Pink Slips and Glass Slippers

by J. P. Hansen

  A little white dog sprinted up to Brooke, followed not too closely by a little girl calling the dog’s name. Brooke smiled and petted the friendly dog with the delightful furry face, sprinkled with sand. The little girl yelled, “Taffy,” but the dog never broke eye contact with Brooke.

  “Hi Taffy,” Brooke said, causing the dog’s ears to shift. “Ah, selective hearing, huh Taffy?” Another flinch, tail wagging faster. Brooke continued petting the dog as the girl neared them, giggling, “She likes you.”

  A woman neared, saying, “Taffy. Get back here.” Taffy lowered her head, then froze.

  Brooke yelled back, “She’s fine. Taffy’s not bothering me.” Brooke and the little girl gave the dog a full body rub, as the mother slowed to a walk. She eyed Brooke suspiciously, then relaxed her stance.

  Brooke peered into the hazel eyes of the girl, and asked, “How old are you?”

  The girl struggled to hold up three fingers as her mother arrived, and said, “Abbey, you know how to say it.”

  Abbey glanced at her mother, then with the fingers still in the air, said, “Freeee,” then giggled.

  Brooke glimpsed at the mother and said, “She’s so precious. I bet she keeps you busy.”

  “They both do. C’mon, we have to go. Quit bothering the lady.”

  Brooke started saying, “They’re not—” as the mother pulled Abbey and Taffy away.

  Brooke gazed until she could barely see the child and her dog anymore. Then, she surveyed the area—no Parker. She returned to the sand castle spot. Still, no sign of the little guy. Feeling a sudden sadness, Brooke parked her bike and retrieved her umbrella from the beach house.

  After setting up camp, she retrieved her notepad and opened to the first page. Staring out at the ocean, she pondered meaning. A tennis ball banged against Brooke’s bad ankle, causing a grimace. A little girl shuffled over hesitantly. Brooke heard a distant, “Say sorry.”

  The little girl flashed big brown eyes, then in the voice of an angel, said, “I’m sorry.”

  Brooke laughed at the intensity on her tiny face, guessing she couldn’t be much older than Abbey. “It’s okay. Can I throw it to you?”

  “Okay,” the brown eyes beamed, then she extended her hands with locked elbows.

  Brooke tossed the ball underhanded. It bounced off the little girl’s hands onto her forehead, then fell into her hands. She squealed, then yelled to her playmate, “I caught one!” She grinned at Brooke, and said, “It’s my first catch.”

  Brooke smiled, “Great job.”

  Her brother shouted something and the little girl simply said, “Bye,” then ran with little legs that moved like pistons.

  Brooke returned to her notebook and frowned. She understood writer’s block. Brooke closed the pad, then shut her eyes. With the waves lulling her, Brooke fell asleep.

  Brooke flinched. Then flinched again. She lifted her feet up as her eyes shot open. The tide ended her dream, deleting the sleepy transition time when recall was possible. Brooke jumped up, pulled out her umbrella, then grabbed her open chair and beach bag, and dragged it to dry sand.

  She surveyed the area—no Parker—then folded her chair and left.

  Riding back to the villa, she vaguely remembered that Shane was in her dream. Even though she didn’t have any breakthrough news, she felt compelled to call him.

  “Fancy hearing your voice,” Shane said in his usual upbeat tone.

  “I’ve been trying to ponder meaning, but I’ve only been able to assign new meaning to the word beach bum.”

  “You’re enjoying Hilton Head, that’s good in and of itself. You deserve some down time.”

  “This is gonna sound weird, but whenever I try to think of meaning, I never get anything work related. I feel this mystical pull toward something greater than me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Brooke glanced to the right, then said, “Well, I went to a bookstore to pick up books on meaning. Ironically, I was drawn to the magazine rack. Eyeing all the anorexic airbrushed models, something hit me—no wonder I feel so conflicted. As a woman, I’m expected to be the perfect mom and wife—which I feel like I failed; have a great career—which I was fired from; then be attractive and fit in with these ridiculous, unrealistic expectations—which not even those models can succeed at.”

