Help Wanted (21 page)

And maybe the city of Chicago will do away with its parking meters.

After taking their orders, Peg returned to fill Claire's coffee mug and laid the clipped article in front of Paul.

"Just let me know when you're done, sweetie, and I'll pin it back up."

Claire clenched her jaw.

No tip for you.

"Thanks very much." With one arm around Tomas, he held the article up and started reading. Out loud.

Claire's eyes darted to Tomas, who returned an uneasy smile.

Clearing his throat, Paul started, "No One Spins Alone."

"What is this?" Luke, on the other side of Paul, asked.

He flipped the clipping over, looked at it, and shrugged. "I don't know. Some kind of essay. Just listen."

He proceeded to read—"During this holiday season, plate spinners young and old would do well to acknowledge one cold, hard fact: no one spins alone."

"What's a plate spinner?" Marc asked.

Without looking up, Paul said, "Ask your mom."

Doing her best not to appear flustered, she explained, "Uh, I think 'plate spinner' is a term used to describe a busy working parent."

After snuggling Tomas even closer, Paul kept reading. "As much as we hate to admit that we could possibly be the slightest bit dependent on another person, it's true. Everyone needs a little help at some point in his or her busy life. Need convincing? When's the last time you treated a child's broken bone all by yourself, or brought your own dirty dishes back to the kitchen at that restaurant where you like to treat yourself to every once in a while? 

"Before you set out to tackle another day, beginning every sentence with 'I have to,' take a minute and think about all of the people behind the scenes who help you without any expectation of thanks or recognition. Spouses—"

At this, Paul cleared his throat before continuing. "Siblings, nurses, teachers, postal workers, and the guys who take your garbage away every week. Before you put so many plates in motion that you fool yourself into believing that the whole world revolves completely around you—"

Here, he stopped and glanced at Claire, who remained poker faced as a chill ran down her spine.

"Think," he continued, "about those people who silently watch over us like angels, always there when we need them, yet we don't give them a second thought when we don't. Doctors, firemen, police officers, and tow truck drivers. Before you have so many plates spinning that you don't realize that several are shattering around you unnoticed, stop and think of the people in your life who are in need but know better than to ask, like your friends, your kids, your parents. You get the idea. These are just a few examples of the many people without whom our plates would come crashing down faster than you can say, 'I appreciate everything you do for me.'

"Now that you can visualize who is spinning unseen right there alongside you, helping you to stay balanced and focus on your tasks at hand, pray that God grants you the patience to know that some plates are meant to spin more slowly than others, the compassion to not judge others who spin more, less, or differently than you do, and the wisdom to know that He is the one who is truly in control."

Peg blew her nose as she stood reading over Paul's shoulder. "See, I told ya. Words to live by."

When they all looked up her, she said, "I'll go check on your order."

Marc looked at Luke and shrugged. "I didn't get it."

"Me neither," his brother concurred.

"I thought it was nice," Tomas squeaked.

Claire leveled a
we'll talk later
look at him while she heard Paul say, "Yeah, it was. Very nice. That's a good writer." 

With impeccable timing, Peg arrived carrying a large tray of plates filled with steaming hot food, and everyone started digging in.

I am so giving you the biggest tip ever.

*   *   *

That following Monday, Claire went through her usual routine, preoccupied with the crossroads she saw rapidly coming into view before her. The anxiety inherent in fabricating a story to sneak over to the fundraiser, coupled with the thought of being exposed as the new author of the column, built in her like lava forcing its way up through the magma.

Adding to the pressure was the very real possibility of going back into management.

With all of the doubt and anxiety hovering around her, she was finding it increasingly difficult to reply with any flare or humor to readers. And she was popping Tums as if they were candy.

Gotta remember to call the doctor.

When her train pulled into Ravenswood that evening, Claire felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she walked to her car. It was Kate.

"Hey."

"Hey back. What's up?"

"What are you doing this Saturday?" Kate asked her.

"Um, I'm not sure yet. Why?"

