by J. J. Murray
“Good idea.” Dylan nodded. “What else?”
I’m not sure if I can really do this, but... “And we could use my employee discount. That’s fifteen percent off the entire order, so about twenty percent all told.”
“Wow,” Dylan said.
“Saving twenty percent would push our profits up to one-eighty per card.” If “Siamese Snow Angels” breaks a thousand sold, that’s nine hundred dollars toward the beach house where I can one day make sand angels!
“I can live with that,” Dylan said. “Can you?”
Hope nodded. I could probably live with you. In a small house. One room. No escape. Hope blinked. Where have these thoughts been?
“Well,” Dylan said, “we need to put all this in writing.” He grabbed a little spiral memo pad from his back pocket and flipped it open, taking a pen from his hoodie pouch. “I’ll type it up and make this more official looking when I get home.” He began to write. “ ‘I, Dylan Riordan Healy, do promise that I will give Hope Elizabeth Warren of Brooklyn, New York, half of all profits and no less than ninety cents per card sold for Odd Ducks Limited Greeting Cards, as of this date.’ ” He signed his name, wrote down the date, and drew a line. “Sign here, please.”
I’d be insane not to sign this, but this is too good to be true. But things that are too good to be true often aren’t—and so are people sometimes. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Before you were taking in a dollar-fifty per card, and now you’re only going to get ninety cents. You’re going to lose money if I become your business partner.”
“I will gain so much more because of increased sales volume,” Dylan said. “Please sign this, Hope.”
Hope signed her name. It’s practically free money. Is that a seagull I see floating over my beach house? I think it is. Oh, look at the sunset from my deck . . .
Dylan pocketed the memo pad. “I wish I had hooked up with you five years ago.”
He said “hooked up.” This is one American phrase I really like.
“With a twenty percent savings, I could have had at least another maybe ten thousand in the bank now.” He flipped a dangling stray lock off his forehead and over the top of his head. “We’re going to need more bandwidth for the website. I’m tired of using little thumbnails on the main page. We need to use larger graphics. Bigger is better, and it’s easier on the eyes. But I’ll take care of that out of my end.”
“I thought we were equal partners,” Hope said. “Fifty-fifty, right?”
“It should only cost us an extra ten to twenty bucks a month, no sweat,” Dylan said, “and the web host might have a better package deal. I’ll check on it.”
“Whatever it comes to, I should pay half,” Hope said. “You should really be getting a bigger cut anyway, Dylan. You created the company. You have the website all set up and running, and I assume you have a scanner, and you’re the one running to the post office. A sixty-forty split in your favor would be fairer.” That is more than I’ve said to another human being anywhere for the past eight years. This man has loosed my tongue!
Dylan patted his back pocket. “We already have a signed contract, Miss Warren, so we can’t change it now, and anyway, I think fifty-fifty is less than you deserve.”
“And I think it’s more than I deserve,” Hope said. Now I’m arguing with a real person. Out loud, too. This has been an exhausting day!
“And from this moment on, I will think that I’m shortchanging you,” Dylan said. “Your signature character is going to sell a ton of cards, Hope. I’ll probably have to give you bonuses to keep you happy so you don’t leave my company and start your own.”
Bonuses. That’s a B-word I like to hear, but why would I leave when I just got started? I wonder if these bonuses include up-close-and-personal time with Dylan and his flat derriere . . . “What kind of bonuses?”
Dylan flattened his hands on the counter. “Well, I could . . . take you . . . out.” He looked up briefly, then smiled at his hands. “You know, to go out to eat, to see some shows, to . . . to go wherever you want to go.” He looked up. “Oh, unless you want cash. I could do cash bonuses, too.”
Hmm. Cash or the man? I can see this man and me making sand angels together. We will need a large front “yard.” Maybe I’ll take a little of both. “Whatever you think is best. My cards might not sell.”
“They’re already selling,” Dylan said.
“It’s only one card,” Hope said, “and it was your funny idea that made it sell. What if I can’t think up anything catchy?”
