“Everything’s going to be perfect,” predicted Freddie. “This is a no-glitch zone.”
“Technology behaved itself,” said Mike after everyone had logged off. “That’s a relief, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. For sure.” Freddie was collecting the containers from the table and attempting to sort everything.
“Here. Let me do that,” said Mike. “I’ve got a system.” He started moving paper bags into one pile, plastic forks into another, and the Styrofoam containers used for coleslaw into a third pile. He rinsed the coleslaw containers while Freddie looked on in admiration.
“You make it look so easy,” she said.
“It’s not neurosurgery. It’s basic recycling.”
“No, don’t underestimate yourself,” continued Freddie. “You got it down to a science. It’s very cool.”
Mike was at a loss. This was the first compliment he’d received from his houseguest, and now he wasn’t sure whether she was serious or not.
“I guess each municipality has its own regulations,” he conceded. “All I did was follow the rules. Just like what we’re doing here. Following the rules. And in another few days, we can move on. We’ll be liberated.”
“Not quite,” said Freddie glumly. “I have to figure out where I’m going to live, and then we still have to abide by the rules. Which reminds me. I ordered us some face masks. They’re in the shipment with the gardening stuff. I hope little kids aren’t scared by seeing everyone in masks.”
“I’m sure their parents will explain everything to them,” said Mike reassuringly. “And they probably have some very cool masks for kids with superheroes or princesses on them.”
“If I were a kid, I’d think that was cool,” Freddie mused. “It’s important to present your best face to the world.”
She poured herself yet another cup of tea, then she grabbed her phone and began scrolling as if her life depended on it. Then, she grabbed a pad and pencil and in a few moments, she’d covered several pages with scribbled numbers and assorted random words.
“Planning to take over the world, Freddie?”
“Yeah,” she said with a huge smile. “I’m starting a revolution.”
Chapter 10
“Okay. I’m skeered.” Mike opened the fridge and put the pies away, thankful that he actually had enough room for the two boxes. It was like playing Jenga in reverse. “What should I be doing? I mean, once the patriarchy is dismantled, I may be what the British call redundant.”
“No danger of that,” said Freddie with a giggle. “You’ve been too nice to me to be made redundant. Besides, I may need your amazing organizational skills.”
“Now I’m really worried,” said Mike, trying to keep his tone light. “And what’s with all the compliments?”
“I’ve always believed that you should say nice things to people whenever you have the chance,” said Freddie. “I know it sounds a bit – “
“Idealistic? Hippie-ish?”
“I was heading towards insincere. But idealistic works, too. The Caplanskys will compliment you to the hilt and then they’ll cut you off for the smallest infraction. You never know where they really stand, because they’re too nice to you and then they’re not nice at all. I think it’s a tactic to keep everyone off balance as much as possible.”
Mike was about to say that macking on someone’s boyfriend was hardly a small infraction, but his Better Self put the brakes on. After logging so much time with Freddie, he would be confident swearing in front of the Supreme Court that she did not have a mean bone in her body. In fact, it was the opposite. Let the record show, Your Honour…
“I believe you,” he said, after a long moment. “I don’t know you that well, but I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It means a lot to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call my bubbie.” She grabbed her phone and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Mike strained to hear the conversation. Was Bubbie Rose into smashing the patriarchy? She was of an age to have been an ardent feminist, so it was theoretically possible. All Mike could hear was something about where various items were stored. It made very little sense.
Finally, Freddie opened the door to the bedroom. Her face was shining with joy as she went over to Mike and gave him a spontaneous little hug. He froze.
“Omigod, I’m so sorry,” she said, withdrawing from him like she’d just touched a hot stove. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”
“No worries. But I have to ask what’s going on. You look like you got some good news,” he said, trying to deflect from the hug. It had been way too long since he’d been hugged like that. Mike couldn’t remember the last time somebody hugged him out of pure joy.
“I did! I did! Remember when I told you that I ordered us face masks?”
