The Hope Store Page 4

  Our patron saint is Chartreuse Johnson…Chartreuse who is both a color and a deep-pocketed investor. We met her by chance through the man who was designing our websites. By day, Chartreuse deals with stocks and bonds, but she's always fancied herself an entrepreneur. She's a beginning investor and we're a beginning start-up so the truth is, we're both taking a chance on each other. It would've been great to have an investor with a track record, but the investors we approached were leery of us. They loved the concept but thought more research was needed. They worried about lawsuits.

  Chartreuse, on the other hand, was shopping the universe for a brave new business in which to invest. She took a leap of faith on us and for that I am grateful, even though she can be a micro-manager at times. Basically, she owns our souls during the critical first stage of The Hope Store's infancy. Three months. About the time it takes for a peace lily to open its single white blossom in indirect sunlight. About the time that Amanda's Attic lets you keep a piece of furniture on layaway before putting it back in stock. To succeed at our goal, we need to earn enough capital to cover the sizable startup costs...and make a formidable profit.

  Moving with great intent, I see a handsome man with tousled ginger hair and beard make his way through the opening night crowd. Imagine Prince Harry a decade older and a bit less giddy. It's none other than left-leaning Andrew Konstant from CNN. His blue eyes have been said to hypnotize his interview subjects into telling all. He's a rising star on CNN covering international news and quirky science segments. The crowd parts for him in a Red-Sea-like fashion. He raises a microphone to his lips. "Could I have a word with you, Mr. Nagano?" he says in his gentle voice. "Andrew Konstant from CNN." We shake hands.

  "I watch you almost every night," I say. I offer him a glass of champagne but Andrew waves it off, professional that he is. He is working after all. And with that, a bright light snaps on and the reporter thrusts a microphone into my face. “Actually, I’m a fan of yours,” I say.

  "Flattery will get you everywhere," he says. "But seriously, the person I first want to talk with is your partner Kazu Mori. I have some technical questions for him."

  I wave over my better half. The cameraman comes in closer. "Allow me to introduce you to the smartest man in the room," I say. Andrew and Kazu shake hands.

  "Kazu," he begins, "The world is dying to know exactly what makes The Hope Store tick. I'm positively fascinated. How is it exactly that you create hope here at The Hope Store?"

  "That's an excellent question, Andrew,” says Kazu. “But the answer to your question cannot simply be told in words. It must be experienced. Does that make sense?" The bartender starts making a racket with the blender. He’s busy creating some foofoo drink.

  "Let's start simple then. Does the hope come in the form of a pill or a procedure? Is the remedy psychological, biological, or divine? The press release played it pretty coy." Andrew holds the mic before Kazu, but Kazu is speechless. Is he panicking? He’s less used to dealing with the media than I am.

  I decide to chime in. "I'd say our remedy is pretty divine. But then I'm hardly objective." I giggle at my own joke. Andrew remains stone-faced. "It's a joke, Andrew! It doesn't cost more to laugh now and then." The reporter gives a half-smile.

  "But you didn't answer my question. Is there some divine, otherworldly element involved?"

  "All will be revealed soon enough," I say.

  "That's not an answer," says Andrew.

  "Not all questions have answers,” I continue. “Not all answers can be put into words."

  The reporter squints. "That's not an answer. That's a fortune cookie." Andrew laughs, then catches himself. "Oh, I didn't say that because you guys are Asian American."

  Kazu jumps in. "We really appreciate public television's interest in The Hope Store, Andrew. I'm sorry we can't tell you more right now. But I promise you that the answers our store provides...will be well worth waiting for."

  And with that, Andrew sighs heavily and turns away from his tight-lipped interviewees. He looks straight into the camera. "Well, I wanted to get The Hope Store creators to shed some light on the technology behind the hope installation process, but as you can see -- for whatever reason, they're choosing not to share that. This is my takeaway. They wouldn't confirm that there is a miraculous element to The Hope Store. But, more importantly, they wouldn't deny it either." He does not exactly wink into the camera, but he comes pretty close. "This is Andrew Konstant at the opening of The Hope Store in Chicago." The TV lights click off.

