Sweet Misfortune: A Novel (13 page)

Chapter 20

Some say that life is a play, and the world is their stage.
If you say that, then I hope you have a very good understudy.

W
HERE HAVE YOU BEEN!” EVI DEMANDED WHEN SOPHIE
finally answered her cell phone. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour but it went straight to voice mail.”

“Sorry,” Sophie said apologetically. “I just turned my phone back on a few minutes ago. Garrett kept calling earlier and I was tired of listening to his ringtone, so I shut it off. What’s up?”

“Ugh. So you didn’t talk to him today?”

Sophie could hear the worry in her foster sister’s voice. “No, we haven’t spoken since he showed up at the store a couple days ago. Why?”

“Well he was probably trying to reach you for the same reason as me. I take it you haven’t seen the evening news?” Evi asked.

“You know I avoid it. Half of what they report on is just plain depressing.”

Sophie heard Evi breathe out quickly through her nose, like she was suppressing a laugh. “Too true. Listen, if you’re not dressed to be in public, then put on some clothes. I’m picking you up in ten minutes. There’s some depressing news you need to see.”

“Is it something…
bad
?” Sophie asked reluctantly.

“Not bad, just—Hold on a sec.
Justin! Don’t you dare change the channel, until you’re absolutely sure it’s recorded on the DVR!
You still there, Soph?”

“Yep.”

“So, it’s not
bad
, it’s just something you need to see for yourself. Okay? I’ll be there soon.”

With a heavy sigh, Sophie mumbled, “Can hardly wait.”

Not quite ten minutes had passed when Evalynn’s car pulled into the driveway and she honked for Sophie to come out. Shortly thereafter they were back at Evi’s. Justin was screwing in a lightbulb in the kitchen as they passed through to the living room, where the plasma TV was paused on a close-up of the Geico gecko with its mouth wide open.

“Have a seat,” instructed Evalynn.

“Hey Sophie,” said Justin a few seconds later, as he walked in and plopped down in an empty armchair. “Did Ev tell you yet?”

“Not a single word.”

Justin rubbed his hands together. “Ooh, then you’re in for a real treat. We’ve already watched it like ten times and—”

“Shut it,” Evalynn said, cutting him off. “Just let her see for herself.”

Sophie looked back and forth between them. Evi was biting her lip to keep from outright frowning, but Justin was grinning impishly. She didn’t know what to make of their disparate expressions, but the sinking feeling in her stomach told her that whatever she was about to see on TV would leave her feeling sick.

Evalynn took her place on the couch next to Sophie and pointed the remote at the screen. “Here we go,” she whispered to herself, as her thumb pressed the Play button.

The Geico gecko became immediately animated, offering a few last words in its thick Cockney accent before the commercial ended. Then the screen jumped to the seven o’clock news broadcast—now almost two hours old—zooming in on the primped face of the Channel 2 anchorman.

“Welcome back to Channel Two News,” he said confidently, maintaining a polished smile. “I’m Kip Waverly
.
” As if on cue, the anchorman’s steady grin become suddenly more contemplative, bordering on somber. “For tonight’s special segment on news of local interest, we go now to Lori Acres in Tacoma. Lori?”

A chill shot up Sophie’s spine as the man mentioned Tacoma.

The scene cut to a sharply dressed woman in her late twenties, perfectly manicured, standing outside the post office that Sophie frequented every week. Her blondish hair was blowing gently in the breeze.
“Thank you, Kip,”
she said very seriously. “In these challenging economic times—with so much high-level focus on unemployment rates, business failures, and mortgage foreclosures—it can be easy to lose sight of the fact that behind the numbers, at the very heart of all the facts and figures, there are people. Ordinary people who are just trying to get by, following their American dream in the pursuit of happiness.” Lori paused dramatically to purse her lips. “But what happens,” she continued, “when that dream no longer seems possible? When happiness feels like an unachievable pursuit? Some of us might lean on family or friends for support. Others turn to religious advisors or spiritual mentors. But how many of us would turn to the public at large? Probably not many… but at least one individual in the greater Seattle area is yearning for a glimmer of hope from others.”

Sophie dug her fingers into the couch as the news correspondent held up a copy of the
Seattle Times
. “Thanks to one of our viewers, who tipped us off to a most unusual advertisement, I am here to report tonight that a desperate cry for help has been issued to all of us.”

Kip Waverly jumped in. “I’m sorry, Lori. Did you say advertisement?”

