Secret Society

by Robin Roseau

  I got to Mrs. Everest's. Then I sat in the car, considering options. I rolled down my window, broke the ice away, and then crawled out of the car that way.

  Inside, Mrs. Everest was laughing.

  "It seems to be sleeting out," I told her.

  Later, it took three hours over two days, using a hair dryer, to sufficiently remove the remaining ice so that I could use readily use all four doors again.

  * * * *

  I received a phone call from Mrs. Grafton. "We have a web site."

  "I've seen it."

  "I'm sending you a link. This is to remain very private. It is your personal link. Let me know if you have any trouble."

  "Of course."

  Ten minutes later, the email arrived. I clicked the link, arriving at a page that was titled, "Initiate Member Blythe S. M. Todd." There was basic information about me and then links. One link took me to the status of my hours owed, and I saw I was being credited fairly.

  Another link was titled, "First Hazing, Mary Ellen Hankins." I clicked on it and was presented with quite a bit of video. There were four of them, all disguised, but I watched as they carefully misted my car with water, and there was a caption that indicated the water was super-cooled. In the frigid air, it froze on contact. Once they had fully prepared my car, they turned to the camera and offered a thumb's up, then all disappeared.

  Then I watched my efforts to get into my car. Then more of my efforts to get back out of the car.

  And they even had video of me heading to the garage with my hair dryer.

  And I saw I was credited with a guaranteed blue marble from Mrs. Hankins, Mrs. Cooper -- who I owed no time to, so I thought that was a cheap choice, the mayor, of all people, and Ms. Hunt, Grandmother Cadence's lawyer. I was surprised to see a fifth guaranteed blue marble from Wilba Everest, who must have shared her intention to send me shopping.

  I considered carefully, and then I wrote five thank you notes and posted them immediately.

  * * * *

  Three days later, I received a phone call from Claudine. She was laughing even before I could say hello.

  "Been watching video?" I asked her.

  "I was there. Oh, that was funny. I particularly liked watching you climb through the trunk."

  "I aim to amuse," I said. "You know, I can't even envision my grandmother going through this. Or for that matter, participating."

  "Oh, your grandmother could let her hair down," Claudine said. "She was shocked when I asked her to haze me."

  "Did you really? Did she do it?"

  "Oh yeah. We're not supposed to tell you about our own hazing until you're accepted as a junior member. But what your grandmother did, well, the gamer kids might refer to it as epic."

  "You don't sound upset."

  "It was horrible," she said. "If you invite me to haze you a few times, you'll get to experience a replay, unless one of the other women does it first."

  I shook my head.

  "But this isn't why I called you."

  "No?"

  "This is a work call, actually. Mary Ellen and I would like you to call on us at the office. Are you available tomorrow at 10? We have a project and we'd like to pull you in."

  "I'll be there." I verified the address. "Do I need to bring my portfolio?"

  "No. We know your work. See you then."

  "I'll be there."

  We were both about to click off before Claudine said, "Blythe?"

  "Yes?"

  "When are you going to ask me?"

  I laughed. "Do you have something special in mind?"

  "Yes. Please don't wait too long."

  "I've thought about this. I think I need to ask a few more of the full members before I invite the junior members to play."

  She paused before responding. "You're probably right. So you aren't going to ask me in the next day or two?"

  "No. I'm sorry."

  "Then wait until the next cold snap. We should have one more."

  "Oh god," I said. "I'm sorry to ruin your plans."

  "No. You're right. You don't have to do all the full members first, but you should do a few more. And I'd pick one of the older members next."

  "I was thinking of Ms. Hart."

  "Maybe you should ask one of the people who sat in the chairs immediately in front of you at the last meeting."

  "I got the impression they were perhaps senior members, and they're a little elderly besides."

  "Trust me."

  "All right. I will."

  We clicked off, and then I sat for a while, thinking. Finally I nodded, but instead of picking up the phone, I pulled out a sheet of stationery.

