was cast, and the merchants were concentrating on their individual presentations. We wanted to impress people who were new to our area, and develop relationships with new long-term customers. It was a good chance to clear out any old merchandise that was hanging around, for sure, but nobody really expected to make a killing financially. We all thought of this as a sales promotion event, with bargains as the bait to draw people into town, so that we could charm them into returning over and over again.
The girls came over for our early morning Pilates class as usual and after we finished, they helped carry the heavy folding banquet tables I had borrowed from Laurie out to the sidewalk in front of the building. Yesterday we had gone over the shop with a fine-tooth comb, dusting and polishing, tweaking the displays. It was an “all hands on deck” situation, since we needed to station salespeople both outside and inside to keep an eye on things. Bella and Siri were both working full-time for the weekend, plus Henry and me of course, and Amy, too.
She had been earning a nice, steady little paycheck every week, to her great excitement and pride. When she’d completed the hiring papers with her social security number and personal information I was hoping for new clues as to the whereabouts of her mother, but Amy entered a post office box instead of a street address. Her last name turned out to be Horowitz. I looked in the telephone book, but nobody was listed under this name in our neighborhood. It seemed to confirm the possibility that they might currently be staying in the church basement.
Siri and I had been piling merchandise in Henry’s sitting room all week in preparation for today, and now we lugged the boxes outside to set up. Bella ran home for a few minutes to shower and change, then she came back to take over while we did the same.
Henry came downstairs dressed in khaki shorts, Birkenstock sandals and a purple tie-died Jimi Hendricks T-shirt with his straw hat and sunglasses. He set up a large red and white striped beach umbrella outside to provide us with some shade, lashing it to the railing at the bottom of the stairs with a bungee cord. Opening a comfortable folding lawn chair, he settled down next to a cooler of bottled water to oversee the cash box.
We had covered the two tables with brightly colored tablecloths and organized the items simply into four price groups, labeled with little signs I had inscribed with Henry’s calligraphy pens. By noon we were ready to go, and I left Henry in charge while I went over to see what was going on under the big white tent that had been erected in the intersection.
They had been working on it since before I arrived that morning. It looked marvelous, like a fairytale tent with pointed peaks that were flying triangular colored flags. The police had already closed the intersection to driving traffic, letting an occasional vehicle go through to deliver essential items to the crew of workers who were hooking up the electricity and the sound system. A seating area that would accommodate about a hundred people had been planned, and when I ducked under the awning and went inside I saw Rocco Sorrentino and John Laroche setting up the chairs, with a couple of strong young men wearing Green Thumb T-shirts unloading the delivery truck.
“How’s it going?” Rocco called when he saw me. He was sweating profusely, which was not surprising. The day was already cranking up to be very hot.
“Good!” I answered, offering him and John a cold bottle of water from the six-pack I had brought with me. “We’re all set. How about you? Do your parents need any help?”
“I think Pop has it all together, but thanks for offering,” Rocco replied, chugging down a whole bottle of water in a couple of seconds. John followed suit more slowly.
I peered under the side of the tent and saw Laurie setting up a sign on the patio in front of the restaurant. They had decided to open early today and serve lunch, expecting enough hungry passers-by to make it worth staffing the dining room. The Potting Shed doors were standing open, and an old wagon loaded with flowering plants and shrubs had been rolled up in front. A smaller cart with a lime green umbrella shading it displayed pretty bouquets standing in big buckets of water. It looked like Laurie was ready for action, too. It was exciting! All up and down the street, people were bustling about cheerfully, calling out to one another in various languages and setting up tables and chairs on the sidewalk, dragging boxes out of their shops, hanging up banners and signs.
Sarah Bennet appeared, walking across the stage with a clipboard under her arm, conferring with the young man who was testing the sound system. I waved, and she smiled broadly, waving back.
“Testing, testing, one two three,” the young man said into a microphone, signaling to his co-worker, who was sitting in front of a big control panel at the back of the tent.
Sarah leaned over and spoke into the microphone.
“Is everybody ready?” she asked, looking at the three of us.
Rocco gave her the thumbs up sign.
“The parking garage is packed!” she said happily. “And they’re heading this way!”
I looked down the street and saw that she was right, as a parade of people pushing baby carriages, teens on bikes and skateboards, men and women, and senior citizens carrying shopping bags slowly approached. A juggler on stilts was leading the way. A television news crew pulled up in their live broadcasting van and the police let them in past the stanchions, parking them next to the tent.
“Yikes!” I said, pointing the crowd out to Rocco and John.
“Holy cow,” Rocco said, “I better go slice up some pizzas!”
“See you later!” said John, slipping away with a wave.
I went back over to where Siri and Henry were waiting, comfortably settled at our encampment. She had covered Henry’s big umbrella with a colorful Indian print bedspread, and more bright textiles were displayed on a quilt rack that propped the shop door open. It looked like something out of the Arabian Nights, and Siri looked like the storyteller with a hundred and one tales, dressed in a cool aqua sari that fluttered around her bare brown legs when she moved.