“That’s exactly right, Kip. For the past several weeks an anonymous want ad has been running in the classified section of the
Seattle Times
. Allow me to read its brief—yet poignant—plea.” Lori paused again as she lifted the paper into a position where she could see it without blocking her face, and then she read each word from the ad slowly, adding dramatic inflections everywhere possible. “ ‘Wanted: Happiness. Please help me find what I’ve lost. Send suggestions to PO Box three two nine seven, Tacoma, Washington, nine eight four zero two. Lasting happiness only, please. Nothing that fleets.’ ”

“Wow,” piped Kip from the newsroom. “I’d have never thought to turn to the want ads to find happiness, but I guess when you really need help, you’ve got to seek it out wherever you can.”

“Wow indeed, Kip. I’m standing outside the post office where our anonymous advertiser’s PO Box resides, and where, hopefully, he will receive the answers—from all of us—that will help him get through what we assume to be a difficult time. Our hope is to find out who this person is and see if there’s more we can all do to help, but in the meantime if you wish to write a response to this ad, you’ll find the address at our website, given at the bottom of the screen. Let’s let him know that the pursuit of happiness is alive and well here in the heart of the Puget Sound. Reporting live from Tacoma, I’m Lori Acres. Back to you, Kip.”

“Thank you Lori.” Kip nodded thoughtfully, and then turned to the nearest camera. “And to the nameless person who created that most unusual want ad, if you are watching, may I add that our thoughts are with you, and we hope you find what you are looking for.” After another quiet pause, Kip’s entire demeanor changed on a dime. Suddenly he was all smiles again. “Now, moving on to other local news. The Seattle Supersonics learned today that—”

Evi clicked off the television.

Sophie sat staring at the black screen, stunned. “ ‘Yearning for a glimmer of hope from others’?” she said finally, repeating Lori’s words. “ ‘Happiness is alive and well in the heart of the Puget Sound’? This actually passes for news? They’re concocting a news story where none exits.”

“That’s pretty much what they’re paid to do,” observed Justin.

Sophie ignored him. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

“Neither did we,” admitted Evalynn. “Justin laughed. I’m still on the fence.”

As she stood up and paced across the room, Sophie’s mouth tightened into a knot. “You know what? I’m not sad about this. I’m furious! ‘Thanks to one of our viewers,’ she said. No doubt in my mind who that was.”

“You think it was Garrett?” Evi asked.

“Of course it was Garrett! What a conniving little—oh, he makes me mad. I told him he could only place the ad in the
Times
, so he found a way to skirt that little rule.”

Justin chuckled. “It’s actually quite brilliant.”

Evalynn shot Justin a look, warning him to stay out of it.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered.

While Evi was giving Justin another nonverbal warning, Sophie turned her phone back on and saw that she’d missed ten calls and six new text messages. She didn’t bother to listen to the voice mails. Instead, she dialed Garrett’s number.

He answered after the first ring. “Did you get my messages?” he said immediately, sounding slightly panicked.

“How could you do this to me?” she groaned, and then started on a small tirade. “Even if nobody knows it’s me, it’s still hugely embarrassing! That news lady talked about the ad like it was the work of some despondent lunatic who’s hanging on by his very last thread. Unbelievable. Of all the rotten things you’ve done to me, this one takes the cake!”

“Sophie!” he said, raising his voice to compete with hers. “Go back and listen to my messages. I’m as surprised about this as you are. I tried to call you as soon as I saw it, but I couldn’t get through.”

“I was ignoring you… and for good reason. You just cause me problems.”

“I worried you’d think it was me, so I called as soon as I could.”

She wasn’t listening to him—or if she was, she didn’t believe what he was saying. “What if they find out it’s me? What if the follow-up story has my face plastered all over television? What then? Did you think about that before you peddled the story to the evening news? Well, what if I tell them it was really
you
who placed the ad? You think your patients would like to know that Lori Acres says their doctor is the most unhappy person on the planet?”

“She didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Well she might as well have! Seriously, Garrett, what if they trace this to me?”

He waited before responding. “Might be good for business,” he offered.

“Oh, you’re unbelievable!”

“I’m joking, Soph. Honestly, nobody is going to find out it has anything to do with either of us. I’ve already called the paper and cancelled the ad, and I made it very clear that if the identity of the person who placed the ad is leaked to anyone they’ll have a very painful lawsuit on their hands.”

Sophie was still pacing around Evalynn and Justin’s living room. She breathed out slowly, trying to calm herself. “I just… I can’t believe you did this. The deal is off, Garrett. No date. Not after this.”

When Garrett spoke again, his voice was much quieter, as though hoping that by changing his tone he could better gain her attention. “Sophie,” he said softly, “I’m going to repeat this as many times as it takes for you to understand.
I had nothing to do with it.
Frankly, it would have been very clever for me to do. Deceitful and wrong, but clever. But I swear it wasn’t me. You know, there
are
people out there who read the newspaper. A lot of them, in fact. And any one of them could have latched on to the happiness ad and decided to share it with the media. But I didn’t do it.”

