by Julia Ariss
"You said I should call."
"Is that you? Erasto? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, it's me. I'm not so good, Fanny. You got a minute? I'm in trouble," he croaked, wearily.
"Oh, no. What kind of trouble? Are you hurt? Have you been arrested?"
"I'm just... it's just I'm coming off some stuff and I'm messed up. I dunno. I need help stabilizing, somewhere to go and get my head straight."
Her mind was scrambling, madly trying to process the situation and recall the things she'd read recently about substance abuse and mental health in the homeless population. They were intertwined, one driving the other, and needed to be addressed concurrently. The longer people wait the less likely they are to access treatment. But this was all so theoretical and useless in a pinch.
"I need to detox, someplace safe," he was saying, urgently, "before it's too late. This is someone else's cell. It's almost dead."
"Okay, I see now. That's good, Erasto. You're very brave. I really want to help you and I think I can. You're going to be okay. I just need to make some enquiries on your behalf. Can you wait for me?"
"You don't look down on me, Fanny, like the others. You don't judge. I trust you. I just need to get off the street and be done with this..."
He was starting to ramble and she could barely hear him. "Do you know where my office tower is? Actually, never mind, that's no good," she said quickly. "It's better if I come to you."
"I'll be at my spot by the newsstand."
"Good. Oh, I just thought of something. There might be some red tape getting you assistance, but it would help if you had some I.D."
"At first I was just using weed to take the edge off, you know, to self-medicate kinda, and then someone showed me how crack could get me through the night when I was sleeping under the bridge. Never shoulda..."
"You're fading in and out."
"Yeah, red tape. I got my citizenship card, someplace."
"That's good. And Erasto, how old are you, anyway?"
"Fifteen... today," he said, barely audibly, just before his phone died.
Fanny listened to the dial tone and put the phone down quietly. She rested her forehead in her palm as her shoulders slumped over her chest. He'd placed his trust in her because she didn't stand in judgement; he was far too generously disposed toward her, she knew. She considered herself shamefully judgemental most of the time, but she drew the line in this case. Not with a homeless boy left behind, gutted by grief. Not with Erasto. Her fingers sought her keyboard and began clattering away noisily, to drum up some answers. Any thoughts about the night before, now so inconsequential sitting in stark contrast to Erasto's burdens were summarily shelved and forgotten.
After a fruitless couple of hours surfing the web and making phone calls, she felt stymied at every turn. Incredibly, there were no withdrawal management services or designated detox beds, as they called them, for youth under sixteen.
"Ideally, your teen should stabilize at home," a jaded voice on the line had told her, "and crack is one of the easier ones."
To add to the frustration, he couldn't be admitted to one of the few wait-listed long term residential treatment beds reserved for youth with addictions and mental health issues until he was stabilized. When the reporter rang again Fanny gave free rein to her ranting, doing so uninterrupted on the issue for a full five minutes, before he finally wormed his way in and wrangled his meeting. The venting helped.
"Alright," she said, resignedly, "but if you're looking for sensational, this is your scoop. It's about a whopping hitch in the system. It's about a boy."
***
It was drizzling lightly as Erasto posed uncomfortably under the umbrella she'd given him, now looking worse for wear, its ribs broken and poking out hazardously, while the reporter snapped away.
"He's ready to accept help and there's nowhere to go," Fanny was saying. “Not if you're his age, not right away. It's a catch-22. This shouldn't be, not in a city this size, this rich. Something has to be done now. It's in the public interest."
"Who do you think should fix it?" the reporter asked absently, as he reviewed his photos.
"Who? Well, I don't know. Everyone? The government, politicians, taxpayers, private citizens, corporations, employees... journalists. All of us, I guess."
"Corporations, you said?"
"Yes, everyone," she replied hurriedly, turning her attention to Erasto and addressing him reassuringly. "We might have a chance at Toronto East General Hospital for their Withdrawal Management services, but they'll probably need some kind of parental consent."