Amy and Bella were sitting on the front steps, so I went over to join them. I looked at my watch. It was twelve fifteen. The first little trickle of shoppers came around the corner onto Market Street, beginning to spread out down the sidewalk in front of Sorrentino’s. I saw Josie standing out front, immediately engaged in conversation with a young woman who was carrying a baby in a hot-pink backpack. Josie reached up and tickled the baby under the chin. I saw the baby smile and crow, pushing up on her feet and waving her arms around excitedly. Then the first wave of shoppers hit our side of the street, and we all stood up to get to work.
Most of the day sped by in a blur of conversation and activity. The next time I looked at my watch it was after six. We had been very busy, inside and outside. There had even been two new rare book collectors up in the library with Henry, a fact that totally thrilled him. I sent Amy down to the basement repeatedly for more crystal vases and wine goblets, and we sold all of the African animals. I brought out a dozen sets of carved wooden salad tongs, and only one pair was left. Salt and pepper shakers and candlesticks had been snapped up like popcorn. Business inside the store had been brisk as well, and we’d given out a lot of brochures and business cards.
The mood of the crowd was upbeat and friendly. I enjoyed talking to the new customers who were curious about the shop and its eclectic mix of merchandise. A lot of people had come from out of town. Many had never been on Market Street before. Every time someone told me that, I gave myself a little pat on the back, mentally. It was great to know that my plan was working!
Two folk-singing sisters were performing under the tent when I checked the time and stopped for a breather. Traffic on the sidewalk had slowed
down quite a bit as soon as the music started, and everyone was gathered around the stage to watch. Tony had showed up a little while ago with pizza for all of us, from Rocco’s brick oven. He was sitting next to Henry under the umbrella, hearing all about the new collectors who had appeared earlier. He looked over at me and smiled, then turned back to his friend.
“That was nice of him, getting the pizza,” said Amy, trying to catch a long strand of mozzarella that was dangling from her slice. She said it wonderingly, like she was puzzled. She looked out at me from under her brows, with a little frown. “I guess he didn’t have to, right?”
“Right,” I said. “I think he wanted to be nice, that was the point.”
“Yeah. Well, I guess he’s OK then. You know. If he has to be around here all the time,” she said dismissively. She finished eating the pizza and stood up. “OK, man, I gotta go. See you guys tomorrow,” she waved at Henry and Tony, and sped off down the sidewalk.
We went home to Tony’s house that night and I slept like the dead, then I got up early Saturday morning and went back to the store to do it all again. We had carried everything inside before locking up, but it was sitting right inside the doorway ready to go back outside. The good weather continued to hold, and by ten o’clock the sidewalks were filled with shoppers, clowns and minstrels.
Siri’s family came by to say hello. Tom was pushing their daughter in the stroller, while their son ran alongside and her father brought up the rear, carrying a string bag containing several packages. Siri brought Tom and the kids inside to use the bathroom, while Gupta took a seat next to me under the umbrella. Amy came outside carrying two teapots, which she had just washed. She put them on the sale table, and I introduced her to the elderly Indian gentleman.
They shook hands solemnly, his eyes twinkling and hers curious.
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Amy,” Gupta said earnestly.
“Yeah,” she said, “Same here. So. You’re Siri’s dad, right?”
“Correct,” Gupta replied, looking her over carefully. I wondered what he thought of her pierced eyebrow and the green stripes in her hair.
Amy smiled at him and folded her arms, hanging around like she had something to say. “Um,” she said, “So. Siri tells me you’re a teacher, right?”
Gupta nodded. “Yes, I worked twenty years as a tutor.”
“I was thinking about, um, trying to pass the GED exam,” Amy said. “You know anything about that?”
“The Graduate Equivalency Exam? Yes, I most certainly do. You wish to be finished with high school early?” he said, looking at her with renewed interest.
Amy grinned and cocked one eyebrow, the pierced one.
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to get out of that place,” she said. “I want to go to art school. My advisor said I might be able to get a scholarship.”
Gupta considered this statement for a moment.
“You have a portfolio of your work?” he asked.
“Well, sort of,” Amy said, “I have notebooks. Of my drawings, I mean.”
“Amy has been doing window displays this summer,” I interrupted, “We have her sketches, and some photos of the finished projects. But, isn’t she too young?”
“Not if she can pass the exam,” Gupta replied. “And get accepted to an art college. It’s a tall order, but not impossible.”
“I was checking it out before school vacation started,” Amy said, warming to him. “The test didn’t really look that bad. Except for the math part. I suck at math.”
Gupta laughed and threw back his head.
“A common complaint among artists!” he said. “I have heard that many times before!”
“So,” Amy said, “I was thinking maybe…if someone would help me study, maybe I could learn enough to take the exam. What do you think?” She looked at him expectantly, in a casual yet studied way, her stillness the only sign that this was of prime importance to her.
Gupta shot me a glance of suppressed excitement.
“I think, you should come to see me when I am at home,” he said, “And we will discuss it further. I want to see your transcript, and I would like to telephone your advisor. But we can certainly work something out!”