Sophie was reeling. She wanted him to be the culprit, the bad guy she could blame everything on. She wanted another reason to hate him after everything he’d done to her. But she knew he was telling the truth. Still, she kept quiet after he finished speaking.

“Sophie?”

“I’m here,” she eventually muttered.

“Do you believe me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Well… I don’t want to,” she replied honestly.

“But?”

“I’m still deciding.”

“So… our deal. It’s still on?”

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “But only because I keep my promises. Unlike some people I know.”

“Ouch, that stings a little.”

“Darn,” she said, relaxing slightly for the first time since Lori Acres opened her mouth. “It was supposed to sting a lot.”

“Well, thanks for calling. Even when you’re yelling at me, I enjoy hearing your voice.”

She wished he could see her rolling her eyes. “Good night, Garrett.”

“’Night, Soph.”

Chapter 21

Compel yourself to do something you wouldn’t normally do,
because what you normally do doesn’t seem to be working.

U
been online lately?

The text message from Garrett popped up on Sophie’s cell phone just as she was preparing to go to bed on Sunday evening. It had been four days since they’d talked on the phone in the wake of the Channel Two News debacle. Sophie slid under her covers and stared at the short note, then decided she wasn’t interested in texting at the moment—at least not with Garrett. She set the phone down on her nightstand just as another message popped up. Frustrated at being bothered, she flipped the phone open quickly to see what it said.

It’s gone viral!

The odd message caught her attention and she thumbed a quick response.
What has?

IT! The want ad. It’s everywhere!

Sophie’s breathing picked up as she typed again.
R U kidding??

Get online. I just sent you an e-mail with a few links… uuuggghhh.

Snapping the phone shut, Sophie jumped out of bed and hurried downstairs to her computer. Her Gmail account was loaded to the gills with spam, but it didn’t take long to filter through them. Garrett’s e-mail had the subject line “Uh Oh
…
don’t blame me.” The body of the message had no text, simply URLs to various Internet sites.

The first link was to YouTube, where Lori Acres’s newscast had already been viewed by nearly 500,000 people worldwide. But other media outlets across the country had picked up on the story, too, and at least a dozen other TV stations had aired their own versions of the story, which were also posted on YouTube, each of them retelling it as though they were the first to report on what one overly dramatic anchorman described as the “epically sad, heroically unhappy, mystery want-ader in Tacoma, Washington, who has gripped our hearts, and made us all pause to reflect on what happiness is, where to find it, and above all, how to hold onto it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Sophie out loud. “This is absolutely absurd.” She cringed as video after video flashed her PO box on the screen, urging viewers to respond.

Other links in Garrett’s note sent Sophie exploring chat rooms, Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace. On one site, a group calling themselves H-Cubed, short for “Happy Helping Hands,” had raised enough money among themselves to run Sophie and Garrett’s want ad for four weeks in the twenty largest US newspapers.

After an hour and a half of poring through web pages, with each new link taking her to at least ten others, Sophie finally gave up and turned off the computer. Her head was pounding from staring at the screen for so long. Slowly, she made her way upstairs and climbed back into bed, but it would be another hour before she fell asleep. As she laid in bed, the one thought that kept cycling through her mind was,
Why didn’t I just let Garrett have one stupid date?

*    *

T
HE NEXT DAY
, as soon as Randy arrived at Chocolat’ de Soph, Sophie gathered her umbrella, purse, and a spare Misfortune Cookie and began her weekly trek up the hill to pick up the mail. She wondered, as she walked, if there would be a noticeable uptick yet in the number of responses to the want ad.

Jim was waiting in his normal spot in front of the post office, carrying his ragged sign about Change. He seemed to sense that Sophie had other things on her mind, so he kept his comments to a minimum when she handed him his cookie. However, he did take time to thank her once again for her kindness, and then shared his fortune with her.

“Hot dang!” he chirped, his cracked lips turning up at the corners. “Says my fifteen minutes of fame will be cut down to five, at best.” He winked at Sophie before she left. “That’ll be five minutes more than I ever expected. Thanks again, Miss Sophie.”

By government standards the work day was already well over, so only the post office’s lobby area, which housed two walls of PO boxes, remained open to the public. As usual, there were a handful of people around, likely stopping off on their way home from work like Sophie. As soon as she stuck her key in PO Box 3297, however, the atmosphere in the post office changed.

