Secret Society

by Robin Roseau

  "I checked your address."

  "With Google maps."

  "I have a hard time believing it found the right house."

  "Twenty acres surrounded by other houses of similar size? Yep. That's where I live. But it's not mine. It was my grandmother's. It belongs to a trust. I'm not rich, Ms. Rice. My grandmother was, but I didn't inherit a dime. I didn't even accept her help with college. Everything I own, I have earned."

  "You sound proud of that."

  "Shouldn't I be?"

  "I suppose you should. Tell me about Guerrilla Girl."

  So I did. She asked about the things I'd worked on, so I gave her examples, but without too many details. She accused me of holding back.

  I laughed. "If you want all my ideas, you can hire me," I said. "I will give you 110%. I want a base salary that will put me in a modest, safe home a reasonable distance from work and the most basic of living expenses. I want health insurance and a retirement plan. And I want a commission."

  "Oh, you do, hmm?"

  "I have had one client tell me I am worth $225 an hour. If you can keep me busy on work for clients, you're going to make a mint off me. If you can't keep me busy, I should keep looking."

  "You're blunt."

  "I suppose I am," I said. "I'm not very diplomatic. What I am is very good at what I do. The question is, how much will your clients pay for me to do for them what I've been doing out here?"

  "That's a very good question, isn't it?"

  "If you want traditional marketing, I'm not your woman. Almost anyone will produce better print and television campaigns than I will. I don't design corporate labels or cereal boxes. What I do is get good exposure, quality exposure, but localized. I won't be worth as much for national campaigns, but I see many of your clients are right in Portland, and those I can help. I can also help to sell my own services, doing the same sort of self-marketing I'm currently doing, although I will not put as much verve into it as I have. That's why I want to work for a firm."

  She paused. "I think you should come out for a visit."

  "Are you paying?"

  "I am. Could you fly out a week from Tuesday and stay through the weekend? We'll meet. We'll show you the area nearest our office. Maybe we'll see you work your magic."

  "$225 an hour."

  She laughed. "We'll negotiate that when you're here. Are you coming?"

  I thought about it. "Sure."

  "Send me a photo so I know whom I'm collecting at the airport," she replied.

  "You're going to pick me up yourself?"

  "Yes. But there's one condition to all this, Guerrilla Girl."

  "Yes?"

  "I don't do bidding wars. You tell me right now you'll suspend your search until we've met in person."

  "Am I going to get what I want, Ms. Rice?"

  "I'm not flying you out on a whim, Guerrilla Girl. Does First Class sweeten the pot enough?"

  I paused. "If I come to work for you, am I going to report to some guy who thinks women don't know shit, and I should shut up and do graphic design the way he orders?"

  "No. You will report directly to me, and I'm going to find you clients and tell you to do what you do best. Are you this caustic with your clients?"

  I sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a bad few months. I'm really sorry. I'll pull it together."

  She paused. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  "Like I said. A bad breakup. A knife in the back. Trust broken. Friends lost, good friends I thought cared about me. I was wrong. I want to start over. Ms. Rice, I have never received a complaint from a client, and you won't have any."

  "All right. First class, but I want that promise, Guerrilla Girl."

  "I'll suspend the search, and if I get any inquiries, I'll tell them I'm pursuing one option at a time."

  "Is there any chance the situation there is going to reverse?"

  "Not a chance."

  "All right. I'll have a ticket at the Delta counter. I'll mail you the flight information once I have it. I look forward to seeing you, Blythe. You sound like an intriguing woman."

  "So do you, Annette."

  * * * *

  I began going through the house, setting aside the things that were clearly mine and a few that might be mine. I dropped an email to the lawyers and asked about Grandma's gowns. If they said 'no,' I wasn't sure I cared.

  "Of course they're yours."

  "I want a certified letter," I said. "No offense, but I don't want to be accused of theft."

  It arrived two days later.