  “Sounds like you’re having a quantum moment.”

  Brooke chuckled, “You sound new age.”

  “Actually, it’s age old. But, that’s a discussion for another day…You’re onto something. You’ve identified the root of struggle—which is the starting point. From there, what do you value?”

  “This place is like kiddie land. It gets me thinking…About what it would be like to have kids of my own. But, not like everyone I’ve run into. I’ve observed so many adorable kids whose parents are totally aloof and I guess it makes me sad. Did you know that when I first started school I was pursuing a Child Psychology degree? Dad had other ideas and I let him push me down an entirely different path that he said was more lucrative.”

  “Believe it or not, I think you’ve gained more insight about meaning than you think.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Listen to yourself. You’ve uncovered your own key to meaning. It’s simplified into three words: be, do, have.”

  After a pause, Brooke said, “Now you’ve lost me.”

  Shane drew a deep breath, then said, “Everyone has it backwards—have, do, be. I’ll provide an example. Let’s use the universal, time-tested ambition—money. People say, ‘if I could have a million dollars, then I could be doing all the things I truly want to do. Then, I could be happy.’ Then they never have it and play a lifelong blame game.”

  “Am I playing a blame game?”

  “Not when you take a quantum leap. You told me what makes you sad, now apply the Law of Polarity to determine what makes you happy. Everything has an opposite, Brooke. All it takes is be, do, have—be happy, then things you like doing will magically appear, then you’ll have meaning.”

  “My head is spinning.”

  Chapter 18

  Quantum leap huh? Then, why aren’t the words leaping on the page? Brooke’s doodle now expanded to the bottom of the page. Why does Shane always leave me thinking? I’m on vacation, for Chrissake. Alone. It’s hard to be freaking happy without someone—anyone.

  I need lava.

  The next morning came too soon. A loud noise jolted her out of a fitful sleep. Did someone crash a plane into my villa? How many of those things did I drink? Brooke steadied herself up, then wobbled over to the unshaded window—a leaf blower.

  Well, it could be worse. I could have that job. I wonder if he’s happy. Brooke laughed, realizing she was becoming her daddy—he always laughed at his own jokes. Maybe, I need to tell myself jokes. Be, do, have.

  Brooke craved an espresso, and actually contemplated a trip up the road. But, her inner teeter-totter landed on “no.” I wonder if they make it 175 degrees here…Another laugh. Brooke glanced at her old Sheryl Crow CD sitting near the even older boom box. Though music was out of the question right now, a song rang in her head: “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad. If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?” She ambled over to the bedside table and carefully lifted up the book Shane suggested, The Bliss List.

  Brooke eased into her chair while staring at the yellow brick road cover, and opened to her loose leaf page of her Bliss List. Rereading it, she set the day’s itinerary—horseback riding, then a sunset stroll by her special spot. She dressed—Tar Heels hat, Salty Dog T-shirt, and white skirt—then drove to Starbucks, whistling the song.

  White cup in hand, she lifted the cover and inhaled, then sipped the 175-degree quad espresso. For no apparent reason, Brooke pictured Chase riding a horse, both bare-back. She laughed. I wonder if he still thinks of me.

  “Whenever I see your smiling face…” drew a glare from a twenty-something mother sitting nearby, who then peered into her stroller. When she
glanced back up, Brooke mouthed sorry. Pressing ignore on Melissa’s number made Brooke feel a twinge of guilt. She lifted her cup and sipped slowly, glad it wasn’t so darn hot anymore.

  Brooke dialed Melissa from the car.

  “Hey stranger, long time no talk.” Melissa’s tone managed to mix cynical with sarcastic.

  “I’m sorry we keep missing each other.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Soon,” Brooke breathed a sigh of relief. She hoped she didn’t have to lie.

  “Any luck on the job front?”

  “No, don’t remind me. I’ve been trying to forget about the w-word.”

  After a pause, Melissa said, “I have an idea for you?”

  “Not you now. Have you been talking to my daddy too?” Oops, I hope she doesn’t pick up on that one.

