Fook (28 page)

“Okay. The plan,” she reset herself,
abandoning the rehearsed speech for a more direct and informal
approach. How many of you remember the fifties?” the question came
out before she realized how stupid it was given that only one
member of Mr. Branson’s team was old enough to have been alive
during the decade and even then he was likely only a few years
old.

All remaining color drained from both
women’s faces.

“That’s a dumb question,” Tabitha attempted
to recover. “Why would you? But we all have an image of that decade
in our heads, don’t we?”

Okay, that’s better, Melody felt a little
better about where this was going.

“It was a simpler time. A less stressful
time. Let’s be honest, it was a time when men could be men because
the women in their lives could be women.”

Mr. Branson seemed puzzled, yet
interested.

“Households weren’t in turmoil because of
the need for two working parents just to make ends meet. Let’s face
it, life today is insane, between getting the kids off to school in
the morning and then spending a minimum eight hour day at the
office before rushing home to get each child to a different
athletic practice all the while trying to figure out how you’re
going to get some form of nutritious dinner down everyone’s throats
before going to bed, just so you can get up and do it all over
again in the morning. It’s nuts and who’s the one that really
suffers in this insanity we now call life?”

The room was filled with blank stares.

“Our homes,” Tabitha answered her own
question. “We live in complete and utter chaos and the state of our
homes reflects it. That’s why it’s our belief that you need to make
your customers feel like that time of simple domestic harmony is
possible again with your product.” Holding up one of the packets,
Tabitha flipped open to an image of a Donna Reed type house wife
happily cleaning her house. “We’ve put together a plan to attack
all three fronts, television, print and digital. While every other
company out there is fighting for a piece of the chaos, we believe
that we can market to the simpler, more traditional side of your
customers and in turn, create a brand for your company that could
easily incorporate any and all future product,” Tabitha finished
with a smile, for the moment glad to find that the persistent
nausea had passed.

Mr. Branson just stared at the two women,
silently taking in what he’d just heard before offering a response.
“Do you know what I think when I see that picture?” he started.
“Women’s suffrage.”

Tabitha’s sickness returned.

“I see a poor, beaten down woman with no
self worth beyond that which is obtained by maintaining a clean
house for her oppressive and likely abusive husband.”

“Who’d have guessed that Mr. Branson was so
into women’s lib,” Tabitha thought as she eyed Melody, who was
staring out through the conference room’s glass walls in search of
more empty boxes.

“I don’t want to speak for my colleagues
here, but this image doesn’t remind me of a simpler, happier time.
It reminds me of an insensitive, careless moment in our history
when only a middle class, white, American male had a chance at
success, and frankly, that’s not our core demographic, so if this
is all you have, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass,” Mr.
Branson rejected the pitch as he got to his feet.

Panicked and unsure about what they were
going to do, not just in that moment with Mr. Branson, but in the
coming months when the reality of the company’s situation would
finally have to be addressed and the people out there in the office
would finally have to be told that, once again, they would be
without work, Tabitha’s face turned an even paler shade of
white.

“Tab?” Melody noticed the sudden shift in
her partner’s complexion and demeanor as Mr. Branson and his
associates began to head for the door.

Again the building seemed to dance beneath
her feet as Tabitha tried to think of something that could salvage
the disastrous moment, but instead her words were replace by
another wave of nausea. Remembering what her husband had said the
night before about throwing up on the client, she fought back the
urge, but not before a wave of unconsciousness washed over her,
causing her to fall forward and strike her head on the edge of the
conference table.

TWENTY-NINE

“Katie,” Mark whispered from the desk behind and
diagonally to Katie’s left.

Busy taking notes, Katie didn’t notice his
call.

“Katie,” Mark whispered again, continuing to
eye Mr. Burns who was currently distracted with the sample problem
he was scribbling across the chalkboard.

“Hey,” the girl directly to Katie’s left
whispered as she poked at Katie’s shoulder then pointed over her
own shoulder in Mark’s direction.