  Dear Mrs. Franklin,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  I wondered if you would do me the honor of hazing me.

  With my warmest anticipation of your response,

  Ms. Blythe S. M. Todd

  * * * *

  I presented myself at Hankins Marketing a few minutes before 10. I was dressed professionally in a business suit and, in deference to the weather, tall boots. I carried my coat over my arm and a bag over my shoulder. I approached the receptionist.

  "Blythe Todd for Claudine Grafton and Mary Ellen Hankins."

  The receptionist nodded. "You're expected. I'll let them know you're here."

  It was perhaps five minutes later when I heard my name. I looked up, and Claudine was waiting for me. We exchanged cheek kisses, and then she led me into the office.

  Hankins Marketing was not the biggest firm in the city. It was smaller than the company I'd worked for in Portland. But it was certainly no one-woman shop, either. But as I looked around, I was impressed.

  The offices were upscale and very modern. There was a lot of glass and shiny metal. We walked past a row of cubes, the occupants deeply focused on their Apple workstations, and I wondered if the entire office had been designed to compliment the ubiquitous Apple design.

  "Do you miss it?" Claudine asked.

  "What's that?"

  "Working for a big firm."

  "Oh. Sometimes. I made more."

  We came to a stop, and she turned me to face her. "You made more?" I nodded. "I got the impression you were swamped."

  "I spend half my time doing my own marketing."

  "So you're only billing 20 or 25 hours a week?"

  "No, it's closer to 55 or 60."

  "But-" She paused. "You're working a hundred hours a week?"

  "Well, not the last few weeks. I've been extraordinarily busy in other directions." She snorted. "But normally, yes."

  "You're billing 55 hours but you made more out in Portland? You're undercharging."

  "Most of my clients can't afford more," I said. "They're tiny, local businesses. It's not business you want. They aren't worth so much as a phone call from you. If I don't help them, who will?"

  She studied me for a minute. "You know, I'm at the same level in my career as you are in your own. I'm not the one to advise you. But you should talk to Mary Ellen about this, and maybe a few of the other women. Mary Ellen would know which ones."

  "I don't want to abandon my customers, and they can't pay more."

  "It's your career," she said. "But you're going to burn yourself out, and then when Mary Ellen pounces with a fat check and no stress, you're going to take it. A part of you will be relieved it's over. Another part of you will wonder if you gave up too soon."

  I didn't say anything.

  "Look, just talk to Mary Ellen sometime. That's what she's here for, now. You understand, don't you?"

  I nodded. "I will. Maybe when the current fun is behind me."

  She laughed. "I wouldn't wait that long. Come on."

  I followed her to a conference room. Mary Ellen was sitting with someone who was clearly a designer of some sort. He had that look. They both stood up as Claudine and I entered, and then I received a warm welcome from the owner of Hankins Marketing.

  I whispered into her ear. "It was pretty funny."

  When we se
parated, she was grinning.

  "Who is that?" the designer demanded.

  "Ignore Gavin," Claudine said. "He has the manners of an ox." Gavin proceeded to flash Claudine a look that told me there was no love lost between them.

  "Children, no bickering in front of our guest," said Mary Ellen. "Blythe Todd, this is Gavin Edwards. Gavin is the project manager for a project that could use your expertise."

  Gavin didn't bother standing up. My grandmother would have been appalled by his lack of manners. But he looked up at me. "I don't know any Blythe Todds, but I know of a woman named Blythe Montgomery. I wouldn't suppose you were recently married?"

  "No, Mr. Edwards," I said. "However, a bit over a year ago I took my grandmother's last name, to honor her."

  Gavin looked back and forth between Mary Ellen and me for a moment before exploding. "You called in Guerrilla Girl to work on my project? I told you I had it under control!"

  "Blythe has a particular set of skills we could use on this project," Mary Ellen said.

  "She made us look like fools!"

  "And just how did she do that, Gavin?" Claudine asked.