  * * * *

  The following Monday, a week before I was to fly to Portland, my bell rang. That meant someone had bypassed the front gate, and I wasn't pleased about that. I thought about calling the cops, but perhaps I could throw them off the property with less fuss if I handled it myself.

  I opened the door to find Mrs. Grafton, Mrs. Shaffer, Mrs. Franklin, Judge Wren, Mrs. Everest, and the two lawyers, Ms. Hunt and Ms. Boone. I stared at them.

  "May we come in?" asked the judge.

  I stood, blocking the entrance, wondering how I wanted to handle this. "I can't imagine there's a thing we have to say to each other." I pointed to the lawyers. "I have not left yet, so unless you have some legal paper evicting me, I don't know what you're doing here."

  "We'd like to speak with you," said Judge Wren.

  "Why?"

  "We want to know why you are leaving."

  I laughed, loudly. "Because I don't have any friends in this community, and it is clear I won't be allowed to have any. Because the roots I thought I was setting in were pulled out, rather rudely as well. Because much of my life, from when I was very young, has now been denied to me. Are the seven of you the seven who gave me a glass of marbles?"

  "You know I wouldn't have done that, Blythe," said the judge. "I was as upset as anyone."

  "You may have been upset," I said. "You weren't as upset as a few others in the room. And yet, those people never stopped by. They never called. They never wrote. You lot gave me friends, and you lot took them away. Get off my property."

  And I slammed the door in their faces.

  Then I stood with my back to the door, trembling and trying very hard not to cry. As soon as they were gone, I went into the security system and reprogrammed the access codes.

  * * * *

  I took care of clients. I researched housing prices in Portland. I decided what I was going to wear. I was being met in the airport, so I would dress professionally. They wanted me for the week, so I needed sufficient outfits. But it was Portland, not New York City. I'd lived there. I knew the expectations.

  Friday came, and Sabrina Hunt called.

  "This is business," she said the moment I answered.

  "Fine."

  "You're leaving."

  "I am flying out of town next week to meet with a firm far, far from here. If they hire me, I'll be back long enough to pack my things and have them shipped."

  "You got screwed."

  "Whatever."

  "You didn't get any inheritance from your grandmother, and she wanted you to have all of it."

  "Yeah, well. You can thank the Order for that, Ms. Hunt."

  "You should stay."

  "You're insane. Not happening."

  "You're acting on emotion. Give it time."

  "I can't walk through the park without people hurrying away from me. I never made friends in high school because the times I could have hung out with friends, I was with my grandmother doing, it turns out, things for the Order. The few friends I sort of kind of made during that time are in the Order, but now they want nothing to do with me."

  "That isn't true."

  "The Order came before a friendship with me," I said. "I wouldn't have made the same choice about them. But it's their choice, and I'm not going to call them up and scream at them for it. However, I don't know what you expect."

  "You should wait."

  "I'm flying out next week. I'll be back at the end of the weekend. The terms of my g
randmother's will do not prevent me taking a short trip."

  "Do you have any idea how much money you're giving up?"

  "Have you ever heard me say any of this was about the money?"

  "No."

  "I'm not living in this neighborhood, giving up another five and a half years of my life, miserable, for money. I don't care how much money it is. Life is too short. I'm going to pursue my passions. I'm going to make new friends. I'm going to date kind women. I'll let a few seduce me, if they want. I'll seduce a few, too, if they let me. I'm going to feel good about myself and what I do. And I can't do that from here. Now, are we done?"

  "No. I can get you money."

  "For crying out loud, this isn't about money!"

  "Don't you want them to pay?"

  "I couldn't care less, Ms. Hunt. Don't you listen?"

  "You're going to, what? Live in an apartment for a few years?"

  "Probably. So?"

  "I can get you enough for a house."

  "Legally?"

  "Yes. Legally. Even ethically."

  "Without blackmailing anyone?"

  "That would be both illegal and unethical."