“I have no doubts in your abilities,” Dylan said.
Well, that makes one of us.
“You know, I told myself just last week that this was the last Christmas I would ever do cards,” Dylan said. “It takes up a lot of my free time. But now . . .” He smiled. “Hope, you’ve jump-started me. You’ve inspired me. I wish I could put a price tag on inspiration.”
It goes both ways, Dylan. I wish you would touch me in some way repeatedly. I also wish I could touch you in some way. Also repeatedly. “We should shake on this contract too, don’t you think? Let’s make it official.”
“Definitely.” Dylan reached out his hand, and Hope took it. “Here’s to a long, lucrative relationship.”
I like this big hand holding my long skinny hand, and that word “relationship” sounds as nice as that word “partner” does. She stared at their hands. “Here’s to . . .” Warmth? Going out? Bonuses? Making sand angels? Holding hands on long moonlit walks along the beach? “Here’s to Odd Ducks.”
Hope relaxed her grip, but Dylan didn’t let go.
“And to making lots of money,” Dylan said. He pulled his hand away slowly. “Speaking of money, when and how would you like to be paid?”
“Every hour on the hour,” Hope said. I can’t believe I just said that! It makes me seem so greedy!
Dylan laughed. “Me, too, but PayPal isn’t that efficient. PayPal will usually deposit our money into the Odd Duck account within two to three business days. I will add your name to the account, and then you’ll be able to get in there and transfer money to your account.” He frowned. “Oh yeah. You’d need to be with the same bank. I use Chase.”
“Me, too,” This may become a chase. He has such brown brown eyes. I know that’s redundant, but they’re so brown, and just saying “Dylan has brown eyes” isn’t enough. Dylan has brown brown eyes.
“That’s great,” Dylan said. “Yet another happy coincidence.”
Hope watched Dylan’s brown brown eyes move from her face all the way down to her hips. Is he weighing me again?
“I’m not sure what that process entails or how long it takes,” Dylan said. He raised his eyes slowly to her eyes. “But once it’s set up, you can go in and transfer your cut at your leisure.”
He’s so trusting. “You sure?”
“I trust you.” Dylan stepped back from the counter. “Partners have to trust each other, right?”
“Right.” They also have to spend long nights together. Hope blushed. Wow. When’s the last time I blushed?
“So you’ll be ‘paid’ about twice a week,” Dylan said.
“I can live with that,” Hope said. “How do I give my cards to you to put on the website?”
“You already have some ideas?” Dylan asked.
“Yes.” All I have to do is start doodling.
“I am going to have so much trouble keeping up with you,” Dylan said. “Let’s see. I’ll be coming in here daily—as often as I can, anyway—all the way through New Year’s Day. People buy lots of cards after Christmas, too, especially since I give a fifty percent discount to get rid of my ‘stock,’ which really doesn’t exist since we at Odd Ducks do everything made-to-order, right?”
I feel the need to smile at this man. He’s so together, so there, so . . . right in front of me. I haven’t smiled at him yet. I wonder if I remember how. Here goes. I hope there’s no chicken fat stuck to my teeth.
Hope smiled.
Dylan to
ok a breath and smiled back.
I have made him take a breath with my smile. I will have to smile more often. I like to hear him breathing.
“I will have to come in to pick up your originals,” Dylan said. “Hmm. I’ll have to bring my scanner to Kinderstuff. No. I’ll just buy another one. They’re not that expensive, but I’d want a better one for your drawings since they’re far more intricate than mine will ever be. Yeah. I’ll go over to Staples tonight and pick up a scanner.”
Most people who think out loud annoy me, Hope thought. Not him. Why? Oh yeah. I do it, too.
“Okay, so I’ll scan your cards in at Kinderstuff on a new scanner,” Dylan said, “and I’ll put flashing ‘new’ signs on them on the website. I know it’s tacky, but you’d be amazed at how well that works. I could even group all the new ones on their own page. I’ll have to add a button to the navigation bar. And then—”
“Dylan?” Hope interrupted.