“Thanks,” Mark whispered in appreciation as
Katie finally turned.

The helpful girl just nodded as she returned
her attention to the lesson.

“What's going on?” Katie whispered, at the
same time also keeping an eye on Mr. Burns.

With the senior class already out, the
junior prom just a couple of days away and the end of the remaining
students’ school year just a week off, most of the teachers had
already given up on teaching anything new, but not Mr. Burns. At
the age of sixty three, he was still of the old school philosophy
that, every day should be a day filled with learning. The new
social norm of teaching to the test was unlikely to sink in at this
point.

“I’m sorry,” Mark continued the hushed
exchange.

“For what?”

“For the dress.”

“I love the dress.”

“For being creepy I mean,” Mark tried to
explain in as few words as possible.

Apparently the word ‘creepy’ drew the
helpful girl’s attention as Katie saw her lift her head and turn
her eyes upward as if she were listening to a conversation being
had on the ceiling.

“Are you digging a well?” Katie asked with a
smile.

“What?”

“Eh, hem,” Mr. Burns drew their attention to
the front of the class.

Katie and Mark instantly fell silent,
offering their teacher an ‘I’m sorry’ bow of the eyes. After a
moment, Mr. Burns returned his attention to the board and to the
lesson he’d been teaching.

“Katie,” Mark continued in an even quieter
whisper.

Afraid of getting in trouble, Katie
reluctantly turned again, this time holding up a clean page from
her notebook on which she’d written,
write it
.

“Oh,” Mark smiled as he flipped to a new
page in his notebook and began writing, then cleared his throat to
let her know that he was done.

Turning Katie read his message.

Like I was saying. I didn’t mean to come
across as creepy yesterday. And what well?

She turned back to her notebook to write a
response before holding it up over her shoulder for him to
read.

It was a bit forward but it was also sweet.
You’re not creepy. The one in your basement that you’re going to
lock me in.

She turned to see his expression. He looked
confused. She added to the message.

Never mind. I love the dress and I can’t
wait to go with you on Friday.

Looking over her shoulder again this message
drew a smile as he returned to his notebook.

Well I’m glad. I can’t wait either. And it’s
in the shed.

What?

The pit is under the shed. I’m soundproofing
it tonight.

Looking over her shoulder again, her smile
was matched by his.

“Mr. Fossy. Miss Bishop,” Mr. Burns broke
away from his lesson again to scold the silently chatty couple.

Mark and Katie instantly dropped their
notebooks.

“Even though school is over in a week, the
same rules still apply. There’s no passing of notes in class.”

“Technically they weren’t passing them,”
Nick corrected from the back row.

“Thank you, Mr. Peterson,” Mr. Burns growled
at the helpful student.

“You're welcome,” Nick replied, thinking
he’d actually been of assistance.

The class chuckled.

“Sorry Mr. Burns,” Katie was the first to
apologize.

“Me too,” Mark quickly followed suit as Mr.
Burns reluctantly returned to his lesson.

Looking over her shoulder, Katie shot Mark a
playfully angry glare.

Mark just grinned sheepishly before
mouthing, “Sorry.”

THIRTY

“How are we feeling, Mrs. Tillmore?”

Managing to partially open her eyes, a tall,
thin figure slowly came into focus, then quickly faded out again as
Tabitha elected to re-close them. “Where am I?” she mumbled, trying
to lift her arm.

“Whoa, I wouldn’t do that,” the man
instructed as he placed his hand on her arm, encouraging it back
down. “We’ve got you wired up pretty good and I wouldn’t want you
pulling out your I.V..”

“What?”

“You’re in the emergency room, Mrs.
Tillmore. You took a pretty good blow to the head. You may have a
concussion. Just lie still and relax.”

“Richard.”

“Is that your husband?” the doctor
questioned.

Tabitha nodded.

“I’m sure he’s on his way. He should be here
soon.”