  "I'm serious, guys," Andrew says. "You have to dig a little deeper and give me a better scoop or my producer might nix this segment completely. CNN does not do puff pieces."

  Kazu and I simply nod and smile. Smile and nod. What else can we do? When I glance back at Andrew, I notice the reporter is planted at the bar, reaching for a glass of something yummy and dangerous looking. So much for professionalism. It is as if the reporter is rallying himself for a challenging night. As if he is off the clock, instead of on it.

  Kazu goes to see how things are going at the front desk. I slip away to get a large coffee urn that's packed away in the second-floor storage room. At least that's what I will tell anyone who asks where I went.

  But the truth is: I am up to something..

  JADA

  11. A PARALLEL WORLD

  I make my way to the press opening for The Hope Store knowing I'm not press and that my name will not be found on the guest list. No amount of hoping will change that. If all else fails, I can pull out my trump card: that I actually took a class from Kazu ten years ago. But what if he doesn't remember me and I totally embarrass myself? Wouldn't be the first time. The party is in full swing when I arrive fashionably late...dressed in a sparkly black cocktail dress with silver hoop earrings big enough to shoot basketballs through. I've never actually crashed a party before in my life, but this is no ordinary party.

  It's an exorcism for the hopeless and the helpless. And the fine journalists who write about them.

  With a couple of butterflies in my stomach, I approach the check-in table. There is Kazu Mori. He hasn't aged a bit. Damn those good Asian genes. When I took his class I was a shy girl who never opened her mouth, except to catch the occasional fly. He looks up at me but shows no sign of recognition. That's just fine with me. I have no good news to share on my past decade. I have not found the cure for cancer or gained access to the parallel world.

  "Good evening and welcome to The Hope Store," he says smiling. "I am Kazu. May I have your name please so I can check you in?"

  I smile. "Of course. It's Upshaw. Jada Upshaw." My name doesn't seem to ring a bell with him either. What am I? Chopped liver? Kazu looks dashing in his purple dress shirt with the golden fish swimming across it. His longish black hair is curled behind his ears. Kazu's face is very Japanese and very kind, just as I remember it. He scans the Excel spreadsheet earnestly.

  "I love how you guys have decorated the place!" I exclaim, my eyes drawn to the dramatic waterfall in the center of the store. I don't know how a thing can be dramatic and relaxing at the same time, but it is.

  Kazu looks up, with puzzlement on his face. "That's funny. I don't see your name on the sheet. Did you RSVP?" He takes a sip of his champagne.

  "Dang. I thought I did, but I can't swear to it," I say. "I've been so spacey this week!"

  "I wish I could let you in, but we're filled to capacity. Who did you say you write for?"

  "I didn't," I say. He's going to make me go there. I look deep into his eyes and smile. "Kazu, you really don't remember me? I'm going to be very hurt."

  "Have we met before?" It is now his turn to look deep into my eyes.

  "Ten years ago you taught a class at the Learning Annex. On parallel worlds. I was your student," I say.

  "Parallel worlds," he says slowly. Kazu's eyes look sideways as he searches his memory banks. "What a fascinating topic."

  Oh, shoot. Could I have the wrong Kazu Mori? I'm starting to feel embarrassed. I'd be turning r
ed about now if I weren't black.

  "I don't think that is possible," he says with utter politeness. "I didn't live in Chicago ten years ago."

  "Oh my," I say, rubbing my warm forehead. "This is truly embarrassing." The awkward moment just hangs there as the two of us stand in suspended animation.

  "Gotcha!" he shouts and lets out a gleeful, childlike laugh. "As soon as you walked in, I thought you looked familiar."

  "You remembered me?" I ask.

  "Then I saw your name and I knew it had to be you, the young woman from my parallel worlds class. I was pulling your leg," Kazu says.

  "I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't remember me. I’m not the most memorable woman to walk this earth," I say.

  "You're not going to believe this, but I still remember the paper you wrote in class!"

