Talking and saying nothing was a talent all its own, I decided. I tried a different strategy. “But if you’re specifically talking up my column to get more ad dollars, then it’s only fair that I get a bigger piece of the cut.” It’s not what I wanted, but I gambled on it getting me my real goal.
“That’s not our agreement,” she said. “The whole point of running your feature is to attract new advertisers. Your pay is based on what we projected to bring in. Now that we’re bringing that in, if we pay you over what we discussed, we lose the margin of profitability that was the point of the whole column in the first place.”
I figured that was likely the case, and a knot formed in my stomach over facing off with her, even though it was a calm discussion. Then I pictured myself hanging up the phone and putting on my worn-out Handy’s shirt, and I couldn’t take it. I hated the thought of spending one more day there than I had to. The last three months had taught me that I had some control over what was happening in my life, and if I made good choices, I might see good results. I took a breath, and then I took the plunge, reaching the point of my amateur negotiations.
“My work with my real byline gets a good response too,” I said.
“It does,” Ellie conceded. “But that’s not what drives readers and advertisers to our site.”
“I don’t have access to all your sales data”—which was a growing problem—“but I think maybe people are starting to show up for music reviews. And the only reason we don’t know whether they’re showing up for my features is that I’ve only gotten to write one. But you were happy with that one, right?”
“I was,” she said. “And you’re welcome to turn in more freelance pieces. You’re working on something now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s hard because I have to work full time somewhere else, and that’s kind of my point. Maybe you can’t pay me more for the Indie Girl stuff, but I’ve shown that you’re going to get your value back if you pay me to write full time on stories outside of the dating and music pieces. You could fold the checks you already write me for the column into my salary which, okay, is going to cost you more, but you’re going to get way more writing out of me. And build more readers by keeping the ‘Single in the City’ column.”
“What do you mean, ‘keeping’ the column?” she asked, her voice sharp.
This is where I had to step very, very carefully. This is where I wished I had gone to business school or studied something that taught me about real negotiations. Heck, I’d give anything to freeze time and cram in a marathon of The Apprentice before broaching my next argument to her, but it was now or never. I breathed deeply and tested how much leverage “Single in the City” really gave me. “I can’t keep writing that column if it’s not going to pay off career-wise,” I said. “It’s a huge emotional and time commitment, and there’s a point where it doesn’t make sense for me to do it anymore, especially since I do it anonymously. It’s hard to use it to build my résumé.”
Ellie was silent for a long moment, and the knot in my stomach compressed on itself, becoming denser and nearly painful while I waited to see what I had gained or lost with my thinly veiled threat. Stay calm, I admonished myself. It’s Ellie’s steely nerves that make her so intimidating. Keep it together; keep it together.
“If you quit writing the column, I can find someone else to write it,” she said. “That’s the beauty of the Indie Girl byline.”
“I know you can replace me. Eventually. But that’s the problem, right? You told me you were having a harder time than you’d expected until I came along. Are you going to lose a lot of buzz while you go looking for a replacement? And will you be able to find someone who can strike the same tone?”
She fell silent again, but I could practically hear her thoughts scrambling to organize themselves into a counterargument. For a full twenty seconds, she didn’t say anything, so I took the kill shot. “Look, I’m not asking for a bunch of money without offering any return on investment. I’ll write way more and go far above and beyond in earning my keep. But I can’t keep up this pace with two jobs plus dates and concert reviews. I’m exhausted, and I can’t quit Handy’s unless you make me full time at the magazine.”
“I have to think about this,” she said. Most likely she had to think about whether she had a way around me.
“I understand,” I said. “If you decide that we can make this work, I have an amazing feature about a local jewelry maker to hand in.”
