The Hope Store Page 6

  “Go on.”

  “So I plan to be a guinea pig and get a hope installation. And then when nothing happens, I want you to write about that nothingness, my misadventures at The Hope Store. I don’t want any other poor, hopeless people to waste their money on snake oil.

  “What will you pay me to write this piece?”

  “Wouldn't the magazine or newspaper pay a fee? I don’t know how these things work,” I say.

  Blair rubs his chin. “I used to be an up-and-comer in this town. I did exposés that protected consumers. I slew some dragons in my day. But one of my stories blew up in my face and I lost my confidence.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t really want to go into it. But long story short: I was writing an article about a colleague of mine. She was moving money around at the company where she was CFO. I felt some conflict since she was a friend, but I had my facts straight and the paper ran the story. The next day, she jumped into the Chicago River and drowned.”

  “That’s terrible. But that was her choice; not yours. No one can know what goes through the mind of a person who wants to take their life,” I say. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “But I did blame myself,” Blair says. There is a vulnerability in his face that I didn’t think was inside him. “And even when I stopped blaming myself, there were plenty of other people who were happy to blame me. But I think it could be my time again, to write that big story. You have yourself a partner.” We shake hands.

  I take another sip of my emerald green potion. Blair looks out the coffeehouse window.

  “I think this is a really important article,” I say. “And I think it could be a great story for your comeback. You could…redeem yourself, not that you need to. What do you say”

  “Jada, you had me at strange.” He walks to the counter and gets himself some black coffee and a scone big enough to prop open a heavy door.

  “Tomorrow, the store opens to the public,” I say. “I’ll be there. We’ll be in touch.” I rise from the table. Blair Matters looks like he’s going to stay.

  “Jada, I don’t think you know what this means to me, but thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.” I wave to him as I leave the café. I join the stream of pedestrians on Clark Street on their way to important meetings of their own.

  JADA

  14. SMALL HUMANS

  I make my way to Sheila's house to babysit her kids again. At least we'll be at her house this time and not in a public place. Tomorrow is Halloween. My sister really gets into the holidays. Her front lawn looks like a graveyard with bandaged mummies doing sit-ups in their coffins. Charming. There are illuminated jack-o-lanterns on every flat surface in her house. Willis is playing a shoot-em-up game on the computer.

  Angie comes running up to me dragging a shopping bag behind her. "Mommy said you could help me try on my costume, Aunt Jada."

  "She did, did she?" I open up the bag and pull out the contents. It's an astronaut costume.

  "Isn't it beautiful?" she says.

  "Well, looks like someone wants to get lost in space. Would that be you, Angie?"

  She nods her head eagerly. "I want to explore things and find the other people. There must be life on other planets, don't you think?"

  I want to tell her that I'm not even sure there is life on earth, but I hold my sardonic tongue.

  "I want to tell you a secret, Angie," I say but I remember how Sheila likes to sugarcoat things. I'm not to tell any hard truths to the kids.

  WHAT I REALLY WANT TO SAY TO MY NIECE IS: "Angie, when you grow up you're going realize that the happiest days of your life were these stupid days right now…because no one expects anything from you. That the dreams you have of growing to be an astronaut or the president or a princess -- they ain't gonna happen. Instead, you'll slave away at a job you're terrified of losing and even more terrified of keeping. And when you retire, they'll give you a gold watch and a gift certificate to Walmart. Life will really get interesting as you try to survive on social security."

  But I can't say that. So instead I say: "When you grow up, you're going be a lot older than you are now, and hopefully a lot wiser than I am."

  "Come on, Aunt Jada," says Angie. "You were going to tell me a secret."

  "She wasn't going to tell us a secret," Willis snaps at her. "She was going to give us some bad news."

  And suddenly I don't know what to say. I don't want to depress the hell out of them. I look into the faces of Willis and Angie and they're so pure. They're not monsters. I am flooded with emotion for some reason.

