Justin Jaspers isn't happy with the third draft of my speech. "You can do better, Emma," he says. He thinks I haven't put "heart" into the speech. "Remember," he says, "it has to sound like Council Member Young cares about affordable housing which, BTW, she does. FYI."
BTW? FYI? I hate it when people replace words with letters. I especially hate it when Justin does it. He pronounces each letter carefully. I imagine the letters capitalized as they visually pop out at me. This is a very busy man, they seem to scream, who doesn't have time to say the full word.
UYA, I almost retort. Not that Justin would know what it stood for and not that I think it officially stands for anything other than the unladylike thought in my head. He rifles through the papers on his desk, muttering "Where is it? Where is it?" I stand patiently on the other side of his desk. Melinda, one of the volunteers, walks by and gives me a sympathetic look. "Heart," Justin repeats. His right hand triumphantly waves my speech in the air. "Soul," he says handing the speech back to me. "Get it? Heart and soul." He's taken off his navy blue blazer. He's the only guy around here who wears a suit to work. Then again, he's the only guy around here who is paid. His tie is slightly skewered and his usually pressed shirt is wrinkled. While I would normally find this "dishevelled" look sexy on a guy, I can't help but wonder whether someone didn't grab him by the tie and try to choke him, but maybe I'm projecting.
"Sit here," he says, leading me to an empty desk, "and re-work it."
"So basically you want me to say--"
"Emma, please, just figure it out." He points a finger to his watch. His finger taps his watch. "I have to go."
"I'm just trying to figure out how you want me to say, SCLOAHIDBSLOBSW,BTW.SS," I say. "Oh, btw, that was the super-abbreviated version because I can see you're a very busy man."
Justin releases a long loud sigh as he pulls a chair over to the other side of "my" desk. He straddles the chair so his front is facing the chair's backside. Again, this could be sexy if it were anyone other than Justin. "Super abbreviated version of what?" he says in his I, the busy, unappreciated man, am trying to be patient voice.
"Are you sure you have time to hear each word in its entirety?"
"Will you just get to the point."
"So called lover of affordable housing is devastated by strict limit of building sizes which, by the way, she supported."
"What are you talking about?" Justin looks at me, his dark eyes narrowed.
"I'm talking about Council Member Young, the woman who supposedly likes affordable housing, voting in favor of limiting size buildings which, in effect, ensures affordable housing doesn't happen."
Our future President is having a hard moment. Or maybe it's a hard day he's having. It's not enough he has to supervise the various volunteers who walk in and out, the various vagrants who pretend they're volunteers so they can get a free coffee, the e-mails which are never answered to his "satisfaction" or his "specifications", he now has the paid staffers like me who don't understand politics is about packaging. "How did you find out she voted against affordable housing?"
"Google."
"You're kidding?"
"N," I say.
"What?"
"N. Stands for no."
He nods, a small smile on his thin lips. "I like that," he says, "Mind if I use it?"
I tell him to "rwi." "Run with it,"
"About the speech," he says. "Be inventive."
I raise an eyebrow and give him a skeptical look. "Inventive as in giving Council Member Young some sort of reflex disorder, the kind where she raises her hand involuntarily?"
Justin wants to know if that was supposed to be funny because he's not laughing. Right, I think to myself, like you ever laugh. "You're the one who went to Harvard," he says.
"So did you, Justin, and I don't see you putting a better spin on it than I just did. Personally, I think the reflex disorder is pretty ingenious."
Justin gets up and tells me to figure it out. Someone tapping him on the shoulder, It's a guy who looks like he's seen better days. He's heard there was free coffee. "For volunteers," Justin says. "I'm a volunteer," the guy says. Justin looks at the ceiling, then back at the man. "Really?" he says. The man nods. "I voluntarily walked into this place, didn't I?" Justin walks away, muttering "I don't have time for this." He yells at Melinda to make a 'No Free Coffee' sign which she's to tape on the coffee machine. Melinda, and everyone else in the room, look at Justin like he's the biggest prick in the world.
"You want the volunteers to pay for their coffee?" This from Melinda. "Isn't it enough we work for free, now you want us to pay for the coffee?"