She exhaled, her exasperation evident. “You’re playing hard ball, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to find a solution we can all live with,” I countered. When I hung up after her vague, “I’ll call you later,” I dropped my head onto my arms and stared at the worn wooden table beneath them. Maybe I would pull this off and get full-time status. I told Ellie the truth when I said that the two jobs were taking their toll. It got harder each week to fit it all in. On the other hand, I might have totally ruined everything. Ellie might be able to line up another option for the “Single in the City” spot, and I would have zero leverage and no job. Except for sandwich making, which beckoned . . . I hoped for the very last time.
* * *
I yanked my phone out of my apron again near the end of my shift, wondering if maybe it had shut itself off or if I wasn’t getting a signal. I hoped so. Otherwise, I had no other theories as to why I hadn’t heard from Ellie yet. The power was on, and it showed full bars. I glanced over at Austin, the assistant I had hired the month before in the fond hope I could off-load my job to him when things got going with Real Salt Lake. Sadly for both of us, it looked like I might be staying put at Handy’s and maybe even cutting back his hours so I could go back to forty hours a week. It stank.
I yelped when my phone vibrated with an incoming call, and Austin eyed me in concern. I checked the caller ID. Ellie. After a deep breath, I answered.
“We moved some things around,” she said. “I’d like to offer you a full-time position.”
“Yes!”
“Don’t get too excited,” she said. “It comes with conditions. You’ll get the grunt stories. Features you write will be on your own time, and I won’t pay extra for them anymore. Doing them will be up to you. And you’re getting entry-level pay, so don’t get excited about the money.” She quoted a salary that beat Handy’s by nearly five bucks an hour, a note of an apology in her voice.
I knew she was trying to dampen my excitement so I would decide it was smarter to stay at Handy’s, but as my eye fell on the table in front of me, with its caked-on mustard smears, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be here one second longer than I had to, and she was handing me my ticket out. And she had no idea she’d given me a huge raise. “Still yes!” I almost choked in my eagerness to accept.
“All right,” she said. “I know you have to give notice, so we’ll expect you to start in two weeks.”
“No,” I said. “I can start tomorrow.” Austin would be glad to get the hours, and I could easily tweak the schedule to replace myself. I’d help Austin find an assistant for himself if he needed me to, but for all intents and purposes . . . I was free!
“Thank you so much, Ellie! You will not be sorry. I’m going to make you so glad you did this!”
“You’d better.” She sighed.
Even that less-than-stellar “welcome to the team” couldn’t tank my mood. I ended the call, stared at Austin, who had heard enough to figure out what had happened, and grinned.
“Congratulations!” I shouted. “You’re promoted!”
He gave me a good-natured fist bump and waved his arm to encompass all of Handy’s. “I can’t believe it’s finally mine,” he said with an eye roll.
“I’d tell you that you deserve it, but you’re too nice a guy for that. So I’ll just say good luck.”
“You too. I like your concert reviews. I’m sure your other writing will be great too.”
“Thanks, Austin.” I glanced up at the clock, noting that we had only a half hour before
our part-timer came in to finish out the evening shift with him. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go write a letter to Mr. Handy.”
“Do it,” he said. “I can handle it out here.” His smile acknowledged the temporary lull in customers.
I sat down at my desk and texted Courtney. The mag’s hiring me full time!!!!! Ellie just called!
Fewer than two sentences into my resignation letter, I got a text back. Whoo hoo! I’ll pick you up at 7:30 to celebrate!
I drafted the rest of the letter quickly but made sure the thanks to my soon-to-be-ex-boss was heartfelt. It might not have been my dream job, but Mr. Handy had given me my first opportunity to begin digging myself out of debt. It wasn’t his fault I had grown to hate making sandwiches. And he was easy to work for, always staying out of my way.
As soon as I scrawled my signature, I stuffed the letter into an envelope and stuck it up near the register for the postman to pick up, knowing it would make my exit final. But it didn’t make me nervous. I had gotten used to the idea of making my own luck over the last few weeks, and I felt really, really sure that I had made the right move. When I walked out to my car, I didn’t look back.
I wouldn’t be looking back anymore.
