Please Forgive Me (3 page)

Oh well, she thought, putting them back in the box, she’d give the rental agency a call, see if they had a forwarding address.

Although, something told Leonie that Helena Abbot might not miss them either way.

‘No, I’m afraid there isn’t a forwarding address on file,’ the man from the rental agency told her, when Leonie called a few days later. She had since cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and found nothing else belonging to previous tenants other than the box.

‘Oh. It’s just, I’ve got a pile of post –’

‘Post?’

‘Sorry, I mean…mail,’ she corrected quickly, realising that he wouldn’t have a bull’s notion of what she was on about. ‘She left it behind when she moved out, and it could be important.’

‘I’m sorry but we’ve got nothing at all on file. In fact, we don’t have a record of the name you mentioned as a customer of this office.’

Leonie frowned. ‘What? But she only moved out a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Perhaps so, but she wasn’t a client of ours. The landlord obviously used another agency for previous lettings,’ he explained.

‘Well, maybe the landlord might have her address then. Could I have his number?’

‘I’m afraid we can’t give out that kind of information,’ the man sighed.

‘What?’ Leonie cried frustrated. ‘So, what I am supposed to do about the letters? Surely there must be some way of contacting the landlord? I mean, what if something goes wrong with the apartment, if it burns down or something?’

‘Ma’am the agency here are responsible for all aspects of the rental, but if you’d like to leave your name and number I can contact our client and pass on a message for him to call you?’ He was sounding a little irritated now.

‘OK then,’ Leonie sighed. She supposed that would have to do. Chances were the landlord wouldn’t give a fiddler’s about some previous tenant’s belongings but if nothing else at least she’d tried.

That much done, she started to prepare lunch, and thought about the next thing she needed to do; see about getting a job. She’d spent the last few days settling into the apartment and getting to know the neighbourhood a little better. The day after she moved in, she’d taken a cable car down to Union Square (which was
seriously
scary) where she’d spent a few hours picking up the various household paraphernalia she needed to kit the place out completely.

In terms of decorating it, there was a gorgeous little art gallery nearby, where she’d managed to pick up some funky pieces of wall art for an absolute song, and which went a long way towards brightening up the living room, as did the pretty handmade candles from the craft shop a block away. San Francisco was famous for its bohemian culture and hippy New Age roots, but she’d been taken aback by the proliference of small, independently run stores and eateries in the area, as opposed to the ubiquitous chain stores she’d expected. That personal touch added to the lovely sense of community she’d felt in the neighbourhood right from the off, and many of the cheery café and deli owners were only too happy to chat and give her lots of helpful information on her surroundings.

In fact, the locals had been so friendly and open that they’d given Leonie the courage she needed to think about searching for a job. While she’d enjoyed spending her first few days in the apartment setting up home and alternating between watching (mesmerizingly addictive) American TV, or reading by the window seat while gazing out at the sailboats on the bay, she was now starting to feel a bit restless.

Getting a job would hopefully focus her mind and help her settle in even further and even if it was just waitressing or a coffee barista, she’d prefer something that involved interacting with people. Surely with all the bistros and delis in the area, (particularly on Columbus Ave which boasted more Italian eateries on a single street than Leonie had seen in any Italian city) she’d be able to pick up a job around here?

Having finished lunch, she decided to bite the bullet and head down that direction for a gander around.

Despite a little coastal fog, it was another glorious sunny day, and as Leonie closed the front door behind her, she caught a glimpse of someone entering the apartment downstairs. It was the first time since moving in that she’d heard a sound or noticed any activity from her neighbours, which was either a testament to solid Victorian construction, or a sign that the surrounding tenants were nice and quiet.

It was a pity she’d missed them though, she mused, deciding it would be nice to know her neighbours, at least enough to say a passing hello now and again.

Going down the steps, she slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed further along the tree-lined street in the direction of Columbus Avenue.

On the way she spotted a gorgeous little Italian pottery shop just off one of the side streets; its colourful window display and vibrantly painted exterior attracting her like a magpie.