Justin is backtracking. No, he didn't mean no free coffee for "us", "us" being the dedicated people who come here every day, he meant no free coffee for... His eyes glance at the guy.
"Me?" the guy says. He points to himself, "Are you talking about me, because that's like discrimination."
No, no, no, Justin didn't mean it like that. It's not about "us" versus "others"... it's about...He's looking for words to get out of this mess. "Emma, a little help over here."
"Are you asking me to put heart and soul into your no free coffee rule?" There, I said it. Too late to do anything about it now. Justin's brown eyes glare at me. I'm going to kill you, his look seems to say, Unfortunately, I don't have time right now. He grabs his i-phone from his back pocket and taps something in. My guess? Note to self: Kill Emma as soon as things quiet down.
"I like her," the guy who wants free coffee says.
"Yeah, she's a real laugh a minute," Justin says. He looks at his watch, then back at me.
"How about No Free Coffee Unless Authorized," I say.
Justin nods, his brown eyes no longer hostile. "Yes!" He says, his voice reflective. It is obvious he is playing the words in his head. "No Free Coffee Unless Authorized."
"How do we know who's authorized?" Again, Melinda.
"Authorization cards," I manage to say with a straight face.
Justin can't see that six feet away, Derek and Mina, two other volunteers, are trying hard not to laugh. He is too frazzled, too busy, too stuck babysitting everyone to think clearly. "You," he says, pointing at me, "Are in charge of the authorization cards."
I tell him I'm on it. He looks relieved. He tells Melinda to "Please show this gentleman out." He tells me to "Figure out the authorization cards" and to "Figure out the speech".
Figure it out, well there's a revelation. I silently vow to never vote for Justin Jaspers should he get that far. Melinda wants to know whether she should give "the gentleman" a free coffee since, technically, he walked in before any of the talk about authorization cards took place. "Also," the gentleman says, "The no free coffee sign isn't up yet."
I tell Justin the gentleman has a point. Justin's right hand is rubbing his forehead. I can practically hear what he's thinking - Just give me strength to get through today. "Okay," he says, "Now, if you don't mind, I really have to go." He checks his pockets for wallet, keys, whatever else he thinks he can't leave without. Concerning the speech, Council Member Young is going to need it by next week when she gets back from her holidays. Concerning the coffee and the gentleman, we can do what we want. I watch Justin hurry out the door. I watch him hurry back in because he forgot his blazer. He looks over at me. "Heart, Emma," he yells, "It has to have heart." He again hurries towards the door, then abruptly turns around and walks towards my desk. "Do you want to meet for a drink later," he says.
"NSC," I say.
He gives me a puzzled look. "No, sorry, can't," I explain. He nods, his face indifferent. "Got to go," he says, and with that, superman is off.
"Please tell me he wasn't serious about the coffee," Melinda says. She plops down on the chair occupied by Justin not too long ago. She is a heavy-set woman, somewhere in her forties, with light brown hair which is greying at the roots. I tell her not to worry about it, I'll look after "the coffee situation". I pick up "the speech" lying on the desk. Justin has scribbled who knows what in red all over it. "I need to look after this," I say. Melinda nods. She gets up and makes her way over to the coffee machine, the gentleman following close behind.
I look at "the speech". Wrong! R U Kidding? Where's the H&S? scrawled all over my speech in red. Times like this, I think I should quit, but what then? Ms. Green and Rosetta have both contacted me for private "dating service sessions." I should tell Justin about the goings on at Benton Valby. Want to know about inventive, I imagine myself saying.
I look at my phone, hoping it'll prove more interesting than my speech. I've a text from Stella reminding me about our get together at Jen's this evening, a text from Matt asking how my day is going, a text from Mom asking if I'm going "alone" to Jen's, a text from Ax asking whether I found anyone for Ms. Trent because it could mean the difference between a ninety-eight and a one hundred, a text from Shelby asking, Whazup?, and a text from Kate saying she's bored at work.