* * *
At seven-thirty on the dot, I yanked the door open and smiled but faltered when instead of finding Courtney on my doorstep, I found Tanner.
“Hi,” I said because nothing else came to mind.
“Congratulations. Courtney told me you’re going to be full time now.”
“True story,” I said, leaning slightly to the left to see if Courtney was waiting in the car.
“She’s at my parents’ house,” he said. “She’s trying to put a little thing together for you, and she wasn’t done yet, so I told her I’d come get you.”
“All right,” I said. “Come in for a minute, and I’ll go grab my sweater.”
He stepped in and shut the door behind him. I panicked for a split second, trying to figure out what to do with him. Did I just leave him standing there? Should I—
“Who’s this?” Ginger asked, strolling out from the living room.
“This is Tanner,” I said. “Courtney’s brother.”
“Where’s Courtney?” she asked.
“Never mind,” I said. “Can you go grab my black cardigan off my bed?” There was no way I was leaving her alone with Tanner. She’d either practice her flirting or grill him with questions, and I didn’t like either scenario.
“Fetch your own sweater,” she said, not even looking at me. “I’m going to talk to Tanner.”
“No, you’re not,” my mom said, coming out of the living room as well. “Go get Pepper’s sweater.”
Ginger grumbled but turned and stomped up the stairs, each muffled thud of her bare feet on the carpeted steps intended to communicate her displeasure. Hmm. Not very intimidating.
“You’re Tanner?” my mom asked, and her voice gave no indication as to whether that was a good or bad thing. Tanner might not realize it, but Mama Bear had just shown up. I’d have to muzzle her for Tanner’s safety.
“Yes,” he said, holding his hand out for a handshake. She took it but still didn’t smile.
“Tanner came to pick me up to celebrate my promotion,” I said, sounding chipper to indicate that it was okay for him to be here.
She eyed me before relaxing enough to crack a smile. A very small smile. I hoped Tanner didn’t blink, or he would have missed it.
“Grant!” she called to my dad, who was still in the living room. “Tanner’s here!”
I tried not to wince. Tanner was going to infer that he was a major topic of conversation around here, what with all the knowing glances flying around. I didn’t want Tanner to take it the wrong way. I mean, I wanted him to realize everyone knew his name because he didn’t hire me for the Bee, not because I liked him or something.
Sorry, I mouthed to him. He smiled and gave me a slight nod, his eyes twinkling. My dad stepped into view and shot me a glance of concern. “Tanner is here?” he asked, although there was clearly a stranger of male persuasion standing right in front of him.
“Yes, Dad. This is Tanner.” They shook hands, my dad’s face not softening any more than my mom’s had. “He came to pick me up to celebrate my promotion.”
My dad’s eyebrow shot up. “That’s nice of you. It’s great to see Pepper’s talent recognized.”
It was a not-so-veiled criticism, and I loved him for it, but when I heard Tanner choke down a laugh, I decided enough was enough. “Be nice to him, please. He was right not to hire me and has helped me a lot since then.”
My mom and dad exchanged a look, and my mom gave my dad a slight nod. Years of experience helped me interpret the entire conversation that passed between them in those two seconds. My mom said, “Do we give this guy a chance?” and my dad said, “I will if you will,” and my mom said, “Fine. I’ll be nice because Pepper asked us to.”
What Tanner heard was my mom asking him if he’d like to come in for some ice cream, but I put a hand on Tanner’s arm to keep him in place. “Tanner’s only here because Courtney asked him to come and get me. We better get going.”
He placed his hand over mine and said, “Actually, she’d probably like a little more time to get things ready. I’d love some ice cream.” I tried to tug my hand back, but he kept his grip. Rather than make a scene, I left it there.
“Great,” my dad said. “Come on in.”
They turned toward the kitchen, and I finally yanked my hand away so I could follow, shooting Tanner a what-are-you-doing look on the way. He grinned. My eye twitched in time to the flips my stomach executed. How annoying. Our kitchen wasn’t nearly as upscale as his parents’, but it had all the same welcome.