Mike nodded.
“Well, they’re ugly. So, so ugly. They protect you, but they don’t represent you. If we’re gonna have to wear masks, they should say something about the person behind the mask. So I started thinking and I decided that I’m going to launch a line of designer masks. My own brand! Isn’t that exciting?”
“Sure. How’s that gonna work exactly? It’s not like you can sew a million masks by hand.”
“I have an industrial sewing machine. Actually, it’s in Bubbie’s house, but she said I could use it. And there’s a pile of material, too. My grandfather bought bolts and bolts of it before he retired. I never knew what he wanted to do with it, but now it’s clear.”
“He wanted you to make quarantine masks? Because he had the gift of prophecy?”
“Pretty much. He wanted me to have something that was my own.” Freddie tossed her hair. “I was supposed to get my real estate license and sell Bubbie’s house. I’d get the commission and she’d get the proceeds, obvy.”
“Obvy.”
“I’d have to help with the cleaning out of the place, and of course it needs some work before it’s ready to be sold, of course.”
“Of course.” Mike was beginning to feel like a parrot.
“But that was the game plan. The course was supposed to start in six weeks. I got an email that it’s on hold indefinitely. Bubbie doesn’t want to go through another real estate agent. She wanted to launch me in a career. And now I don’t need a real estate license to have a career. All I need is to start sewing! And marketing! I think I should trademark my name. You don’t know how long that takes, do you?”
“Nary a clue,” said Mike, glad to finally be saying something original. “My brother Jason might know. We can get in touch with him tomorrow. It’s getting late.”
“Sure. I have a bunch of ideas I have to jot down. Have a good night!”
“You too.” Mike fake-yawned to indicate the lateness of the evening. Then, he glanced at his watch. “Eight o’clock already. Where did the time go?”
Freddie was up at sunrise, and she tiptoed into the living room so she could do yoga on the balcony. Mike woke up to the sight of Freddie in Downward Dog position, her maddingly cute butt in the air as she bent over. As he tried not to watch her, Freddie moved into the Warrior Pose, then interrupted her yoga session to wave and smile at him. Rolling up her yoga mat, she flung the French doors open and waved again. This time, Mike had no choice but to acknowledge her. Stretching and yawning, he made his way to the balcony, wishing he’d worn slippers as his feet touched the cold concrete.
“Good morning, Mike,” said Freddie. “Isn’t this the most beautiful day? Listen to the birds! There’s, like, a million of them.”
With nobody going to work, the usual noise from traffic, both from cars and from the 80 bus, was sparse. The hum of motors was replaced by chirping. Squirrels were enthusiastically climbing the trees, in search of secret stashes of food, no doubt. Dogs were leaving their calling cards on the trees, while their owners held small plastic bags that would be filled with –
“Oh, shit!” Freddie reached for her phone, which was
tucked safely into the pocket on the side of her yoga tights. “I have so much to do today! I’m gonna jump into the shower first, if that’s all right with you.”
“Go ahead,” said Mike. “I’ll boil the kettle so you can make your tea.”
“Thank you,” said Freddie. “That’s really nice of you.”
It was hardly a Herculean task. All Mike had to do was flick the switch on the side of the electric kettle. Freddie had already set the kettle to the proper temperature for her organic green tea, and she’d filled the kettle with filtered water from the pitcher the night before.
Fresh from the shower, Freddie changed into yet another pair of black yoga tights, this time paired with a plain white t-shirt. Mike was willing to bet that the plain tee cost more than his entire wardrobe. Athleisurewear by Yaffa didn’t come cheap, after all. There was a reason why Oprah had listed it as one of her Favorite Things three years running. And he only knew this “fun fact” because his brother’s ex-girlfriend Emily had placed it on her online birthday wish list for three successive years.