"Well, Mom and Dad will be visiting the Trexlers, so I've got some friends coming over for a shoot. I thought you might like to come and watch."

"Oh yeah? Who? Should I bring Paul?" Claire knew that Kate's long list of "friends" included local celebrities, sports superstars, and the film industry's finest.

"Uh…no. I don't think he'd get into it. Besides, I thought we could rummage through my closet to find you something to wear for the benefit thing in a couple of weeks."

"Ah, ok, that would be great. Maybe that purple one you got last year…"

"It's plum, and no, you'll looked washed out in it. I've got another one that I think'll work."

"Well, let me run it by Paul when I get home, and I'll call you back, ok?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Later."

"Later."

Once in her car, Claire reached into her glove compartment and pulled out a large bottle of Tylenol, popped a couple in her mouth, and washed it back with the lukewarm coffee in her thermal mug.

That Saturday, two weeks before Griffin Media's big event, the forecast called for more unseasonably warm and muggy weather with a chance of thunderstorms in the evening. When Claire came down the stairs, she was surprised to see Paul in the foyer, waiting for her with her jacket and an umbrella. Handing her both, he told her to drive safe and have fun.

She knew he was up to something, but not wanting to show him her cards, she could hardly ask him to show her his.

Narrowing her eyes as she slipped her jean jacket over her sweater set, she asked, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

His eyebrows crinkled in the middle of his forehead, as if the very idea insulted him. "No."

Claire was skeptical. "What—did you invite your cousins over to watch a game or something?"

Paul forced a laugh, shook his head, and repeated, "No."

Then he looked at his watch and said, "You'd better hit the road. You're gonna be late to Kate's. You know how she is with starting her shoots on time."

She pursed her lips. "Fine. Give them my love."

With that, he grasped her upper arms, brushed the top of her head with a quick kiss, and told her again to drive safely.

As she sped down the nearly empty street, she tried to anticipate who the subjects of Kate's photo shoot might be. She found that the older she got, the less she got caught up in the whole celebrity thing as she'd done when she was a kid. To her they were just people with better clothes, nicer cars, and bigger homes than she had. Big whoop. When her mind became flooded with all of the people whom Kate referred to as "friends," she decided to ditch trying to figure it out and, instead, switched on her favorite radio station, singing along until she turned onto Fullerton Avenue.

Thinking about how proud she was of her sister, she relished being able to see her in action, gladly stepping into the background as Kate took charge, dictating positions to famous people, moving them around as if they were statues and clicking her camera a mile a minute.

Successfully easing her car into a space down the block from Kate's place, she ambled down the street in the crisp morning light, bounded up the front porch stairs of the vintage brick building that Kate called home, and rang the bell.

While she waited, she looked down at her worn shoes and thought she probably could've done a little more to spruce up her appearance before heading out that morning. She considered her reflection in the screen door before her. Jeans, a beige sweater set, and big black sunglasses. Satisfied that she could blend anonymously into the background during the shoot, she turned to survey Kate's street. The big oak trees that lined the parkways still clung to a few stubborn golden and rust-colored leaves. A few residents were starting to emerge with dogs on leashes.

Taking it all in, she didn't hear the heavy front door open behind her, but she turned when she heard the squeak of the screen door and a male voice ask, "Can I help you?"

She muttered, "You have got to be kidding me."

Walking past the screen door he had opened before her, she greeted Jake Garnet, the actor whose smoldering brown eyes and salt-and-pepper looks most frequently appeared on the cover of
People
magazine's Sexiest Man Alive edition. And whose affections she'd spurned back in college.

In a flash her mind wrestled with two sentiments:
Ok, so I should've done a whole hell of a lot more to spruce up my appearance,
and
I'm gonna kill Kate.

"Jake Garnet. What a nice surprise," she said, plastering on a blatantly fake grin. "Claire, so great to see you again." Even after he hugged her, she was unable to block thoughts of sibling-cide from her mind.