  "I spent a full week working on that proposal for Halfport Mall. And she swooped in and underbid us just to steal the business."

  "You spent a week on that proposal?" I asked. I smiled. "If you spend that much time on all your proposals, I won't have any trouble at all swooping in again." I smiled sweetly.

  "How long did your proposal take?" Mary Ellen asked.

  "About six hours," I said. "He really spent forty hours? Preparing a bid for a $5,000 contract? That seems inefficient."

  "It was forty thousand," Gavin said.

  "Well, no," I said. "It wasn't. Or it shouldn't have been. They didn't need radio or even print ads. They needed a guerrilla campaign. Internet and canvas a few upscale neighborhoods." I smiled. "Of course, that's not what I gave them."

  "They specifically ask for radio and magazine ads," Gavin said. "That's what we proposed to them. And you gave them a Youtube video."

  I grinned. "I sure did. They were ecstatic."

  "For a Youtube video." He sneered then looked me up and down before smiling knowingly.

  Asshole.

  "Blythe, why a video?" Mary Ellen asked.

  "The mall management doesn't care about sales figures," I said. "They care about occupancy rates. Occupancy rates have a relationship to sales at the individual stores, but perception has a bigger relationship. The existing shop owners want to feel the mall is making an effort to drive traffic into the mall. Prospective shop owners want the same thing. So I drove traffic into the mall."

  "Through a video?"

  "No, of course not. I organized a scavenger hunt event. The video was just a fun celebration at the end of the hunt. I had a couple of professional choreographers. We taught the participants a few moves. Then we made a video that was supposed to look like a flash mob. Everyone had a blast."

  "A scavenger hunt?" Mary Ellen asked.

  "Right. I went to every store in the mall, explained what we were doing, and then gave them the option of either donating something small for people to find, or if they didn't want to do that, the participants only had to take a photo of something in the shop."

  "You didn't make anyone buy anything?"

  "About a third of the shops recorded record sales for a single day outside the Christmas season. Every shop that chose to participate at all saw a marked uptick in sales that day. And then the video went viral besides, offering free exposure for the mall and for some of the shops."

  I grinned. "They want me back this spring to do it again, and I received some small business from a number of the shops, although they are stingy with their budgets." I shrugged. "It's rough being a small retail store. There are a lot of expenses, and margins aren't as good as people think."

  Gavin's look told me what he thought of what I'd done. "You did a scavenger hunt."

  "Yep."

  "For five grand."

  "Well, that five grand also covered the choreographers, three people to help video the event, and prizes for the winners of the scavenger event. And I did a little marketing of the event ahead of time, but that was pretty easy and didn't cost too much. I hired a couple of teenagers to stuff fliers in people's doors."

  "I'm surprised you didn't just do it yourself," Gavin said. "If you couldn't afford to do a proper mailing."

  "How much junk mail do you get a day?" I asked. I didn't wait for an answer. "How many pretty teenage girls stop by your house to deliver an invitation to a scavenger hunt? Which are you more likely to read, and which goes straight into the garbage without a glance?"

  I shrugged. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you any of this. You'll just steal my ideas." Then I grinned. "Go ahead. But I did it first, and we both know it."

  I turned to Mary Ellen. "Is this why you brought me here? To ask me to talk about thinking outside the box?"

  She smiled. "No. Perhaps we should sit."

  * * * *

  "I don't think Mr. Edwards likes me," I said an hour later.

  "Which is why you'll submit everything you do directly to me," Mary Ellen said. "Now, let's talk about your bill rate."

  "I typically charge $50 an hour."

  "For this project, you will charge $225."

  My jaw dropped.

  "Of which I keep fifteen percent," she added. "Billing goes through us. You get paid after we get paid."

  "Mary Ellen," I started to say.

  "This is what we charge for our top people. You were probably billed out for $125 back in Portland, and you were new. You are now Guerrilla Girl, and it's time you begin acting like it."

