Brooklyn Girls (36 page)

I smile and obey her, and take my place at the head of the conference table. It stretches out before me like a football field, unimaginably vast. I can’t shout that far. I can’t do it.

“Go for it, Pia,” says Lina encouragingly. I look at her in anguish. She took a chance on me and I’m going to let her down.

“I—” My voice comes out as a tiny squeak.

There’s silence in the room. Total, horrific, gut-churning silence.

“Speak up!” calls Gilbert.

Oh please, oh
please,
please let me find my voice. I have not come this far to fail now. And if Lina believes in me, and all my friends believe in me, then it’s time I believed in myself. I can do this. I really can.

“My name is Pia Keller, and I’m twenty-two years old.”

I see Gilbert leaning forward to hear me better, and I smile and raise my voice, talking from the very center of my being, as Lina told me to.

“I graduated from Brown a few months ago, and what became immediately, painfully obvious to me—and everyone around me—was that I was completely unemployable.”

The crowd at the end of the table titters.

“No one wants to give you a job when you have no experience, and you can’t get experience without a job. It’s the catch-twenty-two for any graduate, and when you think that you’ve spent your entire life earning the right to be treated like an adult, it’s tough to realize that the outside world doesn’t see you the same way.”

I pause. Everyone is paying attention to me. My voice is strong, I feel completely calm.

“But I needed a job. I needed to make money. I needed to pay rent, to buy food, to feel good about myself, to have a goal and strive to reach it. That’s what the post-college struggle is truly about: finding a life worth living, and making it yours.”

Judy is nodding. This is a good sign, and for a second I lose my train of thought. I clear my throat.

“And I wanted—well, I hoped—to do it in a job that I could be passionate about and make my own. I noticed that New York’s food truck industry seemed to be a straightforward way to make cash. All you really need is a truck, and an idea. So I got the truck. And I had an idea.”

I pause again. Everyone is still looking at me, no one is doodling, no one is checking their iPhone.

“SkinnyWheels is for every busy New Yorker who wants fast, filling, fantastic lunch options that won’t go straight to their a—waistline,” Thank goodness I didn’t say ass. I clear my throat, and smile. “All my friends are in their first jobs, at the bottom of the ladder. They can’t afford to spend forty dollars or take an hour off to go eat in a restaurant, and they don’t want a carb-heavy sandwich that will send them to sleep, or fattening fast food. They want something delicious and nutritious that will fill them up and keep them going, so they don’t hit that midafternoon lull and reach for a cookie or six.”

Gilbert is nodding. Judy has just dropped the cookie she was about to eat. Oops.

“Naturally, I don’t mean just the weight-conscious: people don’t have to be on a diet to want to watch what they eat. Eating well is a way of life … or it should be.”

Lina clicks through the photos Angie took yesterday. God, they look great. I take a slow breath, and keep talking.

“So I bought a very old food truck. Her name is Toto, she’s more rust than metal, and she’s gorgeous.”

“Reminds me of an old Kombi I had in college,” says Louis—or George, I can’t remember.

“I started with two protein-rich, wheat- and sugar-free salads that had a low glycemic index. Salads full of taste and crunch, and smart fats, like almonds and avocado. I also made low-fat, low-sugar desserts, and within two weeks, expanded into breakfast, with gluten-free low-fat pancakes. I started Twitter and Facebook accounts…” I keep talking but I can see that their minds are wandering, so I get to the killer fact—at least, that’s what Lina said it was.

“The most incredible revelation of the past six weeks has been this—” I pause, making sure I’ve got all their attention. “A food truck is its own best advertisement. You drive it around to and from your daily locations, people see you and remember you. You tweet or update your status with your location, people follow, and retweet. You sell food, people tell their friends or share it at lunch.… Everything you do increases your potential customers, every customer is an advocate, every time you drive anywhere, you’re essentially marketing yourself. I didn’t have the time, money, or know-how to invest in advertising, but it didn’t matter. Food trucks are a low investment with a high payoff, if you’re willing to do everything it takes to provide the best possible food … and it really is that straightforward.”

I look up toward the end of the table, and see Judy scribbling something on a pad of paper and swiveling it over to the guy on her right. I think he was the CFO, I can hardly remember, oh, God, they’re probably bored. My confidence puckers and drops. What was I going to say next? I can’t remember.

