Hens and Chickens (2 page)

What am I DOING here?! 

She hesitated in the oversized doorframe of Kelly’s large corner office, unwilling to be trapped inside. Kelly was Queen Cora’s supervisor, and one of Lila’s least favorite people at Perkins & Gleeful. He was short, crisp-speaking and neatly clipped (like a show dog, Lila often thought). Kelly was a typical micromanager, frequently stooping down into the trenches to dictate to the underlings, including the diminished marketing department, countermanding many of Cora’s directives.

“Sit down,” Kelly said, waving a neatly-cuffed wrist. “Shut the door.”

Lila saw the flash of a gold cufflink and felt a momentary blind rush of anger. She groped for the nearest leather chair.
WTF! Perkins & Gleeful was paying Kelly so much he could afford GOLD cufflinks?!

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Kelly’s hand hovered over the desk phone, where a front office secretary (who Lila knew would do his most menial bidding) was only a push button away.

No pink slip, then!
 

Strangely, Lila experienced an intense disappointment. “Nope, thanks. Had my coffee limit on the way to work,” she lied.

“We thought it best to bring you in here while Rebecca collected her things,” Kelly continued.

Lila felt a savage twisting of her gut. Once again, she tried the lockdown technique. This time, however, she failed.

We who?
 she thought, sarcastically.

“What?” said Kelly. “Did you say something?”

Lila hadn’t realized she’d mumbled out loud. “What happened to Rebecca?”

“We needed to downsize again. Congratulations, Lila. You’re getting a promotion. You’re now the new Marketing Director at Perkins & Gleeful.”

Unconsciously, Lila clenched her fists. “What’s that mean?” she challenged. “That now I’ll be doing the work of seven people and getting paid half a salary?”

“Think what you’re saying before you say it, Lila,” Kelly cautioned. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

Lila leaped to her feet, her pent-up passion finally boiling over. “Like, take this job and SHOVE it?! Like, you made a big mistake, Kelly; you fired the WRONG person!”

Kelly leaned back in his chair. He pressed his fingertips together in a tent formation. “Do you think this is easy for me? Rebecca has been with Perkins & Gleeful longer than I have.”

“Yeah, I DO think it’s easy for you! That’s what you were hired for—and you’ve had plenty of practice over the past few years!”

“Calm down, Lila. You’re just angry because we let your friend go. Take the rest of the day off. Go shopping or whatever you women do to blow off some steam. Things will look different on Monday.”

“You’re right they’ll look different, because I won’t be HERE on Monday!”

“Lila, Lila. You know that’s an empty threat. What about those student loans? Who’s going to pay those for you? Not Mommy and Daddy, now are they?”

Enraged, Lila wanted to lean over the polished mahogany desk and slap the Perkins & Gleeful Vice President.
How dare he?
She choked back tears.
How dare he!

“There, there. Things will look better in the morning, honey.”

Lila drew herself up to her full height, which was in fact three inches taller than Joe Kelly. “Screw you!” she said, looking down upon the Vice President; “I quit. Have a nice life!”

Lila turned on her heel and stalked out the door. Kelly twiddled a pencil on his desk, an amused smile upon his closely-shaven face.  “You’ll be back!” he called after her, confidently.

Chapter 2

The Plan

My source tells me that Lila did not condescend to answer the parting shot of the Perkins & Gleeful Vice President as she stalked out of his airy corner office. “I will NEVER come back to this place!” she swore under her breath.

She rushed down the empty corridor and back to her cubicle, but she was not in time to catch Rebecca. The cubicle that conjoined with Lila’s own, usually decorated with dozens of photos of Rebecca’s 21-year-old daughter, Amber, was now empty and colorless. All signs of Lila’s co-worker had vanished from the vacant 5
^th
floor office of Perkins & Gleeful. “It’s like she was never here at all!” Lila marveled.

Lila picked up the few personal photos and silly sentimental objects decorating her own cubicle and stuffed them in her purse. She threw on her scarf and coat and quickly headed for the elevator, punching the ground-level button in anger. She paced back and forth restlessly, listening to the lurching sounds of the tired elevator
chugging
back up the elevator shaft.

When Lila finally exited the office building, the sidewalk was largely empty. A car with a shot muffler blasted by and she smelled the vehicle’s foul exhaust. She grabbed for her phone and punched in Rebecca’s name. The call went straight to Voice Mail; her friend had shut her phone off.