"My grandmother was my guardian. After my parents got killed in Somalia, we moved to Canada. She raised me; I got no one else to sign. Foster care was sketchy."
"Maybe they'll bend the rules this once," she said gently, touching his shoulder tentatively, "and then there is day treatment rehab on an outpatient basis after that," she added, smiling hopefully.
"A street outreach worker got me into one a while back. It's good but I found out once a week doesn't work for me Fanny."
"What happened?"
"There were the other days. I was supposed to be abstinent, and I ended up back on it when I was low," he said, looking down. "I need to get off the street and go someplace where I can't get my hands on that stuff. Oh, and my guitar wasn't stolen. I pawned it for crack."
"I see." They both watched the sullied rainwater streaming into the sewer grate. "The thing is, I do have a chaise...," she heard herself saying.
"A what? No Fanny. Not your problem. You can't fix this, but I appreciate all you've done, your effort. I gotta go now, alright, gotta keep moving, but you're one of my mains now. I believe that."
"What did you say? What I mean is... we can't just give up Erasto. Why don't we just reason with the hospital and see where we get," Fanny implored, as he ambled off.
"Just let him go, you gave it the old college try," the reporter said in a low voice, adding, "I slipped him a couple of bills, for his trouble. These are murky waters you're swimming in."
Better than the cool, clean spring of apathy, she reflected. He was a tad too detached, even for a reporter, she decided. And he had shifty eyes. "I said I would help him, I said he'd be okay," she muttered helplessly, her face going slack.
"I guess he didn't want to use up the last of your sympathy," he said, packing up his things. “He's street-wise for a kid so young."
"That's the disgraceful part," she replied bitterly, adding with measured emphasis, "that he should have to be. Wise beyond his years."
"It's a complex issue," he said, with a shrug.
"So you'll highlight his predicament? Let your readers know?"
"That's not necessarily my angle Fanny. I don't delve deep. But rest assured I took some rockin' good shots. The pictures say it all. If I hustle I might even make tonight's deadline," he said as he waved down a taxi.
Fanny stood motionless, her mouth agape and partially veiled by her fingers, as the door slammed behind him and the cab drove off. Her hand dropped to her collar bones and she paused to steady her breath. With sinking heart she turned and craned her neck, looking above the pedestrians, her eyes darting about feverishly, for any trace of Erasto. As if she hadn't botched things up thoroughly enough, she realized she'd also forgotten to wish him a happy birthday.
***
Fanny held out hope on the slim chance that, in fact, she hadn't made a deal with the devil. But the cover photo, in the following morning's digital edition, said it all. It was not of Erasto, but of herself taken on the sly and without her consent, as she tried to comfort him. "CORPORATE CRUSADER UNVEILED!" it trumpeted. A smaller inset photo zoomed in on the corporate logo from the umbrella, its exposed spokes, and Erasto's afro with the bold caption, "BROKEN" and accompanying text: "In an exclusive interview, Fanny Bower, a fierce advocate for the disenfranchised and employee of Barrington Global has come forward and revealed she thinks it's 'in the public interest' to know that 'rich' corporations such as her own, aren'
t using their corporate tax cuts more judiciously in tackling such issues as youth unemployment and homelessness. Its 'disgraceful' and 'something has to be done now'," Ms. Bower added."
She knew better, yet read on frantically, poring over the article for anything on Erasto, aware in doing so she risked absorbing toxic rot, on par with taking up smoking, after a lifetime of clean living. He got a brief mention, referred to only as a friend "in need and down on his luck, of no fixed address" with nary a word of copy dedicated to his true dilemma. In the end, the reporter had written the headline grabbing story he'd been itching to write.
"Pah. Lazy journalism," her father said sympathetically, when he called on Saturday morning.
"I knew he was trouble. He'll never darken our doors again, not on my watch. Incidentally, if it's any consolation, that was an outstanding photo he took of you," Evie said, supportively, when she called later that day.
, Richard offered kindly in a text.
"What is this?" Jack demanded, on the following Monday afternoon. He was pointing his finger at his desk which was littered with a mass of papers, the tabloid spread out on top.