  Willis speaks. "Are you crying, Aunt Jada?"

  "I'm fine, Willis." So instead of telling the complete truth, I say this: "Did I ever tell you how much I like your name, Willis?" He shakes his head no. "Your name Willis means you are a "protector." And Angie, you name means "angel or messenger."

  They both are surprised.

  "I like both of your names. And I like both of you," I say and I notice that Angie is crying.

  "Angie, what's wrong, sweetie?" But she won't answer. She just cries harder. As if she had a premonition of her own future life. "We'll try on your costumes later. Let's eat dinner, kids. I'm treating for pizza."

  I don't know how parents do it.

  I don't know how they raise small humans to grow up to be large ones.

  RESURRECTION

  "But when I pass a magic wand over the subject's head,

  what does she wish for? Spiritual advancement, she says.

  To witness something, like a miracle or something."

  -- from the poem "The Pursuit of Happiness"

  -- NOVEMBER --

  LUKE

  15. OUR PUBLIC AWAITS US

  Today the store opens to the general public. I awake first at the unholy hour of 5 a.m. I gently turn off the alarm to prevent the scream of the clock. For a few moments I just lie in bed, thinking about what this day means to us, what this store means. And why success is so crucial to us.

  For me, the failure of the store would mean going back to a day job that is soul-crushing at worst and distracting at best -- assuming I could even find an office-slave job in this economy. Back to wearing monkey suits for the entertainment of others, with neckties that always feel like nooses, no matter how loose they are. Worst of all, it would mean no longer working at The Hope Store. A place I will surely love working at.

  For Kazu, it would mean something else. It would mean a very public, very epic fail for someone who is not used to failing, someone that is already on the radar of the science world. It would mean rubbing elbows with his peers at bio-tech symposiums as an also-ran, a laughing stock.

  No, failure is not an option for either of us.

  I am the first brave soul to stir from the warm bed. I log on to The Hope Store website. I'm tickled to see thirty or so emails from people wanting to make appointments. They’ve heard about the store from some Facebook ads we just started running. The emails are mostly from Chicago, but some are national. I'm especially excited to see that two are from the UK and three are from Japan! Wonderful.

  It occurs to Luke that Madeline's review may be up on the Tribune website. I turn on the lamp near the bed and flip open my laptop. "I think the Tribune review might be up. Why don't you read it? I'm too nervous."

  Kazu reads:

  from the Culture Beat blog of the Chicago Tribune

  “Hope Springs Eternal” by Madeline Worth

  Last night, a new boutique put out its shingle in Chicago. It's called The Hope Store. The store claims to sell hope over the counter, and install it while you wait. Sounds like sci-fi but there may be reason for optimism. Will this be the biggest new business venture since Apple devoured the gadget market? Store creators Luke Nagano and Kazu Mori certainly hope so. But since the store just opened, it's too soon to tell what customer reaction will be. In this anemic economy we could all use a booster shot of hope.

  Supposedly preliminary tests have been
promising and the positive results have been duplicated, but I always feel these tests can be biased. The proof will be in the return customers. I'll follow the progress of The Hope Store and let all of my loyal readers know -- if it's an apple or a lemon.

  I look at Kazu. "Hmm. I can't tell if that was a rave or a pan?" I say.

  "That was a let's-wait-and-see," Kazu says. "She's going to withhold judgment until she sees what our profit margin is."

  "We'll let you know if it's an apple or a lemon. I don't care for that snarky tone. With all the hors d'oeuvres that woman was wolfing down last night, she owed us a rave review."

  "Actually I thought that line was pretty good," Kazu says. "Well, we better get up. We've got a big day ahead of us."

  I turn on the TV to see if CNN has run the segment on us yet. I know it may not run for a day or two, but I can't resist checking anyway. Onscreen I see Andrew Konstant saying something about our store. Cool. "Kazu, the CNN segment is on!" Kazu slowly rouses himself, sits up in bed. As the camera pulls back, we see The Hope Store's ruined sign which reads: THE HYPE STORE.