  "You do not. Now I know you're teasing me."

  "I'm serious," he says. "Your take on parallel worlds…it was so unique, so moving. What was the title? It was catchy. Something about…what you'd be doing, uh, it was, oh shoot, don't tell me…"

  "I don't think I even remember the title," I say.

  Then his Japanese eyes light up. "IN A PARALLEL WORLD, I'M PERFECTLY NORMAL. That was your title. It a was funny paper too."

  Was I ever funny? Perhaps in a parallel world, I have a sense of humor. "Oh my god! I think that was the title. It certainly sounds like something I'd write. Does this mean you'll let me into the party?"

  "I insist you come as my personal guest," he says. I see there is a line of people behind me waiting to be checked in. Kazu is writing something on a business card. "Here's my personal cell number. We have to catch up. Ten years is a long time. I can't wait."

  "But I guarantee you that I haven't done --"

  I hear a man clear his throat behind me. "Excuse me. I don't mean to interrupt this happy reunion," he says, "but if you could check me in, that would be great. I've already kept a good friend waiting --"

  "Not a problem. Sorry," says Kazu to the man. Then he says to me, "Please call me so we can catch up." He hands me a press kit and off I go. I’m still in shock that he remembered me from all those years ago, even remembered the title of my paper!

  I mill about the crowd for I am on a fact-finding mission. I want to eavesdrop on conversations, soak up the flavor, but I don't want to draw attention to myself. I comb through the press folder for some answers. The press release says: "The actual hope installation takes just five minutes, but the benefits of new-found hope last about a year. Annual booster installations are recommended. Three years of clinical studies have proven the hope procedure is safe and effective at increasing hope levels." But how do they create the damn new hope supply in the first place? That’s what we are all dying to find out.

  In one corner of the store, I spy a cluster of giddy, black women my age having a good laugh. I drift over toward them. One woman is holding court: "So I said to my husband, if they're giving away samples of hope in little trial-size bottles – I'd be sure to nab a handful of them to bring home for our whole, hope-challenged family!" And all the women laugh so hard their eyes are watering.

  "Stop, Valerie!" says a woman with her hair swept out to the side and tied with a powder blue ribbon. It’s a smart look on her. "You're making my mascara run. If we keep carrying on like this, they're going to toss us out of this place and repossess our goodie bags!" Valerie laughs along with them. I pretend-laugh to ease my way into the group.

  I turn to the woman with the blue ribbon in her hair. "Are they really giving away free samples of hope tonight?"

  "That's the rumor," she says. "But then, I think I'm the one that started the rumor." Both women laugh.

  "I'm Jada, by the way," I say. Everyone smiles and nods. "Does anybody have any idea how the hope installation process actually works?"

  "I'll give it a shot," says the blue ribbon. "They introduce a magnetic field around your brain. That's supposed to somehow trick your brain into creating more dopamine. More dopamine equals more hope? Something like that," the woman says. "I'm Natalie by the way." We shake hands. The other women start to drift off toward the food line.

  "So Natalie, would you ever get an extra dose of hope, or do you think that's messing with Mother Nature?"

  "I had a facelift. Why not a hope lift?" Natalie's statement is as serious as a heart attack.

  A handsome guy with a microphone in hand sails through the crowd. It's that guy from cable. Andrew something. He shakes Luke's hand and starts to interview him. I gently crisscross my way through the crowd so I can get closer. Everyone in the store is gathering round to hear what they are saying. Except for the barista who is making some kind of slushy coffee drink. His blender grinds the ice, making a godawful sound.

  Andrew begins: "Good evening, everyone. Let’s start very simply. Does the hope installation come in the form of…B-R-R-R-R… psychological, biological, or divine? The press release says that…B-R-R-R-R."

  Andrew gives a look to the cameraman who in turn gives a look to the barista. The camera dude exchanges a few words with the man at the bar who nods apologetically.

  Andrew starts again. "We're at the opening night of a very special store, the first of its kind in the world. They call it THE HOPE STORE."