“Becca, I know you’re upset, but don’t do anything, yet, OK?” Lila said, into the impersonal VM box, as she walked mindlessly toward the train station. She stopped, and glanced over her shoulder at the steps to the T. “Wait. Don’t even go home. Meet me at Grass Roots Café as soon as possible. I’m going to get myself that coffee after all. I’ve got something IMPORTANT to tell you.”

Lila dropped her phone into her purse and pulled out her CharlieCard. Within half an hour, she was settled comfortably with a large cup of steaming coffee into a quiet corner of Grass Roots, a boutique café situated in the ground floor of an office building on Arch Street. Lila inhaled the comforting scent of the hot Arabica bean coffee. “Ahhh! Life is good!”

Lila practically grinned with satisfaction.
Who knew? Who knew quitting a job could feel so good!

But what to do next? What should she do? How could she help Rebecca?

Lila was aware that her financial situation – which was actually the polar opposite of that described by Joe Kelly – gave her opportunities her older, widowed friend did not share. Rebecca’s daughter Amber still had a year left at UMass and Rebecca’s home in Roxbury was heavily mortgaged to pay for that education. Lila knew that Rebecca lived closely, almost paycheck to paycheck. Lila, on the other hand, was single, debt-free, rented a modest condo that could easily be given up—and had a bank account with more than $250,000, thanks, sadly, to the proceeds from her mother’s life insurance policy.

What do I REALLY want to do with my life?

Lila tried to imagine a future for herself and her motherly friend—and failed. An imaginative, creative person, she normally turned to her daydreams for inspiration. But lately Lila’s daydreams had all been nightmares.

Maybe I should put the question out there to the Twitter sphere? Maybe some of my Tweeps will have some good ideas?

She tweeted her situation to the 2,000+followers @PGleeful, cheerfully taking advantage of the social media avatar she had created for her former employer. “Heck, they won’t know what’s going on for weeks at Perkins & Gleeful,” she muttered aloud. “I don’t think Kelly even knows what Twitter is, and Queen Cora still thinks Facebook is where it’s at.”

Within minutes, Lila had several replies from Twitter, but one in particular, from @MissJanHastings, stood out.

“Old house next door falling down; take a chance – move to Maine. What have you got to lose, darling? We’ll show you how to raise chickens.”

We’ll show you how to raise chickens.

Lila felt the hair on her arm stand up. The image of herself gathering eggs and scattering grain to a flock of clucking chickens revived a faint, happy memory from her childhood and struck Lila now as something, well –
something she would really like to do.

“Omigod, I can see it,” she said, laughing aloud, hand tightening around her cup of coffee. “I can totally see it!”

“I’m interested,” Lila tweeted back to @MissJanHastings. “What next?”

Seconds later came the reply: “Come visit; this weekend. You and your friend can stay with me. I’ll put you up in the Rose Rooms.”

The Rose Rooms …

Lila pictured in her mind an old New England farmhouse with faded, rose-figured wall-paper and the scent of lavender potpourri wafting through the upstairs bedrooms.
What have we got to lose?
 
An outdated paradigm that isn’t working anymore—except for corporate America?

Lila felt more hopeful than she had since her mother’s untimely death. A few more tweets and a couple of Direct Messages to @MissJanHastings settled it. If Lila could convince her former Perkins & Gleeful marketing partner, they would venture to Maine that very afternoon to check out Miss Jan Hastings’ offbeat proposal. What better way could they possibly spend their weekend?!

“OK, I’m here under protest,” Rebecca said, sliding into a seat opposite her young friend. She plopped her over-sized faux leather purse on the floor. “I’d rather be throwing myself under a train but I thought I might as well get a coffee first. And congratulations, by the way. Cora told me about your promotion while she helped me box up my stuff. Would you believe it? She even helped me lug everything to my car—bless her!”

“I didn’t get the promotion,” Lila said, quickly. “Are you alright?”

“W-h-a-t?!” exclaimed Rebecca. “Cora promised me the job was yours – that’s what kept me from falling apart. That, and I was afraid my mascara would run.”

“I quit, Becca.”

Rebecca sucked in her breath sharply. “You … quit?”