“Hmm?” he said.
“I can scan it here and e-mail it to you, right?” This job has several perks. “We have a decent scanner.” Which is a million times better than any of the scanners you can get at Staples.
“That’d be great,” Dylan said. “That way you can scan and shoot your cards to my e-mail whether I’m at work or at home, I download it, post it to the website, I’ll send you an e-mail confirming everything . . .” He nodded. “Can you save all our cards to a file here?”
“Sure,” Hope said. “We back up all the electronic orders we get in case a customer needs more copies later. I’ll just create an Odd Ducks file. No sweat.”
“It’s something I should have already done, huh?” Dylan said.
Hope shrugged. “Just hand me a zip drive of everything you’ve got, and I’ll shoot it to the file.”
Dylan nodded and smiled. “This is working out so well, and with our entire arsenal of cards already here in that file, you can print cards out at your leisure once I e-mail or call you with the numbers. Hope, that will save so much time. And ink. I go through so many ink cartridges.”
“And from now on, Dylan,” Hope said, “whenever you come up with a new design, you can scan it wherever and e-mail it straight to the file here.”
Dylan sighed. “I’ve been doing everything the hard way, huh?”
“Well . . .” He has. “Yes.”
Dylan squinted. “But that would mean . . .” His voice trailed away. “I wouldn’t have to come here as often, would I? We’d be electronic files passing in the night.”
That would not be good! Go back to the hard way! Hurry!
His squint vanished, his brown brown eyes whole again. “Oh, I’d still have to come by to make all the payments, pick up the orders, and get them to the post office. I’d have to do that at least once a day.”
That’s better. Hope smiled at the counter this time. Oh, sure, I could explain how we can set him up with electronic billing and how he could lease a postage meter. Maybe some other time. Or never. Hmm. Probably never.
“What am I thinking?” Dylan whipped out his memo pad. “I’ve given you no contact numbers.” He wrote down his e-mail address and two phone numbers. “This is my cell number, and this is the number to Kinderstuff. Call me anytime you need to. I mean, in case you run into problems with anything. Sometimes I can get away for a few minutes. It’s not that far from here.”
Hope took a piece of scratch paper and wrote down Thrifty’s phone number, her phone number, and her e-mail address, adding a miniature Noelle on the page. “I don’t have a cell phone,” she said. “I know that’s weird.” Why own a cell phone when you have no one to call?
“If you don’t need one, why have one?” Dylan asked.
I’m glad that he’s a pragmatic man, too. “And if you ever need to . . . discuss anything with me, feel free to call.” She bit her lip and slid the slip of paper across the counter.
I have just given out my phone number to my partner who wants a business relationship, and I’m feeling excited and exhilarated and breathless and my mouth is completely dry and even my toes are tingling. No, they’re just cold. I should wear two pairs of socks.
“So, Dylan,” Hope said, “I will see you tomorrow around . . .”
“Five, unless you see me sooner with Aniya,” Dylan said. “Let’s run three hundred of the Siamese snow angels.”
“That many?” Hope asked.
“I have a good feeling about this.” He took out his wallet. “That’s going to cost me . . .” He narrowed his eyes.
Hope wrote up a quick order ticket. “With my discount and the thirty-two-pound paper, that’ll be two-forty, so one-twenty now.”
Dylan opened his wallet, took out a check card, and handed it to Hope. “Thank you.”
“I’m taking your money and you’re thanking me,” Hope said.
“I’m thanking you because I’m spending less money than I would have without you so we can make a lot more.” He blinked. “Did that make sense?”
Hope nodded. She rang up fifty percent of his total order, swiped his card, and waited for his receipt to print out. When it did, she tore it off carefully. “You keep all your business records, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Dylan said. “Odd Ducks goes on my Schedule C.”
She handed him the receipt. “And what kinds of things do you deduct as business expenses, aside from materials and costs?”