Freddie had the whole set, and then some. The hoodie, the tights, the sports bras, and the t-shirts. The toeless socks that were designed to grip the ground so you didn’t slip during yoga. The incredibly well-cut shorts that defined every curve. In other words, the shorts that Freddie liked to wear around the house.
“What a beautiful day,” said Freddie for what must have been the eleventh time. “We have so much to do! I have to buy a laptop. I’m never going to be able to get everything done on my phone. I have to register some domain names and if you know a good web designer, that’d be great. Also, I need to get some basic supplies delivered to Bubbie’s house. That’s the problem part.”
“Why is that a problem? Can’t you arrange to have them delivered after we’re out of quarantine? And I have to ask if it’s safe for you to even go over there. I mean, if it was livable, you would have asked me to take you there instead of crashing with me. Right?”
“Absolutely,” said Freddie without hesitation. “I couldn’t have stayed there. I don’t even have the key. I’d have to break in through the back door, and then I’d get arrested, and my mug shot would end up on TMZ. The Zangers don’t need another family scandal. This is my chance to make things right. And I’m gonna make the most of it.”
Freddie was almost at Pollyanna-level pluckiness now that she had an actual goal. Her resilience and her grit were surfacing, even though she’d come off as whiny and Velcro-like at first. The further she got from her Hollywood days, the more likeable she was.
Freddie sat down at the table and Mike could hear the rapid click-click-click of her nails against the touchscreen. After a spate of typing, she’d check something off her hand-written lists with satisfaction. After checking off item after item, and drinking cup after cup of tea, she gave a satisfied stretch.
“I think I got a lot done,” she said. “Now what do I have left? Let’s see. I have to call Bubbie and ask her to mail the key here, so I can get into the place. Then, I need to make sure we have Wi-Fi. We need bottled water, toilet paper, cleaning products, and of course, food. I can probably get everything online at the supermarket. All I need are plastic bags to pack everything, business cards with care instructions, and mailing envelopes. Lots of mailing envelopes. Too bad the post office doesn’t pick up. Oh, well. I guess the walk will do me good, once I’m able to go outside. Maybe they do pick up. I'll have to check. Isn’t this fun?”
“I guess,” said Mike, looking more and more confused. When had Freddie morphed into that horrible caricature of feminism known as #girlboss? She was preparing to run an operation the scale of a small-to-medium-sized business when she hadn’t even demonstrated that she knew how to sew. Or was she planning to run a socially distanced sweatshop in the heart of Cote St. Luc, staffed by people who presumably knew what they were doing?
“This is coming together so easily,” crowed Freddie. She was looking out the window in the living room, looking up every few minutes for the salad delivery dude as she studied a YouTube video. There was no time to chop kale or mix nuts and seeds in the perfect balance. Running a company entailed a lot of work. She’d had ample time to observe the Caplansky makeup empire in her past life as a hanger-on. Time to fly solo.
Mike was winding up an online meeting with one of his students and their parents. Two sets, since the mom and dad had split and found other partners. Fortunately, the stepparents were taking a step back. Pun intended, obviously, because it was the stepfather who’d made the comment.
Mike exhaled, then went to refill his coffee mug. He took a sip, mumbled, “Stone cold.” He drank it anyway.
Freddie zoomed into the kitchen. “I can make a fresh pot,” she offered. “I’m waiting to hear back from my logo designer and lunch is almost here, so I have a few minutes.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said Mike. Pond water was more delicious than Freddie’s coffee. In fact, it might have been hard to tell them apart. Despite the perfectly fine coffee maker and the coffee from the roastery on St. Denis, it never came out well when Freddie was in charge. Hopefully, her business skills were better.
The lunch delivery came right on schedule, and they settled down to eat with enthusiasm. Mike had ordered the Beet Burger, this time intentionally. As he went to get the ketchup so he could enjoy the sweet potato wedges the way they were intended to be enjoyed, he glanced at Freddie’s ever-growing list. She kept adding item after item, which made Mike think the operation was escalating.
“How many masks are you planning to sell, anyway? Just curious.”