  "Mary Ellen," I said again.

  "Blythe, this is the rate you should be charging. This is the rate I will charge our client. Now, I admit, I am telling you about this rate for the reasons you can guess. But the rate itself has nothing to do with friendship. It's business. Am I clear?"

  And so I nodded. "But you're sure?"

  "I have been doing this a long time. I am sure."

  "Thank you, Mary Ellen."

  She smiled. "And don't let Gavin get to you. Do you remember what I said about the business you 'stole' from us?"

  "If a one woman shop named Guerrilla Girl was able to steal the business, you didn't deserve to have it."

  "I said that during a company-wide meeting, and I was glaring at Gavin when I said it."

  "Oh."

  She smiled. "A scavenger hunt and flash mob video. How'd you get that to go viral?"

  "Flash mob videos, if done well, always go viral," I said.

  "That hasn't been our experience."

  "Maybe mine are better than yours," I said sweetly.

  "And maybe you don't want to share all your secrets with me."

  "Maybe not," I agreed.

  "What did you pay the girls who delivered your fliers?"

  "I was supposed to pay them?"

  "That is the usual method."

  "Bah. You seem to have as much trouble thinking outside the box as Gavin does."

  She narrowed her eyes at me, but I thought the corners of her mouth twitched. "You're not going to tell me?"

  "Naw, you can have this one for free. I didn't pay them a dime. I threw a pizza party sleepover for them and a few friends. They loved the house."

  She and Claudine laughed. "How did you talk them into that?"

  "They talked themselves into that. The house is also my office. When they saw the place, they asked if I had to pay them with cash or if we could make another arrangement. Oh, and they wanted to be front row in the flash mob."

  "I bet that helped you get started on turning it viral."

  "It didn't hurt," I agreed. I shrugged. "I couldn't cut the same corners for a bigger project. It was luck the girls wanted to be paid that way. It was luck the video received traction as well as it did. It was luck we had decent weather in the weeks leading up to the scavenger hunt, so they could get the word out at all. I don't thi
nk they would have been so gung ho if it had been cold and raining."

  "We make our own luck," Mary Ellen said. "And we capitalize on it when it presents itself. If you hadn't had that luck, you would have had some other situation, and you would have called that good luck instead."

  "Maybe so," I agreed. I paused then glanced at Claudine. "There's something else I want to talk to you about. Maybe after this project, I could have some of your time?"

  "I'd be delighted," she said.

  * * * *

  When I got home, I found a note waiting for me. Each of the houses in West Hollow had two mailboxes. One was the official mailbox the US Postal Service uses. It is actually illegal for anyone except the homeowner or the postal service to access someone's mailbox. And so we each had a drop box, and there was even a small flag to raise when dropping something in someone's drop box. I saw the flag raised when I pulled up to the gate.

  And so I drove through the gate then parked and collected the contents of the drop box. I found a single note.

  When you least expect it. But don't wait for me before inviting someone else. I don't move as fast as I used to. -KF

  I presumed I could expect to see Mrs. Karen Franklin sometime in the next few days. I got home, moved to my desk, and then read the note three times, tapping it against the desk surface a few times. I set it aside and tried to work.

  I read the note.

  I tried to work.

  I read the note.

  Don't wait for me before inviting someone else.

  The monthly meeting of the Order of Circe was not even a week away. I'd only taken one hazing, and now I was just told my next might not happen in time.

  I called Claudine.

  Freeze

  It was late, and I had just crawled into bed with the intention of doing something I didn't often find time to do lately. I had a friendly little book that had been sitting on my iPad for months. I was finally going to read a chapter or two.

  And my phone rang.

  "What are you wearing, Blythe?"

  "Claudine," I laughed. "I didn't think you swung my way."

  "What are you wearing?"

  "I just climbed into bed."

  "I figured based on the lights on your house."

  "Wait. You're watching the house?"

  "What are you wearing, Blythe. Don't make me ask again."