"I dunno, a momentary lapse in judgement," Fanny said, trying to ignore her twitching eyelid. "A huge snafu, actually. I'm so sorry."
"No Fanny, this is the reason I called you in here," he said pushing a paper in front of her.
"Oh that," she said examining it, "that's my letter of resignation. I submitted it to the H.R. director this morning."
"And she forwarded it to me. Don't be ridiculous," he said, sharply.
"It's probably for the best," she said carefully. Then, after what seemed an interminable nerve jangling stare down, she ventured to ask, "Is Tish up to her elbows in clean-up over this?"
"Tish is no longer with us. Her contract wasn't renewed. She left to pursue other opportunities," he responded, matter-of-factly.
"Oh... um, well that's... very sudden. You mean for good?" she asked, restraining the corners of her mouth. "What I meant to say is, it's probably smart to keep things separate, though it must have been a very difficult decision," she added, solemnly. "At least I would find it challenging, working so closely with my fiancé."
"I have never been engaged to Tish nor had any other involvement with her apart from a very mundane business relationship," he said in a heavy-lidded monotone.
"Really? Are you sure?" she said, forgetting herself.
"Quite sure. I don't need to fuel the rumour mill with office dalliances," he said, adding, "office gossip is notoriously unreliable, Fanny."
"Sorry. Once again. I just... sheesh. People just can't seem to resist the urge to partner everyone off," she reflected out loud, instantly regretting her words. Cripes! "Listen. Jack," she said, leaning in urgently, "please let me explain all this."
"By all means. Shoot," he said, eyeing his watch.
So she launched into Erasto's story, sparing no details and trailing off on tangents as she was wont to do. And he listened, with a studied calm she felt, a refusal to become fed up, infuriatingly unreadable, with the hint of something simmering beneath. In a shameless tug at his heartstrings, she worked in the part about Erasto being orphaned, but he was not to be caught off guard, his response only a subtle eye roll.
"But you do think corporations are part of the answer," he said, locking eyes. "You said as much in one of those rambling proposals you regularly submit to your supervisor."
"But I didn't accuse Barrington of turning a blind eye to social problems. I know we sponsor Bike for the Cure, for instance. I only suggested that many of our employees would want to give back to the community and pitch in for a good cause, anyway. The data from our recruitment surveys bears out on this. Engaging our work force, especially our new recruits who know what it's like out there, in meaningful fundraising efforts and making even more charitable partnerships would produce higher profits and productivity as well as greater customer loyalty. Everybody wins. There was a study done by The Harvard Business Review that supports this," she said, flashing him a significant look.
"You subscribe?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"I came across it... on the net," she said vaguely, shifting in her chair.
"And this Erasto? Where is he?"
"I can't find him. He doesn't have a cell. I bungled things royally for him and I'm worried he'll backslide or worse. He said he trusted me, and I let him down. I'm one of his mains, he said."
"Mains? Honestly Fanny, I have no idea what you're talking about now, and I've run out of reasons to postpone my meeting any longer. I'm late, so you'll have to excuse me," he said, shaking his head irritably as he tightened his tie. Rising abruptly from his desk he pulled his hand roughly through his hair, then grabbed his phone and shoved it his pocket. He hastened to the door but froze as though he'd forgotten something, and turned back only to swipe the resignation letter from the desk and tear it in half. When he reached the door again he wasted no time, swinging it open in a single confident flourish, and striding purposefully down the hall, leaving Fanny and his assistant staring stupidly at each other.
***
Fanny sat tipped forward with her elbows on the table at a rooftop lounge in Yorkville, a glass of pinot noir set before her, and her eyes fixed on George, rapt. In typical George fashion he had ridden in unannounced that evening like a white knight, to rescue her from her depths, by elevating her eighteen floors above the city. And he was saying, as white knights will, all the right things. It was intoxicating, and she was all ears.