Amused, he turned and called up the stairwell, "Katie. Your sister's here. I think you'd better hide."

Turning back to Claire, he said simply, "You haven't changed a bit."

"And you," she said, pointing at his chiseled chest, "got every penny's worth from those acting classes you took."

They both waited for the light bulb over his head to go off.

When it did, he said, "Oh. Ha. Right. Shall we?"

He motioned for her to go up the stairs first.

Kate leaned over the banister, smiling devilishly at her sister, who pinched her arm as she passed her by.

"Ow."

Laughing while she rubbed her arm, Kate addressed Jake, Jennifer Blakely, Mitch Simon, and Dan Cameron, all in town filming scenes for an HBO movie and standing right there in Kate's living room. "Everybody, this is Claire. Claire, everybody."

Claire waved awkwardly and croaked out, "Hi."

In unison, they said, "Hi, Claire."

Back in business form, Kate snapped her fingers and ordered, "Ok, let's get to work." She proceeded to click roll after roll of group and individual shots in her studio / living room, on her fire escape, in her rooftop atrium, and in her back courtyard. Claire hung back in the kitchen with the support staff, sipping iced tea while they ordered food, took calls, and rushed the shoot along.

By noon, only Kate and Claire remained. They retreated to her rooftop terrace, enjoying the warmth as they watched storm clouds roll in from the west.

"That was incredible," Claire nearly shouted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise."

"True. But I would have dressed a hell of a lot nicer. I can't believe they were all right here in your living room. And they're all so nice. Like regular people."

"Even Jake?"

Claire nodded. "Even Jake. You have my permission to marry him."

As the clouds built up on the horizon and formed ominous anvil-shaped menaces, they could hear the distant rumble of thunder. It seemed to be just the distraction Kate needed to evade the topic.

"Come on. Focus. Dress and shoes. We've got to be careful we're not too matchy-matchy."

They descended to her bedroom, where Claire saw that she had already taken out a sage-green formal for her and had laid it on her bed. 

"Try that on, and, oh, here are the shoes."

Claire undressed and put the strapless gown over her head as her sister stood behind her ready to zip it up. The crinoline scratched at her as it fell over her shoulders. 

"I'm having flashbacks of the dresses Mom used to get us for Christmas Mass. Ouch."

"Oh, remember the ones from Field's with the big burgundy velvet sashes?" Kate asked wistfully.

"Yep, I do. I wonder whatever happened to those."

"I don't know. Dad threw out just about everything when they moved to Arizona. You were still at college when he pitched all of your old stuff. He figured you had what you needed at school."

"I remember," Claire replied darkly. "He threw away all of my stuffed animals. That hurt."

"Aw, don't be so hard on him. He kept all of your books for you."

"True."

"Ok, breathe in. The zipper is being a little stubborn."

Claire inhaled and held it.

Kate clapped her hands together at the sight of her sister in the dress. "Perfect! See, that'll bring out the green in your eyes."

Barely able to breath, Claire stood to examine herself in the three-way mirror. Catching her sister's eye behind her, she said, "I'm not trying to impress anybody. Please."

But she couldn't help admire it and, as she stuffed her bra straps into the fitted corset of the dress, was relieved to see that it fit her. Just about. She'd have to get some sort of slenderizing undergarment to feel comfortable in it.

She brushed her hair out of her face and made a mental note to swing by the beauty school over on Lawrence to get highlights put in at some point during the next two weeks.

"When did you wear this dress?"

"Oh, I never wore it. Believe it or not, that was for Micah's wedding last year."

"Oh, that's right." Claire recollected the tale of Kate's friend whose fiancé got cold feet and cancelled the wedding the day before they were scheduled to walk down the aisle. "Whatever happened to her?"

Kate frowned and shook her head. "Ya know, I haven't spoken to her for a while, but last I heard, she was backpacking through New Zealand."

"Oh. Well, ok then." Doing one full twirl before the mirror, Claire concluded, "I think I've got myself a dress. Which one are you gonna wear?"