  "You have one minute, but you know I'm not motivated by money."

  "Mrs. Franklin has always wanted your grandmother's house."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Nevertheless, she's always wanted it. I couldn't tell you why. She'll buy it."

  "It's not mine."

  "No, but you can stymie her. She's old. You could threaten to wait her out. She'll pay you to leave."

  "Ridiculous."

  "I told her you were reconsidering, that you wanted to rub their noses in what a bunch of biddies they are, and pointed out you're as stubborn as your grandmother."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "Because I like you, Blythe. And what happened to you was wrong, flat out, up one side and down the other wrong."

  I stilled.

  "God, do you know how we all looked at you? Do you have any idea?"

  "With disgust, I'm sure."

  "You know that's not true. Confusion and shock at first, but when you said, 'Trust Opal'..." She trailed off for a moment. "I'm a lawyer, I'm paid to be trusted, but no one has ever offered me the trust you offered her."

  "It was misplaced, or she would have called me."

  "She gets a third of her clients and probably two thirds of her income through The Order. And you two weren't in love. Are you going to blame her?"

  I sighed. "No." But if she showed up today, I'd throw her out.

  "Blythe, I can get you two things."

  "Oh?"

  "I can get you perhaps a quarter million, if we can convince her you'd stay. You can play hardball, can't you?"

  "What's going to happen to you if she finds out what you're doing, Ms. Hunt?"

  "Are you going to tell her?"

  "Hell, no."

  "Then she won't find out. Are you curious what else I can get you?"

  "This should be good."

  "Six names."

  I froze.

  "I have your attention now, don't I?"

  "Do you know-"

  "No. The biddies do. We can make those six names the price of admission. We might only get half."

  "The black ball is the first name I want," I said.

  "We can do that. What will you do with the information?"

  "I want it in writing or recorded, and I'm going to share it with a few people in the order. That's all."

  "You aren't going to-"

  I interrupted "What? Ruin their lives as well as they ruined mine? It's not worth my time. I have a life to start over somewhere far, far from here. Besides, would you want to be any of them? Can you imagine how miserable they are in their lives that they had to trample on mine? I'm not going to turn into them. I'll share it, because I can't abide a coward, but that's it."

  "Okay," she said. "I can get you six names. I'll try for all six as the price of admission. You walk in, they give you the names, and then we talk. I can get you money. Maybe not the full quarter million, but I can get you more than your cousins got. For how well you treated your grandmother, you deserve her entire estate, and you're getting screwed."

  "I don't care about the damned money."

  "But you'd like somewhere that doesn't suck to live when you get to Portland."

  "Who said anything about Portland?"

  "Don't play me," she said. "I bet the first call you made was to your old firm."

  "And they didn't have space for me. It's a big country, and there are a lot of places that could use me."

  "Perhaps so. You still want a place that doesn't suck."

  "What's your commission?"

  "I'll make her pay me ten percent on top of what she gives you."

  "Fine. And I get two months to move, if I need it."

  "She might only offer one. But for a quarter million, you can find somewhere temporary."

  "I suppose I can. When and where?"

  "I'll call you back. Please answer."

  "Fine. You know I'm going for the names. The rest of this is leverage to get those names."

  "Fine, but you'll take the money if I can get it."

  "Yeah. I might not keep it."

  "After it's yours, it's yours. I'll call you."

  * * * *

  It took her ten minutes. "Tomorrow evening at seven. I'll come get you. Dress to impress."

  "I'm getting the names?"

  "Yes."

  "Ms. Hunt, I need you to tell me you're not playing with me."

  "You'll get the names. Does anything else matter?"

  I thought about it. "No. I will be telling people, people you won't find, that I will be with you tomorrow evening."

  "Paranoid, Blythe."

  "Do you blame me?"

  "Not really."

  "If anything happens to me, the police will be looking at you."

  "At the entire order?"