“Walked out on Kelly. Didn’t even slam the door.”

Alarmed, Rebecca reached across the table and clasped Lila’s slim arm. “Be serious,” she pleaded. “You can’t
quit
. Companies don’t hire unemployed people; I saw it on
60 Minutes
!”

“Screw corporate America—sorry!” Lila automatically apologized. “I’ve got a plan—if it all works out. I’m going to Maine and raise chickens. Or eggs. Or something like that. And you’re coming with me!”

“Oh, you’re only doing this to protest my firing!” said Rebecca, pushing a soft brown curl back from her face. “And while I love you for it, I think you’re foolish. It’s not too late; Kelly will still take you back.”

“Most likely. But I’m not going back—I’m liberated. I always wondered what it felt like for those women’s libbers in the ‘60s, burning their bras and all. Now, I know. It feels totally mind blowing; it really does. Who does corporate America they think they are, anyway? The only game in town? Screw them! We’re gonna get a NEW life.”

Rebecca sank back into her seat. “I think I need something stronger than coffee,” she said, weakly.

“They make a really good chocolate croissant here.”

“I was thinking of something a little stronger than chocolate!”

Lila groped for her wallet and drew out a $20 bill. She tossed the money at her friend. “Here, get whatever you want. It’s on me,” she said.

“Lila! That’s $20!” Rebecca eyed her friend with horror. “You won’t even get unemployment because you
quit
a perfectly good job.”

“Chicken feed,” Lila retorted. She giggled at her own joke. “Ha, ha. Chicken feed. Go get your coffee, Becca, while I find out how much organic chicken feed costs.”

Rebecca’s daughter, Amber, had recently introduced Lila to the organic food movement. Lila didn’t know much about the growing movement, but Amber’s enthusiasm had piqued her interest. She turned to her phone, and within a minute had discovered the answer to her question: a bag of certified organic feed cost about $25. “No joke,” she said. “I wonder how much those things eat?” She jabbed away at the phone.

When Rebecca returned with a coffee and croissant, Lila set her phone on the table. “Here’s the plan,” she said. “You’re gonna rent out your house, and we’re gonna move to Maine, buy this rundown old place next to Miss Jan Hastings, and make a new life. We’re gonna live off my mother’s life insurance money until we can make a living from our chicken and egg business. I’ve got enough to carry us for a couple of years, no sweat. In the meantime, you can send your unemployment money to Amber.
She’ll
love the plan ‘cause we’re gonna be organic!”

“We’re going to sell … chickens?” Rebecca said, skeptically.

“Raise chickens and sell EGGS,” corrected Lila. “ORGANIC eggs. In Sovereign, Maine.”

“You’ve arranged all this with a Twitter person?”

Lila nodded, beaming. “@MissJanHastings,” she said.

“
Who
is
she
?”

“Miss Jan Hastings is a retired music teacher who loves children and chickens,” Lila answered, excitedly. “She’s got a pet chicken, actually—Matilda. I’ve seen pics. We’ve been following each other on Twitter for a couple of years.”

“But you don’t really
know
her?”

“I know more about Miss Jan Hastings than I do Cora Batterswaith, and I’ve known Cora five years! Miss Hastings is pretty old now—probably late sixties or early seventies. She’s never married, loves donuts and kids, and hates what the banks and corporate America have done to this country. She lives in this really neat town called Sovereign—which is somewhere near Unity or Liberty, Maine. I think there’s a small college nearby.”

Despite herself, Rebecca was intrigued. “Unity College,” she mused. “It’s called Unity College. I’ve actually been to Unity, believe it or not.”

“Omigod, no way!”

“Yes,
way
. Unity was one of the colleges that Amber considered. There’s an annual organic fair in Unity every fall; I went there with Amber two years ago.” Rebecca looked thoughtful. “I can picture the area in my mind.”

“S-o-o-o? What’s it like?”

“Well, there’s a lot of farmland,” Rebecca replied. “I can’t recall Sovereign, but Unity is sort of a one-horse town. Actually, it’s more than a one horse town because the Amish have a settlement in Unity, I remember.”

“This is TOO good. The Amish? It’s perfect! What’s not to love about moving to the sticks of Maine and raising chickens?”

“But what about Ryan?” Rebecca asked, anxiously. “What will Ryan say?”