  “How is good ole Weston?”

  “Fine.”

  “Well, he probably wouldn’t approve of this one, but…”

  Brooke laughed, “Now you piqued my interest...”

  “I thought about something you said to me that night. This is going to sound strange, but, how about a preschool?”

  Preschool. Brooke pondered, running her fingernails through her hair, then said, “What do you mean?”

  “A close friend of my mother just found out she has cancer. She’s owned a successful preschool for years. I’m not sure how much—”

  “Oh my God—owning a preschool sounds meaningful. You have an uncanny way of reading my mind—even when I can’t read it myself.”

  “Her name’s Betsy Stanton. Want her number?”

  ***

  Slamming the door, he said, “Sit down,” then marched to his chair that he always kept higher than the rest. “I thought I could count on you.”

  Chase fidgeted in the tight leather seat, “What are you talking about?”

  Henry’s glare intensified, illuminated by the fluorescent light set against the gloomy sky behind him. He said, “I’m not here to judge you. What’s done is done. Your timing couldn’t be worse. We don’t need this right now.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Don’t insult me. I didn’t get this far because of my looks,” Henry frowned, red faced, “I know all about your affair, so you don’t have to lie to me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Chase gulped; his dry mouth nearly choked him. “I…I…Don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything Goddammit! To anybody. Sever all contact with that girl. I mean it.”

  “Yes sir,” Chase glanced down.

  “You better hope I can make this go away quietly. You’ve put our image in danger—not to mention what this will do to your marriage. I feel sorry for your lovely, devoted wife—back home with your son—while you...” Henry drew a deep breath, “Have you told her?”

  “No sir.” Chase’s eyes remained fixed on the floor.

  “I can’t even imagine what this scandal would do to our stock.”

  Stepping off the elevator, Chase felt like he wore concrete shoes. Once past the security station, he vaguely heard, “Where’s your raincoat sir? It’s bad out there.” Without responding, Chase pulled his tie like he was hanging himself until it loosened. Then, he popped the top button off his shirt, and lurched into the downpour. The instant soaking didn’t faze him—he felt like he was hiking across a lagoon with alligators snapping from every direction.

  I can’t believe she’d do this. I thought we had something, but that’s just my luck with women. I sure know how to pick them. Now I know why she wouldn’t take my calls. I can only imagine Henry when he learns the truth about my devoted wife. I have to make sure that doesn’t happen.

  Time to make that call.

  ***

  “I have something crazy to run by you.”

  “Nothing’s too crazy for my ears. Try me.”

  “Well, I thought about what you told me.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve been going over things and I think I’m ready to go in a different direction.”

  “Oh.”

  “With your blessing, of course.”

  “You don’t need my blessing.” Shane sounded aggravated.

  Brooke said, “I’m thinking about a quantum leap—buying a preschool.”

  Long pause, then Shane said, “That’s not a crazy idea. After reading your Bliss List, working with children fits you perfectly. It’s tricky to start up your own—”

  “That’s the great thing. I’m meeting with a lady who needs to sell her preschool business. She’s stricken with cancer and desperately wants to turn it over to the right person. She would stay on to train me and help out as long as she could. It’s located about twenty minutes away.” Brooke rambled, breathless and excited, “I have no idea what it would cost and I’m not a teacher, but I know how to run a business and I love kids. Heck, I was only about a year away from finishing my major degree in Child Psychology, too. I have a good feeling about this one.”

  Shane inhaled, then said, “That’s wonderful. Don’t look at it as a leap; see it as a divine calling. When you follow your heart, doors open magically.”

  “You can say that again. My friend Melissa actually provided the idea and introduction, but you’re giving me confidence. I figure if everything feels right, I’ll try it for six months. If it doesn’t work, I can always return to the corporate world.”

  “Don’t even think like that. We’re going to bury the corporate world and never look back. From this moment forward, you’re going to focus on happiness and fulfillment. Along those lines, I’d like to see you use your maiden name in your new venture.”