Dylan pursed his lips. “That’s about it. I depreciate my equipment, but other than that . . .” He shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
“Did you save your receipt from our lunch?” Hope asked.
“Yes.” Dylan’s eyes popped. “That was a business lunch, wasn’t it?”
Hope nodded. “In fact, any lunches we share as partners . . .”
“Or dinners . . .” Dylan smiled.
Or breakfasts . . . I can dream, can’t I? “Right. So keep track of them.”
“I will.” He shook his head. “You’re brilliant, Hope. Thank you for everything, for lunch, for the contract, for everything. It’s like I’ve just had Christmas in October.”
Don’t roll your eyes, Hope.
“It will be an honor and a pleasure to be working with you, Hope.” He bowed his head slightly.
I hope it’s more pleasure than honor. “You, too, Dylan.”
“Bye.”
Hope watched him leave, hoping he would look back at least once.
Dylan looked back twice.
She held up the “Siamese Snow Angels” card. It is so ridiculous how something so simple could do so much good, not only for my bank account but also for my self-esteem. A man walked in here today and showed me more respect in an hour than the people here have shown me in ten years. I deserve respect, and Dylan gave it to me freely.
I wonder what else he gives away freely . . .
I have been a lonely woman for far too long.
Hope ran three hundred smiling Siamese snow angels through the DocuTech, deciding to leave them for folding in the morning. She counted down the register and made a master receipt of the day’s take, putting the receipt on Justin’s desk. Before she left the office, she wiggled the mouse.
That can’t be ecstasy on her face, though it should be. She has two men servicing her. She tilted her head. And they seem to be doing it well. Her smile should reach from ear to ear, though. She has two men.
I’d settle for one.
Doing that.
And that.
She locked the office, filled out a deposit slip, put less than one hundred dollars cash into the cash bag, and secured it with a key. After shutting down all machines but the mainframe and turning out all but the purple neon light in the front window, she grabbed a ream of recycled paper and left Thrifty, locking the door behind her.
Traffic was so heavy she had to walk up to Nevins Street to use the crosswalk to get back to Chase Manhattan Bank, where she dropped the cash bag into the night deposit box.
Then she walked home with a little hop in her step.
The air doesn’t smell so bad tonight.
She walked quickly until she stood under the purple awning at Kinderstuff. Through the picture window, she could see castles of every size, color, and shape made out of tongue depressors, Popsicle sticks, and toothpicks, the glue glistening.
Dylan Riordan Healy is building castles down here, too, and one day, I’ll be building sand castles in my front yard because of him.
She focused on the largest castle, which seemed to be more a stadium than a castle. Instead of solid green grass inside, the artist had created a rainbow colored field.
A child’s art is the purest kind of art. Straight imagination. These children haven’t been sullied, influenced, or polluted by any of the other brutal art out there. These castles are dreams made visible.
After what happened today, I can actually see a few of my dreams now.
Having dreams means you have something to live for. Oh, sure, dreams can get complicated, but maybe I need complications in my life, and perhaps, maybe, hopefully, Dylan can simplify my life, too.
She smiled as she ambled off down Flatbush Avenue.
Yes, maybe Dylan can simplify my complications.
Chapter 6
Once inside her apartment, Hope put on her University of Alberta sweats, gray with green and gold lettering. Whack, as usual, ignored her in silence from the quilt on Hope’s bed.
Hope was not pleased with how unflattering these sweats made her look. “Je ressemble à un grand éléphant bouffant,” she whispered at her reflection in the long, skinny mirror on the back of her washroom door. She looked at Whack. “Don’t I look like a tall, baggy elephant?”
Whack did not reply.
Though she wished she had a proper drafting table, Hope decided her kitchen table would have to do. She set a blank piece of paper in front of her.
And drew a blank.
She drew many blanks.
In fact, she drew so many blanks that she rose, went to her nightstand, and turned on her clock radio, tuning it to WCBS to listen to some classic oldies.