by Pamela Morsi
Andi, Pop and Jelly were the first people to arrive. That was Andi’s fault. She’d been too concerned about being late. Now she was early which, for some reason, made her more nervous.
Pop walked around the room looking at all the old maps and town memorabilia on the walls. Jelly pulled a big photo album out of her bookbag and flipped through it contentedly.
A staff person from the city arrived to put out copies of the agenda. Andi saw she was “Item 6.” She showed it to her father.
“I’m worried that Jelly won’t be able to wait this long,” she told him.
He shrugged, unconcerned. “If she gets restless, then we’ll leave,” Pop said. “You can take the bus or call me to pick you up.”
Andi nodded. “You can’t let her applaud,” she said. “Maybe we should tell her that.”
Pop laid a hand on Andi’s cheek. “Just let go of that,” he said. “Jelly is not going to mess this up for you. This is not high school. The real world is much more accepting.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, glancing across the room toward her sister. “Jelly never really messed things up for me. I always managed to mess them up for myself.”
“Not tonight,” Pop said. “Tonight you’re going to be a smash.”
Andi took heart that her father would be right.
Within a few minutes, the room filled with people, some well dressed, some barely dressed. There were senior ladies with hair that looked almost blue, and tattooed girls with hair that was definitely purple. Some men were in suits and some in shirtsleeves.
Mr. Gilbert from Code Compliance nodded to her in a businesslike manner before taking a seat among the staff.
As the council arrived, Andi silently assessed them. Mayor Gunderson-Smythe was a petite fortyish woman who reminded Andi of her kindergarten teacher. Brandt and Pannello were recognizable as older versions of men she’d seen before, but wasn’t sure where. The one who really caught her attention, of course, was Hank Guthrie. Growing up she’d seen him a million times in the grocery store. She hadn’t realized he was on the council.
“Why didn’t you warn me that Hank Guthrie is an alderman?” she whispered to her father.
Pop seemed surprised with the question. “I didn’t think it would matter. Guthrie won’t put his own interests ahead of what’s good for the community. The downtown needs another business. If he goes against the idea, it won’t be personal.”
Andi wished she had her father’s confidence.
“Try not to put too much on this,” Pop added. “People can always smell desperation. It’s a fine idea. If it comes about, then that’s great. Just remember that a lot of excellent plans never come to be. That’s just how it is. The prayers unanswered are often the ones that prove to be the biggest blessings.”
That was one of the things Andi most admired about her father, his absolute faith in ultimate good. But Andi preferred trusting what she could control.
The meeting was called to order with the flag pledge followed by a lengthy discussion of the minutes of the last meeting and reports from various city departments. As the talk of stop signs, potholes and sewer pipe dragged on, Andi found herself stifling a yawn. She glanced over at Jelly. Her photo book sat open on her lap, but she’d laid her head on Pop’s shoulder. Andi was wishing she could take a little catnap as well.
On the other side of her, a young man in a sport coat was rapidly texting on his phone. It was then that she noticed that most everyone in the room, under the age of sixty, was focused on a phone screen.
Why do these people come to these meetings if they’re not going to pay any attention, she wondered.
But the idea that most people weren’t paying attention buoyed her somehow and her anticipatory jitters just fell away. By the time the agenda reached “Item 6” she was as completely composed as she’d been in Pop’s living room.
The presentation went perfectly. Andi made every point that she had in her notes.
“Exemption from these regulations can be granted by the council on grounds of reasonable hardship,” she concluded. “As no expansion can be permitted on the building due to its historic designation and required setbacks to adjacent property, I believe this constitutes a reasonable hardship. And I ask the council to grant my business, Corner Coffee Stop, a variance to this city ordinance. Thank you for your consideration. I’ll be happy to answer any questions that you may have.”
There was a long, thoughtful moment of silence as the council members sifted through their papers.
Alderman Gensekie, a white-haired gentleman with a bow tie was frowning a little. “So, what you’re saying is that people will drive up in their cars and you’ll pour them a cup of coffee?” He looked at the other councilmen and then toward the chief of police at the staff table. “Is that legal, I mean to drive around with a hot cup of coffee?”
Andi tried to keep her jaw from dropping. Fortunately, everyone around him quickly assured the aged alderman that it was done all the time.
“You can get a morning coffee at all the hamburger places out on the interstate,” Alderman Pannello assured him.
“Really?” Gensekie seemed genuinely surprised. “Just seems like it would be a safety hazard driving around with hot coffee.”
Alderman Brandt was thumbing through her handout. “You’re from Chicago, Ms. Walcowski?”
“Wolkowicz,” Andi answered. “Andrea Wolkowicz and, no, I’m not from Chicago. I lived there for several years but I’m from here in Plainview. My father has owned this building since 1979.”
The next question came from Mr. Houseman. It was one Andi was ready for. It pertained directly to her request for exemption on public toilet facilities and she thought she handled it well. A follow-up from the mayor was also one she’d anticipated and Andi was very pleased with the response she was getting.