I call Kate. I haven't spoken to her since she was promoted to head buyer three weeks ago. I don't know how Kate pulls it off. If she isn't bragging about how late she shows up for work, she's bragging about taking three hour lunches. Next to Shelby, she works the least. Even in high school she'd leave everything until the last minute and then it was usually her mother who wrote her papers for her.
She took us out for drinks to celebrate her promotion. Took us out meaning we all split the bill meaning we all gave her cash while she put the total on her new corporate credit card. "This is a personal expense," she explained as she tucked our money into her wallet, "which means this money goes towards this bill once the bill comes in. The only reason I used the card is because I get points." I figure Kate must have quite the stash fund by now, tucked away in some inconspicuous bank account in Switzerland.
None of us have seen her since that night. According to Stella, we shouldn't be surprised. "That's what happens when your friends become successful," she said, "they dump you." I told her I would never dump her and she said, "Yeah, 'cause I was really worried, Emma."
"Kate Findley," Kate now answers her phone.
"Emma Watson," I say.
Kate laughs. She tells me to hang on a minute so she can go somewhere more private. "Okay," she says, "Now I can talk. What's going on?" I tell her I need a sales pitch. Kate's really good at giving everything a twist. I give her the details. "Okay," she says, "So no to affordable housing because of some law about small buildings, plus she wants to keep the people in her area happy, but she needs to look like she cares. Right?"
"Right," I say.
"Hold on, I need to think a minute."
Another person walks into our office. Melinda asks if she can help him. He says he's here for the free coffee. Melinda looks at me. I'm still on the phone, waiting for Kate to come up with something brilliant. I point to the coffee machine and mouth, "The sign's not up yet, so let him have however much he wants." Melinda nods and goes back to doing whatever she was doing, obviously relieved that the "coffee situation" is on my shoulders, not hers.
"Oh, I know," Kate says. "Do the large building versus human scale angle."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you tackle the whole, Does New York City really need another huge building to make its neighborhoods less human friendly."
I tell her that's pretty good. Another guy walks in. This one has a straggly looking dog with him. On the other end of the phone, Kate is rattling on about the perks of her new title - showing up even later, longer lunches.... "Coffee?" I say to the guy.
"Actually, I'm here for the dog. I found him wandering--"
I put down my phone and look at the man. He's ordinary looking, shirt, shorts, probably a tourist given the camera strapped around his neck. The dog, who looks like a cross between a German Shepherd and a Husky, puts his front paws on my desk. He wags his tail. Someone must have misinformed him and told him it's free dog biscuits we have, not free coffee. I let him smell my hand and give him a pat before turning my attention back to the man. "Did you just walk in from the outside?"
The man looks at me, surprised by my question. "Umm, yeah," he says, "Isn't that where most of us come in from?"
"OhmyGod, you're the answer."
The man looks at me like he's sorry he ever walked in. He's no doubt wishing he'd listened to his wife, his girlfriend, his mother when they warned him about this city. "You're the answer," I repeat. I stand up. I might even be waving my failed speech in his face I'm so excited. "You're the outside catalyst." I'm laughing. I'm actually laughing and ohhh, I know how weird I look but this whole affordable housing fiasco mixed in with the coffee and the dog-- The point is, I finally have my head wrapped around the speech mess. Melinda says something that sounds like, "You okay, hon?" Kate, who is still on the line, wants to know what I'm talking about. "Later." I tell her. I hang up, tell the man not to worry about the dog, tell Derek to go out and get dog food, dog bed, dog bowls, leash and collar. Oh, and to find a local vet. "Use petty cash," I tell Derek, "And don't worry, I'll handle Justin."
By four o'clock, the speech is done. Plus, there's a sign outdide the door which reads, Everyone Welcome to Drop by For a Free Cup of Coffee. Plus, I've written a press release about how the office of Council Member Young has adopted a street dog who, on weekends and holidays, stays with Council Member Young's right hand man, Justin Jaspers. The dog's name is Heart.
"How do you think Justin's going to react to all of this?" Melinda says.
"With his heart," I say, "And his soul."
"And his gun," she says, "if he has one."
"Oh he wouldn't shoot Heart."
"It's not Heart I'm worried about," she says.