“I don’t have any money, you know,” Amy said frankly.
Gupta smiled at her, his eyes twinkling again.
“Money is not important! Relationships are important. And you have collected quite a few of great value,” he said enthusiastically. “You come and see me on Monday morning at ten. We’ll talk about the details then.” He looked at me and we exchanged nods of approval. He seemed excited about the prospect of teaching again, and the chance to study Amy while she studied mathematics. I felt she was a talented designer, and would do wonderfully in art school. I was very curious to see these “notebooks.”
That afternoon the heat outside became more and more intense, as the bright sun bounced off the pavement and made even the plastic arms of our lawn chairs too warm for comfort. I had reluctantly turned on the air conditioning in the shop so we would all have a haven for retreat, and Bella and I sent Henry inside to preside over the cash register in comfort. He was looking a little peaked, and was grateful for the respite. The foot traffic on the sidewalk continued unabated, and the performances under the tent were very well attended. Everyone in the area had come to town, from the looks of it. Across the street, the Sorrentinos were doing a brisk trade in cold drinks and frozen treats. Josie had her grandchildren helping her outside, and I saw Rocco re-stocking their coolers several times.
We heard from people passing by that the heat was supposedly going to break late in the afternoon, when a cool front of Canadian air was due to enter our region. My sunglasses kept sliding off my nose, slick with sweat, and I guzzled bottled water. The girls were getting a little grouchy, and we were all tired. We took turns going inside to cool off. One of the street magicians came by and asked if she could keep her sweet little white rabbit in his cage at our shop until the end of the day, as it was too hot for him to survive either in her pocket or in her car. We put his hutch in the kitchen on the cool linoleum floor, with plenty of fresh water, and she went back to work.
The kitchen phone rang and it was Sarah Bennet, on her cell phone. There was a lot of noise in the background.
“Hey!” she greeted me.
“Hey, where are you?” I asked.
“Main Street, right in the middle,” she shouted.
“How is it?”
“It’s a mob scene! How is it there?”
“Great! Tons of people.”
“Emily, they want to do a live interview for the six o’clock news!”
“Wow! That’s wonderful!”
“Will you do it with me?”
“What? You want me?”
“Yeah, they want to interview me and one of the merchants. I thought it should be you.”
“OK, sure.” I said reluctantly. The thought of being on TV made me nervous.
“We’re doing it at the tent right when the last concert starts. They’re going to show it in the background. They’ve been shooting around town all day, so there’s an edited piece back at the studio that they’re going to show, too. It’s a major story!” Sarah sounded terribly excited.
“Cool! Outrageous! What time do you want me there?” I grinned, swept up by her enthusiasm. She told me and we made plans to rendezvous.
I went into the little powder room under the stairs and looked at my wilted, shiny, sweaty face in the mirror. My frizzy hair was stuffed up into a clip on the back of my head, and there was black dirt in the creases of my neck. My nose was sunburned a rosy red.
I stared at myself and started to laugh out loud. Some TV star! Then I washed my face and neck, brushed and rearranged my hair, put on a little lipstick and mascara, and found some sunscreen for my nose and shoulders. I headed back out to work. When I told the girls and Henry what was happening they were very excited. Tony showed up about then, and helped Henry move the little TV from the sitti
ng room out onto the counter in the shop, so he could watch the news show.
“You’ll be beautiful on television,” Tony said, “It’s your fifteen minutes of fame, like Andy Warhol said. We should record it!” Henry nodded, and hustled up the stairs to set the DVR on his bedroom television to capture the show.
When the time came, I took one last look in the mirror and then I walked over to the tent, looking up at the spires with their festive red and orange flags fluttering a little in the breeze that had finally arrived. My hair lifted a bit off my brow, and I felt cooler, like I could breathe for the first time all day. Maybe I wouldn’t be dripping with sweat on television after all! I perked up and started to look forward to the adventure.
I ducked under the tent and went around behind the stage, where the news crew had parked their van. It had a long metal arm attached to the roof that pointed the broadcasting antenna toward the sky. The back doors of the van were open and two men were inside looking at a small monitor, surrounded by piles of electrical equipment.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Emily Ross. I’m here for the interview?”
A dashing young man with blonde hair got out of the front of the van, dressed in crisply creased slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. He came over and put his hand out to shake mine.
“Steve Mason, Channel 40 News, good to meet you!” he said, smiling to reveal a set of perfect white teeth.
We chatted about how well things were going, how much fun everyone was having, how happy the merchants were with the turnout. Then Sarah showed up, calm and poised, and took over the conversation, to my relief. She had estimated counts for the crowds and the number of cars in and out of the parking garage at her mental fingertips. She had sound-bite quips ready to utter. She was a real pro, and I was glad she was there. All I had to do was smile and look friendly, nod my head and agree with her. We went through all of the reporter’s questions fairly quickly and he showed us where he wanted us to stand for the interview, right outside the entrance to the tent so that the stage and performers could be seen in the background. The cameraman positioned himself out in the middle of Market Street, to get some of the tent in the shot too. We were all waiting for the signal that it was time to begin.