Then Alderman Guthrie asked what Andi perceived as a stupid question. “These statistics about drive-thru coffee, are those national statistics?”
“Yes, sir,” Andi answered.
Guthrie made a dismissive sound followed by a comment that was openly skeptical. “Maybe it would have been better to somehow filter out the East Coast and the West Coast. What those people do and buy, well, that’s just meaningless around here.”
Both the council and the audience chuckled and began muttering in agreement to that. Guthrie was clearly enjoying his little bit of humor at Andi’s expense. He was grinning broadly and looking around at his fellow council members and at the audience, but he never allowed his gaze to fall on Andi. She knew that technique from her corporate meeting days. Marginalize the presenter by uniting the rest of the table in humor. It created an us-vs-them mentality and the person not laughing was definitely on the outside looking in.
Andi needed to counter that move as quickly as possible. If she could have come up with a snappy comeback, it would have been perfect, but she had to be careful. Any joke at the expense of the council or the community could completely backfire. So she gave up the measure-for-measure flanking with a direct assault.
“Your Honor,” Andi said, addressing Mayor Gunderson-Smythe. “I’d like to request that Alderman Guthrie, as the adjacent property owner and a person who previously offered to buy this building, recuse himself from these deliberations.”
The mayor nodded sympathetically and opened her mouth to speak, but before a word came out, the silence in the building was filled by Guthrie.
“Hold it right there, young woman!” he said loudly. “Are you suggesting I cannot be impartial?” His tone changed to incredulity. “I don’t know what kind of people you’re accustomed to encountering where you live in Chicago. But we hometown hayseeds are not so lacking in old-fashioned virtues like integrity and justice. We’re not people to be swayed one way or another by a business deal gone bad ten years ago. And if you’re going to disqualify your neighbors, well, in a town this size, well, we’re all neighbors here.”
Murmurs of agreement swept throughout the room.
Guthrie then rose to his feet and made his way through the audience and out the front door, his progress slowed by shaking hands and receiving pats on the back.
Andi saw her hopes for the Corner Coffee Stop slip out the door with him.
He had successfully portrayed her as the outsider, demanding to be freed from the rules that governed everyone else. The council voted against her three to one.
6
A GUILTY CONSCIENCE, for guilt not his own, had plagued Pete most of the weekend. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time figuring how, in these tough times, he might make it right. By Monday he almost had his ducks in a row. He didn’t have the money to buy the car wash property that his father had offered on so many years ago, but he thought he might be able to manage a long-term lease on the property. That would put some money in the hands of the Wolkowicz family—maybe even more money in the long run—and he could begin working on a plan to utilize the place.
He put his ideas on hold, however, when he heard about the drive-thru coffee proposal that went before the council.
“That sounds like a pretty good idea,” he told Miss Kepper as he stood in her office doorway, sipping at his own cup.
“Oh no,” she insisted. “It’s a terrible idea. Who would buy expensive coffee on that corner? And it’s like your father said, rules are rules.”
Mention of his father had Pete immediately curious.
“My dad was opposed to this?”
“Mr. Guthrie recused himself,” Miss Kepper answered quickly. “He didn’t want to even give the appearance of bias. But he is totally correct about the rules.”
Pete deliberately kept his expression blank. He didn’t want to point out how Miss Kepper’s own opinions always leaned heavily in his father’s favor. He also chose not to remark on how little respect his father typically gave to rules. Especially if they were meant to apply to him.
He was saved from saying anything by the store intercom.
“Mr. Guthrie to Bakery, please. Mr. Guthrie to Bakery.”
Pete frowned. “What could be going wrong at the bakery this early in the day?”
He hurried down the stairs and past the checkouts toward the far corner of the store. It was too early for the smell of fresh bread. The baking for that started about noon, encouraging buyers of lunch and lingering through the buyers of dinner. Mornings were sugar-filled with fluffy doughnuts and cinnamon rolls, the scent of which had Pete’s stomach growling. His bowl of plain oatmeal already seemed a long time ago. He deliberately chose to ignore that.
“What’s up?” he asked Beth, a plastic-capped worker arranging cakes in the display case.
She pointed toward the stainless steel doors. “They’re in the back.”
The prep section of the bakery was set apart from the rest of the store by a glass wall. Customers could view the clean, orderly area, but were protected from the heat and noise. Through the window, Pete could see the supervisor, Nell, standing arms crossed and tight-lipped, her expression furious. Beside her in a slouching posture that could only be described as insolent, was Cher-L, a bakery employee who was frequently in trouble.
“Oh, crap,” Pete whispered under his breath. He hated negotiating between these two. He warned Nell the last time that it happened that Cher-L was her employee and he didn’t want to be called in on every rule infraction. Hey, Peterson, he chided himself sarcastically. This is why you get paid the big bucks.
Forcing an optimistic smile on his face, he went through the doorway and approached the two women.
“Good morning,” he greeted them both.
“Not so good for us,” Nell said. “Cheryl has ruined the dough.”