  "Oh, shit," Kazu and I both say at the same time.

  Together we stare helplessly at the TV screen. Somehow in the course of the night, Andrew's story has morphed, the whole angle has shifted. Instead of the segment celebrating our wondrous new store, Andrew is clearly is taking a devil's advocate approach.

  The face of an Asian man with horn-rimmed glasses fills the screen. He is in his thirties and earnest-looking. His wears a gray pinstripe tie, no doubt to bolster his credibility. “Well, I have been following this so-called Hope Store ever since I first got wind of it about a year ago in the trades.”

  Andrew Konstant says, “So what do you think? Good idea, bad idea?”

  The man smiles. “It’s a horrible idea.”

  “Who is this bozo?” I say to Kazu.

  The bozo continues: “I’m with a group called Natural Hopers United which is made up of consumer advocates and regular citizens who support wellness through natural means. Would you want some scientist poking around inside your brain? How do you even know it’s safe?” On the screen, they give the man’s name as “Robert Chang, Natural Hopers United.”

  Andrew replies, “Well in all fairness, the FDA says it’s safe, so –“

  “Yeah, and they’ve been wrong before, haven’t they?”

  “You have a point there, Mr. Chang,” Andrew says. “So is your objection to artificially-created hope similar to the objection to steroids?”

  “Exactly. These things give artificial advantages to a select few.”

  The news anchor smiles. “But by that token, we shouldn’t allow anti-depressants or plastic surgery or cancer drugs. Shouldn’t we want to be the best person that we can possibly be? Isn’t that what evolution is? Isn’t that our job as humans?”

  Bozo the Clown has a pained look on his face. “We Natural Hopers would advocate for the banning all things that prevent the individual from discovering his or her own natural-born potential.”

  Andrew looks into the camera. “As you can see, not everyone is rolling out the red carpet for The Hope Store. But for those of you eager to get your hope on, The Hope Store opens to the public today at 9:00. This is Andrew Konstant, for CNN.”

  Kazu has been busily typing on his computer tablet during the broadcast. He says: “Natural Hopers United does not even come up in a Google search. Either they’re very new, or they’re very bogus.”

  My cell phone rings. It is an ungodly hour. "Hello?" I answer.

  "Did you see it?" says the urgent voice of a woman.

  "Chartreuse?"

  "This is a disaster, Luke. How are you going to fix it?" she says. "We need some damage control pronto. Call me back with your action plan."

  LUKE

  16. EVIL SPIRITS

  Traffic is heavy on Lakeshore Drive, so I choose to focus on the movement of the undulating waves of Lake Michigan. It soothes me. High on my agenda today is responding to lovely Chartreuse with a kick-ass PR strategy.

  Kazu is the designated driver in the family as I never got the automotive gene. We are driving upstream going due north toward Andersonville, while most sane people are driving downtown to their respectable jobs. I had wanted to get to the store by 7:30 a.m. so we’d have plenty of time before we open at 9:00, but thanks to my chat with Chartreuse, it’ll be closer to 8:00. I’ve got opening day jitters. As we approach the store, I’m surprised to see a cluster of about twenty-five people standing in line outside the store. Could they be customers? We welcome them and quickly learn that a few of them had read the article in the Tribune. Some saw the CNN story, but interestingly no one mentions the vandalized sign.

  "We're going to see as many people as we can today," Kazu says to the group. "Just give us a chance to get settled in, and then we'll be opening our doors at nine."

  Then I flash my husband a big, goofy grin. "Now, here's the most important question: Does anyone need some coffee?" I say. The crowd goes wild. "I'll take that as a yes. We're going to get a few kegs of Dunkin Donuts coffee for you folks. And maybe some Munchkins. See you shortly."

  As we make our way into the store, Kazu mutters under his breath, "Donuts and coffee for the masses -- is that in our budget?"

