Chapter 2
"...unprecedented growth in the housing and renovation markets in the greater Boston area. In what is typically a quiet time for the housing industry, this year's pre-Christmas season has architects, designers and contractors alike snowed under with well-heeled customers paying hefty premiums to renovate, redesign and relocate. Interior design guru Saville Masterson attributes this unexpected boom to nose-diving interest rates and..." reads the newspaper copy.
I lay the newspaper down on my desk and glance at my phone, half expecting it to start ringing furiously. Only it doesn't. Picking up my coffee, I lean back in my chair. Designers are snowed under. Just imagine being snowed under with clients begging for advice. Clients so desperate to have work done they're throwing money at designers and architects. And who the hell is this design guru, Saville Masterson?
That's exactly what I need. Well-heeled clients. The kind of clients who will let me design rooms worthy of media attention. That way I can safeguard Dick and Jane's trip, and garner a nice little bit of national renown for myself along the way. Maybe even a celebrity client. One with really superb taste. Now that would really make my business take off. Guaranteed publicity and word of mouth. I'd probably have people begging for my design skills. I'd be able to keep up with my bills and, when the word really begins to spread, drop in on some design shows as a guest speaker.
And now I know the business is out there. I just need to find it.
With this in mind, I spend the next half hour designing a pretty little flyer to scatter about the right parts of town, complete with a sort of Christmas coupon at the bottom so some forward-thinking individual can slip it inside a card as a thoughtful gift. After a quick scan for typos, I hit the print button and reach into my purse for a celebratory handful of M&Ms while I wait for it to print in the reception area. A flyer is the prefect solution. It's proactive, dynamic and creative. All hallmarks of a top-notch designer worthy of servicing the rich and famous.
Not three seconds later, Noel comes flying into my office and places the flyer on my desk. His buttoned down shirt and navy vest are tucked firmly into his khaki pants, which are pulled up too high and rolled up nearly to the ankle. "This fax just came in. Some important interior designer wants you to hire them," he giggles, covering his braces with his hand and looking about my office. "I'm thinking maybe you should."
"That's not from some important designer." I pick it up and glance it over with a more than a dash of pride. "It's from me. I just printed it."
He whips it out of my grasp and looks at it again. "Ho. So you did. Are we getting desperate again?"
"No. No. I'm not getting desperate. I'm simply casting a net to bring in my share of the 'unprecedented growth in the housing and renovation markets in the greater Boston area.'"
"I told you everybody else is swamped with business, but you thought I was just being all scratchy-like."
I raise my eyebrows and grunt. "Why ever would I think that?"
He leans over my desk and peers closely at the corner of my mouth. "You've got some candy-coated shell there," he hands me a tissue from his pocket.
Ignoring his tissue, I lick my lips and swallow the candy bit. "Would you please copy the flyer for me, on the light grey paper. About 300."
He turns on his heel, revealing an efficient flash of white sweat socks as he goes.
Desperate times call for desperate acts. While Noel is eating lunch at his desk (low-fat beet borscht, multi-grain bagel and three carrots, never four), I get in my car and drive across town to my parents' neighborhood, spending the next several hours stuffing flyers into what seems like thousands of mailboxes. But not before stopping at MacDonald's drive-thru for a quick Happy Meal which, I lie, is for my son. It is, sort of. I'll bribe Tucker with the toy when we stop at the grocery store tonight on the way home.