“My head,” she moaned, noticing the
throbbing pain for the first time.

“Like I said you had a pretty good fall. Hit
your head on a table I hear. You should see the table,” he joked,
getting no response.

“Mr. Branson,” Tabitha opened her eyes
again, trying to sit up before the doctor once again encouraged her
to lay back down.

“You really need to stay still, Mrs.
Tillmore. We’re going to take good care of you. You just need to
relax.”

As instructed, she again laid down and
closed her eyes.

“Is Mr. Branson someone from your office?”
the doctor continued the conversation, testing her mind as he also
checked her wrist for her pulse.

“No, a client,” she responded.
“Important.”

“Well I’m sure Mr. Branson will understand
what happened and we’ll have you back to work in no time,” he
assured her. “Now you just stay here and relax. I’m going to see if
your husband is here yet, okay?” he added as he slipped through the
curtain and disappeared.

Tabitha just nodded, unaware that the doctor
had left.

“There you are,” Melody spoke in a panic as
she peeked through the curtain to find her friend lying on the
bed.

“Melody?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Melody answered as she
dropped her purse on the chair beside the bed and grabbed hold of
Tabitha’s hand. “They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. I got here
as quick as I could. What did the doctor say?”

Parting her eyes, she attempted to bring
Melody into focus. “Melody,” she spoke with a smile as if just now
realizing who she was talking to.

“Yes, it’s me. What did the doctors say?”
she asked again, worried by her partner's incoherent state.

“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about,” Tabitha
grinned.

“You’re a tough one,” Melody nervously
laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of blood in the
conference room.”

“Mr. Branson,” Tabitha appeared to come
through a bit more as her eyes widened and Melody’s face became
clear.

“You did it,” Melody smiled.

“What?”

“You did it. We got the Fabrix account,”
Melody almost let out an excited squeal.

“How?” Tabitha asked, more confused now than
she had been when they’d wheeled her into the hospital.

“The blood.”

All Tabitha could offer was a look of
painful confusion.

“You busted your head open pretty good on
the table and got blood all over the carpet. Mr. Branson and his
associates quickly rushed to help you and I...well...I didn’t know
what to do. I guess I sort of panicked. You know I’m not good in a
crisis and cleaning comforts me so...”

Tabitha continued her look of confusion.

“...so I grabbed the bottle of Fabrix from
the table and started to clean up the blood. Sorry,” she offered
Tabitha an apologetic grin for making it seem like the carpet was
more important than her friend.

Tabitha just smiled, indicating that no
offense was taken.

“Anyway, Mr. Branson saw how well his
product was cleaning up the mess...that stuff really works by the
way. The carpet looks almost new.”

“Melody,” Tabitha put her wondering partner
back on point.

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, when he saw me
cleaning up the mess, he suddenly blurted out ‘crime scene!’ I had
no idea what he was talking about. There was no crime involved.
Then he went on and on about an ad campaign centered around
spoofing shows like ‘Twin Peaks’ and ‘Murder, She Wrote’ and how,
if the criminals had just used Fabrix, they’d have never gotten
caught.”

It was an oddly morbid campaign for a guy
who’d just scolded her on the oppression of women and domestic
violence but who was she to argue?

“He wants us to start putting together ideas
immediately. Isn’t that great?!” Melody’s excitement finally got
the best of her as she vocalized her excitement for the whole E.R.
to hear.

“Well there seems to be an awful lot of
excitement coming from in here,” a voice spoke as a white haired
doctor parted the curtain and joined them in the enclosed
space.

“I’m sorry,” Melody replied embarrassed.

“No, don’t be. We could use more of that
around here,” he laughed as he looked over Tabitha’s chart. “So it
says here you hit your head.”

“Yeah, the other doctor said I might have a
concussion.”

“What other doctor?” the doctor questioned
confused.

“The one that was just in here a few minutes
ago,” Tabitha pointed to the curtain.

The elderly doctor looked at Melody.

“I just got here,” Melody responded.