“So, Pia, tell us about your other food truck ideas,” prompts Lina with a smile.

“Uh, oh, yes,” I say, and start talking about organic Italian, A Meal Grows in Brooklyn, packed lunch, and my all-day breakfast idea. This gets Mike’s attention: he’s nodding and smiling. “There are a lot of ethnic-specific or gourmet dessert trucks,” I say. “What there’s not—or at least, not yet—are trucks that are plugging the gap between feeling good, looking good, and doing good.”

I sit down, nearly panting with relief, my heart racing. I did it! I spoke in public without freaking out! I nailed it!

Lina takes over.

“With SkinnyWheels, Pia created a brand that is so simple and real people responded to it immediately. Our lives are complicated, and even every food choice we make seems fraught with nutritional, financial, ethical, and even moral repercussions. But food trucks are simple. Food trucks make life a little bit easier, a little bit more real. They make food that you can love. And if it’s food that loves you back, well … it’s a no-brainer.”

“I hope you’re not going anti-restaurant, Lina,” says one of the guys—I think it’s Charlie—and everyone else chuckles.

“Of course not.” Wow, Lina has a steely smile when she wants to. “I’m actively pursuing new avenues of revenue that can promote our brand in unique and innovative ways.”

Gilbert nods, and Lina pauses for a very dramatic few seconds. “Every great idea needs a magic touch. With SkinnyWheels, Pia found it. And we believe she has the smarts and talent to do it again and again.”

I’m staring at the table, hard, and trying not to look as thrilled and embarrassed as I am. But I can’t help but glance up at Lina as she talks. She’s beaming at me.

Lina clears her throat. “I’ll take you through the financials quickly.…” She talks about ROI (I finally learned what it means: return on investment) and USPs (unique service proposition, as in, what makes SkinnyWheels different from every other food truck), how much SkinnyWheels has earned, how much more it could earn if it were a slicker, streamlined production line, and all that sort of thing.

“So, we won’t keep you much longer,” says Lina. Down at the end of the table, Gilbert is stretching restlessly. He looks a bit grumpy. I bet he had too many carbs for lunch and is having a sugar crash now.

She clears her throat. “What makes a good food truck great is the personality behind it. Any huge restaurant could sell food from a truck. It’s the person running it who consumers make a connection with. It’s Pia that they’re responding to, not just the food. Pia’s passion and vision are the key to her success.”

I blush. It is?

Lina continues: “I propose that we back Pia to roll out SkinnyWheels with three food trucks in the New York area, and when they’re up and running, kick-start the organic Italian and all-day breakfast ideas, and then roll those brands out to Chicago, Boston, San Francisco, and L.A.”

What?

“I get it,” says Gilbert. “What’s your time frame?”

“The problem with these initiatives is always finding the right personnel, which is where we’re incredibly lucky. With Pia in charge, working with a small, trusted team of people to drive and sell the product, and backed up every step of the way, of course, by Carus management and support teams, we can start straightaway. We propose to invest in SkinnyWheels and expand immediately. A food truck empire within twelve months. It’s the perfect Carus initiative: smart, forward-thinking, people-centric, and it has heart.”

Thank hell I’m sitting down. Otherwise I’d collapse. Me in charge? Where the hell did that come from?

“We’re going to have to discuss it,” says Gilbert, exchanging glances with Judy.

“I should add that Pia has had another offer and has promised them an answer within the day,” adds Lina smoothly. “Thus the rush. I didn’t want to miss out on this unique opportunity to hit the ground running on a new venture that we know will pay huge dividends and really add value to our brand.”

“Okay,” says Gilbert abruptly. He clearly doesn’t like to be given an ultimatum. “Thank you.”

We all stand up and, following Lina’s lead, I head to the end of the conference table and shake hands with everyone again. And I make sure to look into all of their eyes and smile as confidently and genuinely as possible.

“Thanks for coming in,” says Gilbert. I can’t read him at all—is he impressed? Unimpressed? His eyes are still friendly, but his face gives nothing away. I guess that’s why he’s CEO. Damnit.