Freddie furrowed her brow. “I don’t think there’s an end to mask-wearing in sight. People are gonna want to wear something fashionable as well as functional, don’t you think?” She paused for a long minute. “I don’t know how to manage the production side, though,” she confessed. “Kassandra had her makeup made offshore, but it took, like, forever to ship it to the US. People can wait for contouring cream, but they need masks. I don’t think I can handle a mass order of tens of thousands of pieces. I can make a fair amount, but not millions.”
“So what you’re saying is…” This was Mike’s favorite way of getting his students to think through their problems and come to a workable solution.
“Yeah. I can’t do mass-market. I’ll have to sell them as couture.” Freddie’s look of satisfaction was all Mike needed. There was no student that he couldn’t reach!
“Couture? That sounds expensive.”
“It will be. It’s all in the marketing. I can’t sew a million masks all by myself, but I can sew a thousand. I may need to find some home sewers, but I’m sure there are plenty of people who can do it to my standards. I’ll have to splash out on the packaging. People will be expecting something glam. Especially at the price they’ll be paying.” More scribbling. More notes. Freddie was bouncing in her chair. She pushed her salad container away. “I have too much to do,” she said breathlessly. “Can you clean up?”
“It’s no problem,” said Mike. What he wanted to say was “It’s my house” but he didn’t. Occupied Freddie was a lot easier to deal with compared with bored Freddie and Mike didn’t want to rock the boat.
Over the next few days, there was a constant stream of deliveries. Packages containing flat boxes, rolls of gold stickers with Freddie’s signature on them and tissue paper occupied a lot of floor space, so much so that Freddie had abandoned hope of ever doing yoga indoors. Thank goodness for the balcony! Except that the gardening equipment had also arrived, and the boxes were on the balcony, waiting to be assembled. And since they were stuck in the apartment, none of the boxes could be taken down to recycling, so they would have to be flattened and left somewhere. But where?
Mike logged on to his afternoon staff meeting, full of redundant information recycled from the news channel and peppered with dumb questions from the One Person Who Never Listened. There was one in every group. Not the most scientific observation, but accurate nonetheless. After forty-fi
ve minutes, Mike felt his brain was fried. And there was Freddie, bringing him a cup of coffee. Oh, lord. He had no choice but to drink it and make grateful noises, but like any marathoner, he was afraid he was going to hit the wall.
He checked the calendar. Five days to go. Five days and then he’d reclaim his condo and reclaim his life. He’d be able to walk outside, maybe running to the fruiterie where he’d see faces that weren’t Freddie. Maybe he’d have to wear a mask, but that would be okay. Instead of smiling, he could give a little salute in greeting, or maybe a nod of the head. He had no idea what people were doing. For all he knew, they were skulking in fear that every person who passed by was a disease vector. He had no way of knowing. Nana Frances was on lockdown and his family was in Ontario, where they probably had different ways of dealing with the situation.
For a second, Mike thought he’d ask Freddie about what she thought the New Normal would be. But she was as sheltered as him. Even more so, because she was an innocent at heart. She was wrestling with the boxes containing the tomato towers. But despite the fact that she was losing the fight, she wasn’t even dropping f-bombs. No. she was actually laughing.
“You should come out and help me,” she called. “Look at how nice this is going to be! This is the coolest thing ever!”
Mike went out on the balcony, ready to read what were probably complicated assembly instructions. He knew that mansplaining was frowned upon, but as a homeowner, he’d had to learn about this sort of thing. He rolled up the sleeves on his flannel shirt and took a deep breath.
“We’re going to need potting soil,” said Freddie. “I think maybe five bags ought to do the trick. That bottle is the fertilizing solution. You load it up, and it fits in at the top of the tower. You have to decide whether you want to plant the tomatoes at the bottom and stake them vertically or plant them in the upper tier and let them behave like vines. Easy-peasy!”
My Funny Quarantine Page 7
