That Day, Karen Deen [early readers .txt] 📗

“Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I will drop in my dollar for the swear jar tomorrow,” I mumble as I’m madly typing back to Fleur.

“See that you do, missy. Otherwise I will chase you down, and you know I’m not joking.” I hear her laughing as she shuffles on her way towards the front doors. I’m sure everyone in this building is paying for her nursing home when they finally get her to move there. I don’t swear that often—well, I tell myself that in my head, anyway. It just seems Mrs. Johnson manages to be around, every time I curse.

“Got to run, Mrs. Johnson. I will pop in tomorrow,” I call out, heading out the front doors. Part of me feels for her. I think the swear jar is more about getting people to call in to visit her apartment. Her husband passed away six months after I moved in. He was a beautiful old man. She misses him terribly and gets quite lonely. She’s been adopted by everyone in the building as our stand-in Nana whether we like it or not. Although she is still stuck in the previous century, she has a big heart and just wants to feel like she has a reason to get up every day and live her life.

My ride into work allows me to get a few emails sorted, at the same time I’m thinking on how I’m going to solve the guest speaker problem. Fleur is on the food organization for this one, and I am on everything else. It’s the way we work it. Whoever is on food is rostered on for the actual event. If I can get through today, then tonight I get to relax. As much as you can relax when you are a control freak and you aren’t there. We need to split the work this way, otherwise we’d never get a day or night off.

The event is for the ‘End of the Cycle’ program. It’s a great organization that helps stop the cycle of poverty and poor education in families. Trying to help the parents learn to budget and get the kids in school and learning. A joint effort to give the next generation a fighting chance of living the life they dream about.

Maybe if I call the CEO, they’ll have someone who has been through the program or somehow associated with the mentoring that can give a firsthand account of what it means to the families. Next email on my list. Another skill I have learned: Delegation makes things happen. I can’t do it all, and even with Fleur, we need to coordinate with others to make things proceed quickly.

As usual, Thursday morning traffic is slow even at this time of the day. We are crawling at a snail’s pace. I could get out and walk faster than this. I contemplate it, but with the summer heat, I know even at this time of the morning, I’d end up a sweaty mess. That is not the look I need when I’m trying to present like the woman in charge. Even if you have no idea what you’re doing, you need people to believe you do. Smoke and mirrors, the illusion is part of the performance.

My phone is pinging constantly as I approach the front of the office building. We chose the location in the beginning because it was central to all the big function spaces in the city. Being new to the city, we didn’t factor in how busy it is here. Yet the convenience of being so close far outweighs the traffic hassles.

Hustling down the hall, I push open the door of our office.

‘FLEURTILLY’.

It still gives me goosebumps seeing our dream name on the door. The one we thought of all those years ago in that hammock. Even more exciting is that it’s all ours. No answering to anyone else. We have worked hard, and this is our reward.

The noise in the office tells me Fleur already has everything turned on and is yelling down the phone at someone. Surely, we can’t have another disaster even before my first morning coffee.

“What the hell, Scott. I warned you not to go out and party too hard yesterday. Have you even been to bed yet? What the hell are you thinking, or have the drugs just stopped that peanut brain from even working?! You were already on your last warning. Find someone who will put up with your crap. Your job here is terminated, effective immediately.” Fleur’s office phone bangs down on her desk loud enough I can hear her from across the hall.

“Well, you told him, didn’t you? Now who the hell is going to run the waiters tonight?” I ask, walking in to find her sitting at her desk, leaning back in her chair, eyes closed and hands behind her head.

“I know, I know. I should have made him get his sorry ass in and work tonight and then fired him. My bad. I’ll fix it, don’t worry. Maybe it’s time to promote TJ. He’s been doing a great job, and I’m sure he’s been pretty much doing Scott’s job for him anyway.”

To be honest, I think she’s right. We’ve suspected for a while that Scott, one of our managers, has been partying harder than just a few drinks with friends. He’s become unreliable which is unlike him. Even when he’s at work, he’s not himself. I tried to talk to him about it and was shut down. Unfortunately, our reputation is too important to risk him screwing up a job because he’s high. He’s had enough warnings. His loss.

“You fix that, and I’ll find a new speaker. Oh, and 900 stupid mint-green napkins. Seriously. Let’s hope the morning improves.” I turn to walk out of her office and call over my shoulder, “By the way, good morning. Let today be awesome.” I smile, waiting for her response.

“As awesome as we are. I see