"So you're not media savvy. So what. Who is? The whole thing is a reflection of your generous nature," he was saying, putting a hand over hers. "And it's only made it more clear to me how well suited you are to a role with us. With me. And you know what else? You're like lightning in a bottle. You're not afraid to put yourself out there Fanny, to get in front of people and ask the big questions, to challenge the status quo. You're not afraid to demand things on behalf of those who can't. I can just see you, mingling with the city's cream of the crop at their fancy-pants parties, bending their ears. No... enlightening them."
Her mouth hung open as she strained to picture it, but she was coming up empty. "Is that really me you're talking about?"
"Sure it is. And it's what I want for you. You need to stop tap-dancing along the precipice and take the plunge."
"So you actually think we can make headway with this? Rally people round?"
He leant forward in earnest, fastening his gaze. "For Erasto's sake and others like him we have an obligation to. I think you know how I feel about the homeless. I don't have to pull my head out of the sand. I want to mine your talents. When one door closes another one opens, Fanny. You'll start as soon as you've served out your notice."
The magic of his voice charmed away her fears. "But there's one slight glitch," she said. I handed in my resignation, but Jack rejected it. Actually, I don't even think he took it seriously."
"It wouldn't look well to cut you adrift right now, would it? Poor optics. But I'm sure he can spare you," he said with a breezy smile.
"I suppose you're right," she conceded.
"He's a reasonable guy. Tish tells me you hold some sway with him..."
"Tish?"
"Yes, she works for me now. Sorry... sorry. I should have told you earlier, I know. It all happened so quickly."
"Oh, Gawd," she groaned, hunching over with her hands pressed to her temples.
"She thinks you're fantastic. She's been secretly rooting for you all along."
"George!"
"Okay, I'll level with you. She was in a jam, Fanny," he said throwing his hands up. “She parted company with Barrington unexpectedly, and I found her a role. Because she's a friend. She was under-utilized over there and she needs a fresh start."
"We've had our run-ins."
"That's ancient history. We're all professionals here. She knows the drill. She wants to make amend
s. I know you can both transcend this."
Fanny raised her head slightly and slowly met his eyes. As much as she was aching to, she was mindful of the hypocrisy in faulting him for reaching out, even to the insufferable Tish. His gaze was hyper-focused, unyielding.
"She has some ideas she wants to run past you," he added. "Your job doesn't hinge on anything she should suggest, but it would mean a lot if you'd give her a listen. I've asked her to meet us here, but I can cancel. Do you want me to cancel?" he asked, placing his phone on the table.
"No, don't cancel," she said uneasily, struggling to maintain a veneer of composure.
"Good."
"Are you sure about this, George?"
"Absolutely certain," he said, clasping her hand. "Besides, you're not cut out for the cubicle scene; a dynamo like you is wasted on the likes of them. I think you may have found your raison d'être."
Despite his sunny assurances there was a brief tension filled standoff shortly thereafter when Tish approached their table, akin to the awkwardness of walking into a party and locking eyes with someone else wearing the same dress. George acted decisively; quickly signaling for drinks to facilitate a smooth transition. He then made his excuses and wisely decamped.
"Incompetent reporting. One of the hazards of courting the spotlight," Tish declared, not unsympathetically, after a short cooling off period had elapsed and the small talk was dispensed with. Her quills had retracted and she was exposing a softer underbelly, much to Fanny's satisfaction. "But you came out on the right side of it all. So...Bravo. Now Barrington, not so much, but I think we have a fix. I think I've found a way to manage your message that would be mutually beneficial."
"One thing. No, two things. First, do no harm," Fanny said, her fists clenching and relaxing by turns, under the table. I need to mitigate any fall-out with Barrington... and with Jack. And second, I want to start by finishing what I set out to do for Erasto."
"Fair enough. That's just what you'll do. Hear me out. I think a credible way for Jack to generate good will for Barrington and rebuild his P.R. is to make a carefully publicized donation to the Endowment Foundation. We would channel that money towards the funding of residential beds, with Jack's approval, so people like Erasto have somewhere to turn."