Alongside this were a couple of pretty boutiques and even further along a dinky little bookstore, and before Leonie knew it, she’d wandered completely off course and ended up in an area she didn’t recognise. But it didn’t matter, she was in no rush, and this was merely another aspect of this city she loved; the notion of wandering around a neighbourhood and randomly uncovering some of its hidden treasures.

She moseyed along in the same direction for a little while, window-shopping and occasionally stopping to browse in whatever shops took her fancy, when a sign in a nearby window caught her eye.

Help Wanted
.

From the extravagant flower displays in the window, it looked to be a florist.

Leonie looked up at the sign over the door and gave a little laugh at the cheesy-as-you-can get-name of the store. What else? Well, no time like the present, she thought pushing open the door of …ahem…
Flower Power
and going inside.

‘Hi there, I see you’re looking for staff?’

A stern, heavyset woman who looked nothing like the New Age hippy-type Leonie had been expecting gave her an appraising look. ‘You know anything about flower arranging, sweetheart?’

Leonie gulped. ‘Not a whole lot to be honest. I mean; I don’t have any training or anything.’
 
Numbskull, she really should have thought of that. In truth, Leonie had no retail experience whatsoever, as she’d waitressed during her teenage years and on her travels, and from there went into event management. What had possessed her to think she could work in a place like this? ‘Although, I used to deal a lot with florists in my last job,’ she added quickly.

The woman just shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter, neither do I,’ she said and Leonie was surprised at this given the lavish and highly stylised tropical arrangements that filled the room. ‘Anyhow, I’m just looking for someone to work the till and the phones, and process the internet orders. Do you know anything about the internet?’

‘I do, yes. Again, I haven’t worked in this particular area before, I mean with flowers per se but I’m sure I can learn.’ She went on to give the woman an account of her experience in event management, and how she’d only recently arrived in San Francisco and happened to be looking for work. ‘I was just passing and I saw the sign so…’

‘Where are you from honey?’ the woman asked, clearly thrown by the accent.

‘Ireland. In Europe,’ Leonie added helpfully, aware that not everyone would be familiar with her home country.

‘I know where Ireland is, I’ve been there twice,’ the other woman said, waving an arm dismissively. ‘Guess that pretty hair should have been a giveaway.’

Yup, that and the translucent skin, Leonie thought to herself.

‘So have you got a social security number?’

‘Well no, I…’ Stupidly, she hadn’t even thought about that and now she felt very foolish indeed. What had she been thinking, expecting to just walk into a job in a different country without the necessary documentation? Her resident’s visa had obviously given her a false sense of security and – ‘

‘Doesn’t matter
-
I guess we can work off the books until you get it.’ The woman seemed very easy-going about it all, which made Leonie suspect that this kind of thing was (luckily for her) par for the course.

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Well, let’s see how the interview goes and then we can work out the details, OK?’

‘Oh yes … of course.’ Again Leonie felt foolish.

‘So, what’s your name?’

Introductions were made and she discovered that the woman’s name was Marcy and she was the proprietor of Flower Power.

‘It’s a great name for a flower shop, especially here,’ Leonie smiled. ‘I presume you were part of the hippy movement?’

Marcy looked insulted. ‘Are you crazy? I’m a good Baptist girl from Mississippi! None of that ‘free love’ stuff for me. Nah, I moved out West about ten years ago after my husband died.’

‘Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that.’ She was also horrified she’d raised the subject in the first place, but everyone else she’d met had been so friendly and forthcoming that she’d almost forgotten herself.

But Marcy was unperturbed. ‘Look honey, here’s the thing, my last girl left on Saturday, and we’re heading into a real busy time here with Valentine’s Day just around the corner. So I need someone who’s smart, hard-working and most importantly doesn’t need babysitting,’ she added wryly. ‘Though I might as well tell you upfront, the pay’s not so hot.’ She then quoted a weekly wage that was only a third of what Leonie had been earning back home and would just about cover her rent. But she could live with that for the moment; she had some savings so all she really needed was enough to pay the rent and day-to-day living expenses, rather than fund an extravagant lifestyle or anything. ‘There are tips on top of that too and some of our regulars can be very generous.’