“Well done,” says Judy of the freezing-cold hands. “Very interesting.”

I walk out of the conference room, tap myself a tiny high five that no one else can see, and then turn around to face Lina. She looks as gleeful as I feel.

“No cheering yet! My office!” shushes Lina, and I obediently follow her to the elevator and head down to her office. It’s small but has a great view over Manhattan, and the desk is clear and devoid of all clutter, and as she closes the door we both grin manically. I almost want to jump up and down.

“Great job,” says Lina.

“That was good? Really?” I know it was good, but I want more compliments.

“It was excellent,” says Lina. “I’ve seen Gilbert walk out of meetings when he’s bored. He just fakes a phone call and doesn’t come back.”

“Thank you! Oh, my God—I had no idea that was what you were planning—”

“I didn’t want to psych you out,” she says, laughing. “Nerves can ruin even the most surefire presentations.”

“No kidding,” I say. Suddenly I realize that my bubbling acid stomach has disappeared. I just gave a presentation to a crowd of important, accomplished strangers. I didn’t lose my voice and I didn’t sound stupid. I nailed it.

I’m so happy, I feel like I’m shining.

“Listen, you should head home,” says Lina. “I’ll wait here, I’ve got a few calls to make on other projects. I have a feeling that Gilbert’ll call me sooner rather than later.”

“Okay,” I say. I suddenly feel slightly deflated. That’s it?

“Don’t worry,” she says, looking me right in the eye. “I have a very good feeling about this. Just keep your phone on. I’ll definitely be in touch.”

As I walk out on the street, I look at all the people rushing around me and can’t stop smiling. I’m one of you now. I had a business meeting. I belong here. New York is mine.

My phone rings: Julia. I smile to myself. I can’t wait to tell her what’s happened.

“Jumanji!”

“Pia!” says Julia in a cheerful voice.

“The one and only!” I say, equally cheerful. “You will not believe how great my day has been!”

“Your parents are here!”

Oh, my fucking God, how did they find me? How did they find Rookhaven?

“Surprise!” She pauses, as though listening to me. “Oh, okay, great. We’re all here with them at Rookhaven right now, so you just come on home and they’ll be here waiting for you. Buh-bye!”

She hangs up before I’ve even said anything.

There’s a pause. My mind is racing. My parents. My parents who have come to force me to leave Brooklyn. And now I have to go home and deal with them.

CHAPTER 34

When I walk in our front door, Madeleine, Julia, Coco, and Angie are all sitting awkwardly in the living room. And so are my parents.

It’s strange, even
wrong,
somehow, to see them in this house. This is my place. They don’t belong here. My mother is sitting on one sofa, playing with her rings, and my father is on the other, talking to a very uncomfortable-looking Angie. Probably quizzing her about her recent career choices.

“How did you know where I was?” My voice is so tiny, it’s hiding somewhere deep in my body.

“Pia,” says my father, in the deep, disapproving voice that used to scare me so much. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

“I’ve been busy,” I whisper. “Working.”

“What? Speak up.”

“Working!” Jesus, how can they still make me feel like this? “I’ve been working.”

He smiles wryly to himself at that—oh, the sarcastic disbelief of a facial expression! “You have a real job now. In Zurich. You can work as a PA to our neighbor, a banker at UBS. So go and pack.”

“No.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction.

“Enough is enough. You can’t stay here.”

I shake my head, fighting to keep my voice as calm as I can. “My life is here.” My voice sounds pathetically childish, even to me. I notice that the girls’ heads are following the conversation back and forth like they’re at a tennis match.

“What life? Partying all night? Sleeping all day?” chimes in my mother from the other sofa.

“I have a job,” I say, ignoring her. “I’m making money.”

“Yes, we heard,” says my father. “A glorified lemonade stand. That’s not a real job.”

“It’s a food truck,” I say. “And it’s successful. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My mother blanches slightly, and I see my father’s face crease in anger. Before he can respond, however, my phone rings. I glance at it: it’s Lina.

“I have to take this,” I say. Oh please, oh please let this be good news.

“How dare you—” snaps my father, but it’s too late: I’m already out of the room.

“Hi, hello, Lina!” I say, trying to sound as confident and businesslike as I can.