  The camera swings over to Luke and Kazu. They smile, raising their glasses of champagne in a toast.

  "So what exactly is a Hope Store, and why should we care? What does it promise to do that's so groundbreaking? And I should mention I'm talking with the creators of said Hope Store -- Luke Nagano and Kazu Mori."

  Luke leans into the microphone. "First of all, I'd like to say how thrilled we are that CNN is here tonight. Now to answer your question, Andrew, The Hope Store is the first store in the world that sells hope over the counter. Because of a brilliant new procedure pioneered by my partner Kazu Mori here…for the first time we offer a way to install hope in the hope-impaired masses."

  "Kazu Mori, wunderkind of the science world," says Andrew. "How exactly do you install hope in a human devoid of hope? This is not a pharmaceutical drug, right?"

  "No, it's not a drug at all," says Kazu.

  "And it's not a surgical operation, right?"

  "It's an out-patient procedure and not very invasive at all," says Kazu Mori.

  "Okay, throw us a few bones here. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

  Kazu smiles. "Allow me to use some visual aids." Luke holds up a model of the brain. "This is the human brain, the most astonishing organ known to man. It stores our memories, interprets our life experiences, determines if we are happy or sad."

  "Yes, I think I have one of those," says Andrew.

  "I’m sure you do. And a very smart one too," says Luke.

  Kazu carries on: "But as sophisticated as this device is, it's also fallible. I've devoted my life to learning how we can trick the brain into creating more dopamine, which is the neurotransmitter which empowers us to have hope. We've known for decades that dopamine and hope were linked, but for the first time we now have a way to put that knowledge into great use and help people lead more productive lives.

  Luke jumps in: "We like to say it's both revolutionary and evolutionary. In short, it's a very big deal."

  "Okay, you've got my attention," says Andrew. "How much is this hope procedure going to set me back, and does insurance cover it?"

  "The price for a hope installation is just $750, down from the regular price of $1,000. We are currently in talks with insurance companies to show them how covering this procedure can save them money in the long run."

  The reporter studies the back of his right hand. "Look at me. I'm getting goosebumps on national TV." He holds his hand up to the camera. The cameraman gets a close-up shot. He looks straight into the camera. "Well, I wanted to get the store creators to shed some light on the technology behind The Hope Store. I got that and more. It seems it all comes down to some ground-breaking neurological… brain tricks." The anchor winks into the camera. “This is Andrew Konstant for CNN coming t
o you live from The Hope Store in Chicago.”

  The feeling in this store is electric. It seems that everyone wants to sign up for a hope installation to see what it can do for them. There is a flurry of questions. When can I get an appointment? Are there any side effects? Does it work for people with pre-existing conditions? Are hopelessness and depression considered two separate animals?

  These are just a few of the questions I overhear tonight. The party seems to be shifting into a higher gear and I feel a headache coming on. I grab a few pieces of sushi from the table and roll them into a napkin and head out the door. I have learned as much as I’m going to learn for one night. If I learn any more, my head just might explode. Tonight these guys are the hottest thing since sliced bread. Or they're the most clever charlatans on the planet. Time will tell. I can't want to debrief with Otis.

  At home, I make myself some hot chocolate. I heat the saucepan with milk and pour in some Hershey’s real chocolate syrup. My cat Shadow rubs up against the legs of my pajamas. She’s happy to see me. She keeps me company as I sip my chocolate and think about tomorrow.

  It was great to see Kazu. If I call him, he'll want to grab coffee and then he will discover how I’ve wasted the past ten years of my existence. He will try to be very encouraging because that’s Kazu, but inside he'll feel sorry for me, and I'll leave feeling awful. And if we meet for coffee, I know I'll try to pump him for information about The Hope Store since he is its creator. I will feel like I am using him, which I will be. And that will feel crummy too.

  There has been a lot of hoopla tonight. I predict The Hope Store will either be a gigantic flop along the lines of the Edsel, or the store is going to win every prize known to mankind. All I ever won in my life was first place in a dumb science fair.