Leonie nodded. ‘Sounds fine.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely.’ OK, so she knew very little about flowers or floral arrangements (other than ordering them), but Marcy certainly didn’t seem to find that a problem. Anyway, working in a place like this looked like it could be fun. Leonie had always loved the fuss surrounding big gift-giving occasions like Valentine’s Day and birthdays, so it would be nice to be in the middle of all that, and to be a part of an industry whose business was primarily making other people feel good. What’s more, it certainly ticked all the boxes in terms of finding something that involved mixing with the locals, didn’t it?

They spent a few more minutes agreeing all the details and Leonie was struck again by the speed and ease at which she was settling in to her new life in San Francisco. What with the new apartment and now a brand new job, she’d have left her old life behind in no time. And that was the plan, wasn’t it?

‘OK then, Leonie,’ her new boss said in conclusion. ‘See you Monday bright and early.’

Alex Fletcher really thought she was going to scream at the pert little blonde standing in front of her.
 

‘Hi, I’m Cyndi Dixon, live at the scene of – ‘

‘Cyndi,’ Alex interjected wearily, ‘loosen up a little, will you? We’re not live and this isn’t CNN.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ Cyndi grumbled, smoothing down her fringe, before turning to face the TV camera once again. ‘Hi, I’m Cyndi Dixon and Today by the Bay, I’m here at the scene of this morning’s rather um… rather unusual life or death rescue,’ she added, finally injecting the warmth into her voice that Alex wanted.

Five takes later.

She nodded encouragingly.
Today by the Bay
– the two-minute entertainment/news slot Alex produced for San Francisco’s local TV station, SFTV – wasn’t exactly
Live at Five
but it was her baby, and she wasn’t going to let some jumped-up little Barbie make a mess of it. They all knew that Cyndi was only using this as a springboard to the news studio and good luck to her, but Alex had been running this show for close to two years now, so like or not, Cyndi would have to do things her way.

OK, so telling her on the first day to lose the sorority-girl bangs and brighten up her wardrobe hadn’t particularly gone down well, but
Today by The Bay
was mostly a light news piece and nobody warmed to a reporter that looked like she’d just been to a funeral.
 

Cyndi continued her commentary. ‘It was right here behind me, that Jake Stephens risked life and most definitely limb,’ she added with a little chuckle, ‘to carry out one of the most incredible water rescue operations the city has ever seen.’

‘Cut!’ Frustrated, Alex signalled to Dave the cameraman. ‘A little too dramatic on the ending there maybe?’ she said to the other woman, who rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s just go with ‘the most incredible water rescue operation’ and continue from there, OK?’

‘Sure,’ Cyndi harrumphed, before filming began yet again. ‘Yep folks, you
can
believe your eyes, because the footage you’re seeing on your TV screens right now is of a man rescuing a
bear
from the fast-moving currents of the Bay. So how did a three hundred pound Californian black bear end up all the way down here in the city, let alone in the water? Well, this didn’t matter to Jake Stephens. Once our hero saw the bear was in trouble he leapt right in and helped get the animal to safety, without any thought for his own.’

‘Cut. Great Cyndi,’ Alex enthused, knowing that this and the interview they’d already done with Stephens would most likely be enough.

Crazy bastard jumping into the water like that. Luckily the bear was too tired and weak from swimming to attack him; instead the animal had used the man as a flotation aid until help arrived. Like Cyndi mentioned, how the bear ended up down here in the bay was anyone’s guess, but that part of the story didn’t concern Alex; it was the drama of the rescue operation that would interest viewers the most (and in particular the accompanying footage that they’d been lucky enough to get from a passing tourist).

It was the kind of compelling, dramatic and often heart-warming news piece that
Today by the Bay
specialised in, and if Sylvester Knowles, the senior producer at the station didn’t run this, Alex would eat her hat.