  "It is now." I smile. Kazu hurries ahead to open the door and we slip inside.

  At the very front of the line stands a pretty black woman with a long graceful neck reading a book. She reminds me of a swan. "I guess I'm first," she says.

  "Thanks for coming out today," I say.

  Kazu and I sit in the lunch room. He pours our coffees with extra cream and sugar. A playful sign on the far wall reads:

  THIS LUNCH ROOM

  IS A GOSSIP-FREE ZONE.

  As if we had enough employees to start a rumor! I’ve made a conscious decision to remain calm this morning. After all, this is the first day the store opens to the general public and we must remain focused. I will respond to Chartreuse shortly. Everything will work out. I am hopeful of that.

  "Obstacles arise when you move forward," Kazu says quoting one of his favorite Buddhist sayings to me. "This must mean we're moving forward." He winks at me to try to cheer me on. Luckily my hope levels are still high from my last installation in June. I can tell they’re high because of the light that glimmers out of the corner of my eye from time to time. It’s a glimmer unique to the hope installation. You can’t look at this light directly no matter how hard you try; the more you try to look at it the more it moves away.

  As for addressing the less-than-flattering coverage from the CNN story, I can start by reassuring Chartreuse using axioms I learned in marketing classes -- “Any press is good press.” “As long as they spell our name right.” -- but that will only take me so far. I need to plan and prioritize. Everything will need to be run past Chartreuse. Am I feeling stressed right now? Yes. Yes I am.

  From where I’m seated, I don’t have a direct view of the folks gathering outside the store so from time to time, I take a peek. That’s me: I’m detail-oriented. Compulsively so. And somehow this makes me think of dear Chartreuse and what I need to do to appease her today. I make a plan of attack.

  1. Draft an email to new prospects asking them to pay no attention to the scary man hiding behind the curtain, that the Natural Hoper dude is just a science-hating tree hugger with too much time on his hands.

  2. Have Kazu post the above text on the website and kiss me twice for good luck.

  3. Tell Chartreuse it would be really great if she consented to having a hope installation of her own, as she is the only investor not to do so!!

  Will this strategy control any damage from the CNN story? Hard to say. No one ever said that marketing and PR were exact sciences. All I know for sure is that this story will be played out over the next 24 hours. Kazu pours us more coffee because he believes there is no problem that cannot be solved by the proper mix of caffeine, cream and artificial sweeteners. I call back Chartreuse, putting her on speakerphone.<
br />
  “That took long enough,” barks Char, never one for gratuitous patience or empathy.

  “And how are we doing this morning, Chartreuse?”

  “Oh, I’ve been better. I’d be a lot better if I hadn’t seen CNN’s hatchet job. And the Tribune story was wishy-washy. So what've you got for me?”

  “We’ve got lots of customers waiting in line at the store right now. Some saw the CNN clip and it didn’t seem to bother anyone, so that’s great.” Kazu, who hates dealing with Chartreuse even more than I do, puts his hand over his ears to shield himself from peripheral abuse. “And we’re getting some traction from the Facebook sidebars. Thirty people responded and asked for more info!”

  “Just thirty? It should be 130 for what we’re paying!” says the big mouth coming out of my tiny cell phone. I pick up my cell and take a peek at the crowd of customers. It seems to have grown.

  “So I’m going to have April send out emails welcoming them and offering to book them for consultations,” I say. “Kazu will help put some upbeat copy on our website's home page, something about how people tend to fear things that are unfamiliar and innovative.” I look at Kazu and he gives me a thumbs-up. “And really, Chartreuse, since we’re so new, any press we get helps to raise our profile.”

  Char’s silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “What are you going to say to the press?”

  I look at Kazu. He shakes his head, expressing his wish for discretion.

  “Hmm. I don’t think it’s a good idea to respond to the CNN story,” I say. “I think if we leave the story alone, it will sink on its own weight. I really do.”