“My name is Cher-L!” the younger woman whose blue-striped hair was visible beneath her clear plastic cap complained. “I just made a mistake.”
“Yes, well, as usual, you’re better at making mistakes than making bread.”
Cher-L’s eyes narrowed and Pete knew she was just an instant away from name-calling, something that simply couldn’t be tolerated. He quickly intervened.
“Tell me what happened,” he asked.
Both women turned to him.
“You first, Cher-L,” he said, hoping to counter her sense of being outnumbered by her bosses.
Cher-L turned her attention and her body to face Pete completely, as if to suggest that Nell’s presence was irrelevant. The young woman’s mouth was pouty and she dropped her eyes suggestively for a glance at Pete’s crotch. She was accustomed to dealing with men on a very primitive level and she was undoubtedly successful with it.
“It was just a silly mistake,” she explained. “I remembered to take the dough out of the freezer. But when we closed up last night I forgot to put it in the fridge.”
When she said it, it did sound like a small, silly thing. But Pete knew what it meant. He glanced past her to the cart beyond. Frozen dough was floured and laid out on baking sheets to thaw. Then it had to be refrigerated to keep the dough from rising. Each morning it would be brought out and allowed to rise for fifty minutes, then it would be reshaped and allowed to rise another twenty minutes before it went into the oven.
This morning, the baking cart was laden with giant, awkwardly shaped loaves that could never be made to look right and that would taste unpleasantly sour. Add to that the health inspection violation of leaving food sitting out and Pete was staring at a couple dozen bake sheets of money to be thrown in the garbage.
There would not be enough time to thaw, rise and bake a day’s allotment. Therefore no fresh bread for sale at Guthries today.
“Cher-L,” he said, very softly. “Why don’t you change back into your street clothes and meet me in my office.” The young woman looked genuinely surprised and hurt at the suggestion. But as she turned to walk away, there was more defiance in her walk than defeat.
Pete turned to Nell and shrugged. “Throw it out,” he said, sighing.
“I can put together some scratch,” she offered. “Maybe twelve or fifteen loaves by lunchtime if nothing goes wrong.”
Pete nodded. “Do what you can,” he said.
Nell nodded.
He walked back through the store and up the stairs. He stopped at Miss Kepper’s office.
“I need Cher-L’s employee file.”
Miss Kepper got up from her desk and walked to the vertical file cabinet against the back wall and quickly retrieved the thick pile of collected documents wrapped in a manila folder.
“Here you go,” she said.
“Thanks,” Pete answered. “Send her into my office as soon as she shows up.”
“Okay.”
Pete waited a long moment. Miss Kepper didn’t say another word.
He broke the silence. “Sorry about this,” he said. “You were right. I was wrong.”
The older woman shrugged. “You always try to see the good in people,” she said, putting the best possible spin on Pete’s bad hiring decision. She didn’t ask him what he intended to do. And he appreciated that. Although he was pretty sure he was out of options.
Pete walked to his office and set the file on his desk. He knew he probably should spend the time waiting for her to look through it and make sure he remembered it all correctly. Instead, he stood at the window staring out at the parking lot toward the little building on the corner. He wondered absently if Wolkowicz’s daughter was there again today. Would she continue to sort t
he place out, or would rejection of her coffee shop have her just locking the door and walking away? Somehow she didn’t seem like the walking away type.
Cher-L showed up in the doorway. The white coat and plastic cap had disappeared. She stood there for a moment, almost posing. The blue-striped hair, heavy eye makeup and plump blood-red lips were just the beginning of her feminine allure. She was now wearing very high heels, tight slacks and a blouse that revealed more skin, both in neckline and midriff, than it covered. She deftly closed the door behind her and smiled up at him, lowering her eyes in a way that was unapologetically provocative.
She was not at all his type. But when a guy hasn’t had sex in a while, he’s a lot less picky. She was attractive and available.
Pete mentally reminded himself that he was nearly thirty years old. He was the head of his company. A lot of people, a lot of families, depended on him. They trusted him to make tough choices that concerned their livelihood. And he needed to make those decisions with his brain instead of his penis.
“Have a seat,” he said in a tone he hoped was all business.
As Cher-L walked past him, her hips swayed seductively. His eyes were drawn to the spiderweb tattoo on her lower back and he caught sight of the top of her purple thong showing above her low-cut waistband.
Deliberately, Pete reopened the door.
She swiveled slightly in her chair, crossing her legs. “I was hoping we could have some privacy?” she whispered. “I don’t want Miss Kepper to hear.”
“Miss Kepper is not listening,” he assured her brightly. “And she is the soul of discretion on personnel matters.”
By the time he got to the other side of his desk, he could see Cher-L was frowning slightly. He hoped that was a good sign. He sat down and opened her file. He already knew what was there, but he flipped through it carefully nonetheless. There were already two serious reprimands that Cher-L has signed off on. Both in the last three months. Three strikes, you’re out. It was the rule in baseball as well as the grocery business.