  "Oh no. Just you. You're the one arranging this. You're the one guaranteeing my personal safety."

  "No one wants to hurt you, Blythe."

  "Yeah, well, trust is at an all time low for me." And I clicked off.

  Names

  Dress to impress, she said. I wore jeans and a blouse. I'd given those biddies as much respect as I was going to. They hadn't earned what I'd given them, so I wasn't going to spend more on them.

  Sabrina was on time, a few minutes early, actually. She was dressed in a lawyer power suit. I let her in, and she frowned.

  "This is the wrong message."

  "This is the perfect message. Disdain. It will help sell my willingness to thumb my nose at them."

  "What's more important, the names or the money?"

  I cocked my head. "You promised me the names for walking into the meeting. What I'm wearing shouldn't matter."

  "You know what they're like, Blythe. Please."

  "We don't have time."

  "You can take three minutes to pull on that gown you wore the first time."

  "Or three minutes to pull on a business suit. It's a business meeting."

  "Damn it, Blythe. I am acting as your lawyer. Can you please just trust my advice? I know these women a whole lot better than you do."

  I stared. "Fuck. Fine."

  She followed me upstairs. I found the proper gown. It took more than three minutes to change, but I did it, then I futzed with hair and makeup. Sabrina didn't rush me.

  "Better," she said. "Shoes."

  I grabbed a pair of low heels.

  "The tall ones."

  "These are fine."

  "The tall ones, Blythe."

  "What kind of feminist are you that you don't want me to be able to walk?"

  "What kind of feminist are you that you own them?"

  "I'm not. I'm a femme. It's not the same thing."

  That earned a part of a smile. "The tall ones."

  "Fine. God, if I have to wear heels, then maybe I want the money after all."

  "Thank
you, Blythe."

  I pulled on the shoes, and by the time I was done, she was trying to accessorize me.

  "Damn it, Sabrina."

  "Stop fussing. This will be over in an hour. We might be able to get them to lift the ostracism."

  "Too late."

  "Don't blame your friends."

  "If they were my friends..."

  'They would have quit the order, too? They would have permanently given up the advantages? Or maybe they hoped to work from within. Maybe they've been practicing diplomacy. You sure as hell haven't."

  "Tell me what my grandmother would have done differently."

  She paused in speaking, but while I stared at her, she managed to slip earrings into my ears. I sighed and let her finish.

  "I think maybe you're a lot like her," she admitted. "She'd go down fighting."

  "Yeah, well..." She headed for the door, but I grabbed her arm, turning her back to me. "Are you playing me, Sabrina?"

  "No. You'll get the names. I don't know about the money. I promise the names."

  It all felt wrong. It felt horribly wrong. I didn't trust her. She was lying to me, but I couldn't tell lies from truth.

  But she looked me in the eye, and she repeated. "You'll get all six names, and you'll be able to share those names convincingly with the rest of the order. That's what you want."

  "We're late," I said finally.

  "I told them eight," she said with a smile. "I knew you wouldn't dress. But I will point out I told you I'd be here at 7:30, and I was."

  "Fine."

  "Purse."

  I nodded, found a purse, stuffed my phone in it, and followed her out of my house, the house that wasn't to be mine too much longer.

  She drove, straight to the Franklin residence. There were a few other cars, but not many. When we got to the door, she opened it. "We're expected," she said.

  "Wait."

  I pulled out my cell phone, held it up, and began a video. "State your name, where we are, and that we have the owner's permission to pass through that door."

  "Wow. That's paranoia."

  "Do it."

  She said everything I wanted. I ended the video and then uploaded it to my server. Then I mailed it to Annette Rice with a note. "Protecting myself from more knives. Hang onto this for me." It was Annette I'd told I'd be with Sabrina tonight.

  Then I followed Sabrina into Mrs. Franklin's house.

  "We're meeting them downstairs."

  "Of course we are," I said. "Who is there?"