  ***

  Brooke Ingram drove across the bridge feeling a sense of joy that, five days ago, didn’t seem possible. Swirling winds and dark clouds didn’t seem as scary now. Discarding her iPod, and all its memories, she flipped on a classic rock station—“Good Day Sunshine.” She surveyed the swaying palm branches and smiled.

  Just past the half-way point, the radio station became nothing but static and the traffic was at a standstill. Brooke turned off the radio, and opened her notebook. She flipped to her notes from the Shane sessions and a quote stuck out: “The most interesting people can spend an hour alone and be happy.” Be, do, have in action. Brooke realized: though by herself, she never felt alone. Traffic resumed and for the rest of the drive, Brooke reflected on the past few days, and sensed meaning was one doorway away.

  ***

  Pulling into the entrance, Brooke felt a sense of awe. Her heart stirred in a way that reminded her of Hilton Head. Set inside the extended branches like the heart of a flower, Angel’s Academy Learning Center opened hands of compassion. Brooke was home.

  Betsy Stanton had the appearance Brooke knew so well. Though only 5:30 p.m., Betsy looked like she could sleep for the night. Brooke had a million questions, but scrutinizing the feeble lady, decided against overburdening her. Brooke felt a divine kinship to Betsy when she said, “My husband and I were never blessed with children of our own…” Then, Betsy unwittingly sealed the deal by pleading for Brooke to keep Marsha Thomas, her loyal assistant who couldn’t afford to lose her job, and the other teacher that had been with her for years. Brooke said, “Angel’s Academy is a Godsend for me.”

  Betsy said, “Having you here now is a Godsend for me. You should see how it all works. Come spend a week with us before you make any decisions. Plus, I’ll be able to stay on for a while.”

  They agreed with a handshake—so different from the legal wrangling of the contractual corporate world. Speaking with Betsy, Brooke felt like she surveyed the mirror of time—and gazed past the cancer—and saw herself. And, she loved her reflection.

  ***

  “I think you’re committing career suicide.”

  “Ouch. Those are harsh words, Daddy.”

  “You’re throwing away your chance to be a CEO.”

  “Technically, I am the CEO of Angel’s Acad
emy.”

  “Don’t try to be funny.”

  “I’m dead serious about this.” Brooke’s jaw tightened.

  “You should think about—”

  “I’ve given it plenty of thought. It’s hard to explain. I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m a big girl now. I need to do this.”

  “Be reasonable. Listen to—”

  “Hey, if it doesn’t work out, I can always go back to the jungle.”

  “I’ll make one more point. Please consider all the time you’ve put in building such an impressive resume.”

  “I have. Trust me, I have. In my heart of hearts, I know working with children is my true calling and always has been. Please support me on this.”

  “I’ve made my case.”

  “I love you Daddy.”

  “Love you too.”

  As Brooke hung up, she stared at the phone. She expected her father’s opposition. He sounded just like a reluctant buyer during a sales call, then the debate team captain with his last comment. Now that it ended, her neck muscles loosened.

  With Weston Ingram, Esquire, in her rearview mirror, Brooke went online and read everything she could on preschoolers. She soaked in each tidbit of information just like her little students—and couldn’t wait to start school.

  Day one of her preview week arrived with great anticipation. When Brooke entered at seven o’clock—one hour before the kids arrived—Betsy looked refreshed. After introducing Brooke to Marsha and the other teacher, Miss Charlotte. Betsy let them get acquainted. Brooke had a good feeling about Marsha as her Assistant Director. She recognized she was organized and vital to the operations, but she liked her as a person. Within five minutes, Brooke reassured Marsha that her job would be safe.

  Marsha prepared name tags for each child. The plan called for Brooke to observe all week and, if still interested, they would ink the deal. No need to inform the sometimes uppity parents until then. At eight sharp, Betsy and Marsha opened the door, allowing the children to enter in single file. Brooke noticed several parents carefully eyeing her as she stood beside Betsy and Marsha. Brooke marveled at how polite the children acted. At three years old, the kids were more courteous than business people. Then, her eyes widened.