“Have a seat,” my mom said, her tone now several degrees warmer. “I’ll get the mint chip.”
We each pulled out a chair, and my dad studied Tanner with a thoughtful expression that I knew meant he was doing some analyzing. “Excuse the mess,” he said, referring to the stray pieces of popcorn and other baking ingredients still cluttering the countertop. “We threw together an impromptu celebration for Pepper too, and the only thing I could think of to make was popcorn balls.”
“Good choice,” Tanner said. “Did you sing ‘Popcorn Popping’?”
“Of course,” my dad said, sounding dignified. “Any proper celebration requires singing to go with the feasting.”
I stared at him for a second before I burst out laughing. “To hear him, you’d never think he was doing the disco version less than an hour ago.”
“His hip hop version is better,” Ginger said, walking in with my cardigan. I took it from her and smiled in dismissal, but she ignored me and pulled up a chair.
“Hi, Tanner.”
It sounded like she was purring. I thought about rescuing him for a minute but then decided it would be funnier if I didn’t.
“Hi. You must be Ginger,” he said. I was impressed that he remembered her name. I’d only mentioned it once.
“I am. What brings you over tonight?” she asked.
“Asked and answered,” my mom said. “He’s picking up Pepper for Courtney. Don’t make him repeat himself, sweetie.”
Ginger pouted. “Don’t send me out of the room, and then I won’t miss anything.”
My mom brought over two bowls of ice cream and set them down in front of my dad and Tanner then went back for more.
“I don’t want any, Mom. I have to watch my figure,” Ginger said.
Watch her figure? It sounded like something my grandmother would say. Tanner looked nonplussed. There wasn’t an appropriate way to respond to that, so he kept his mouth shut. Smart guy. My dad decided to rein Ginger in before she got too outrageous.
“Where’s Rosemary?” he asked. “I can’t believe she hasn’t come in here yet.”
“She’s still watching Beauty and the Beast,” Ginger said. “She won’t go anywhere until it’s over.”
“You better make
sure she’s all right in there,” my dad said.
“But—”
“No, really. Go check on her.” His voice was polite but brooked no argument.
She huffed and went to find Rosemary. That would take care of her for a while.
My mom joined us with two more bowls of ice cream. “How goes it at the Bee?” she asked Tanner.
“It’s good,” he said. “There’s always news somewhere.”
“I’ve read your articles,” she said. “You write well.”
That surprised me. She’d never mentioned reading his articles before.
“Thank you,” he said. “I love doing it.”
“It shows,” my dad said.
What? He was reading Tanner’s stuff too? Man, between the three of us, we were well on our way to supporting the journalism career of my nemesis. Only I didn’t feel much enmity toward him at the moment. The mint chocolate chip was mellowing me. Oh, who was I kidding? Spending time around Tanner was mellowing me. He was beginning to resemble a human. He was maybe even likable.
I listened as my dad and Tanner shot the breeze about sports, the season the Jazz were having, and whether BYU football had a shot in the fall. I took my time with my ice cream, listening but not adding much. I did most of the talking when I was around Tanner, and it was enlightening to sit back and observe. He had an easy way about him with my parents, relaxed but still respectful. He never jumped in on anyone else’s sentences, waiting for them to finish before he spoke. He bore the ribbing from my mom, a University of Utah graduate, with good grace when she teased him about BYU’s dismal football record against the U over the past few years.
With a straight face, he sighed and said, “I know. It’s because the coach never puts me in.”
This cracked both of my parents up. I liked that this pleased him, that he wanted to make them smile.
Even after the ice cream was gone, I didn’t say anything unless asked a direct question. Finally, Ginger popped back in, fed up with her banishment, and Rosemary followed her. “More celebrating?” Rosemary asked in delight upon seeing our empty bowls.
“Yes,” my mom said. “Pepper deserves it.”
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