Whispers started erupting from all over, especially from a group clustered together on the opposite wall. At first Sophie tried to convince herself the growing chatter had nothing to do with her. But ignoring it turned out to be impossible once she heard someone whisper too loudly, “Hurry up! Get the cameras in here while she’s still got the box open.”

Frozen by the comment, Sophie was instantly aware that all of the hubbub was about the “mystery want-ader” who, it seemed, had just been discovered. She had been sure a fluff story like hers would have been old news by now, but she should have realized from all those websites and videos that it wasn’t. The only part of her that she knew was still moving was her heart, which felt like it had been flipped into high gear, pounding against her chest as though it were trying to escape.

She was stuck, and she knew it. After doing nothing but stand there for what felt like eons, while the noise behind her continued to grow, Sophie finally accepted the fact that sooner or later, she would have to turn around. With a giant gulp of air she inflated her shoulders until they were straight, pulled a single yellow slip of paper from her PO box, closed the door until it latched, and then calmly spun around.

Flashbulbs began popping from every direction as soon as her face was in full view. In an instant she was surrounded by a throng of news reporters shoving microphones and recorders in her face, maniacally trying to get the full scoop on the “heroically unhappy” woman standing before them.

“Can you tell us what prompted you to place the want ad?” asked one slender woman with blondish hair, whom Sophie recognized as Lori Acres.

“You don’t appear to be down on your luck,” commented another. “It this a publicity stunt of some sort?”

Then things really started to heat up, and it quickly became apparent that everyone was working the story from some predetermined angle, each of them hoping to drum up controversy. As the chaos escalated, Sophie was unable to tell who was asking what, because they were all firing off questions in rapid succession. “What’s your full name?” “How long will the ad run?” “How many responses have you received?” “Are you doing this for the attention, or do you really expect to find happiness through the classifieds?” “What type of happiness doesn’t fleet?” “Are you taking any kind of antidepressants?”

Sophie was too mortified to say anything, so she just stood there listening to everyone talking at her, blinking periodically when the camera flashes caught her straight on. She thought she should try smiling for the pictures, but she couldn’t get the muscles in her face to move. After a minute or two of the unceasing barrage, a small tear escaped Sophie’s eye. The warmth of the moisture running down her cheek seemed to melt the barriers that were holding back her emotions, and Sophie realized that the dam was about to burst. She hated the thought of crying in front of these people—not to mention the thousands of people who would see videos and pictures of the episode later—but she knew there was nothing she could do about it.

Just as a giant wave of despair was washing over her, when she was sure that she was only moments away from cleaning the floor with tears, a loud voice shouted from somewhere at the back of the crowd, “What in the hell are you all doing to her!”

The gathering fell silent almost immediately, the inquisition turning as one body to locate the source of the outburst.

“It’s me you’re after!” the voice bellowed. “Leave her alone, or so help me I’ll take every last one of you to task right here and now!”

There were stunned looks from everyone in the media crowd, but no one was more surprised by what had just happened than Sophie. To her utter disbelief, standing a few feet inside the glass doorway of the post office was Jim, his greasy, bearded head held high.

Lori Acres was still the closest person to Sophie. She quickly turned back to her original target and asked what the indigent man was talking about.

Good question
, she thought. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Jim overheard the exchange and immediately pushed his way through the pack to get to Sophie. Once there, he extracted a beat-up wallet from his back pocket and withdrew a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill from its folds. Making sure that everyone could both see and hear what he was doing, Jim held the bill up in front of Sophie and said, “Here you go, miss. As promised, twenty bucks for your effort. And I apologize for getting you mixed up in all this ruckus.” As he handed her the money he coyly turned his back to the crowd and whispered, so only she could hear, “Here’s my five minutes.” He winked.

“Umm
…
thanks,” she said, as much to the reporters as to Jim. “It was no trouble. Well, aside from, you know
…
being mobbed. But I only did it to help. You don’t have to pay me.” Sophie handed the money back, then slithered out of the limelight and took up a position at the back of the crowd, being careful not to look anyone directly in the eyes lest they recognize her bluff and call her on it. The smart thing to do, Sophie knew, was to leave right then and not look back; but even though she risked being discovered, she desperately wanted to know what Jim was about to say to the reporters.

Up front, Jim cleared his throat, licked his lips, and then addressed the reporters with surprising confidence. The savvy with which he spoke, combined with the fact that everything he was saying was a sham, made Sophie think that with the proper attire, a clean shave, and a nice set of dentures, Jim would make a good politician—insofar as politicians can be considered good. “First,” he said, “let me answer what I know you’re all wondering. Is this guy homeless?” A few people snickered. Jim didn’t seem to mind. “The answer is, yes. I live on the street. It’s a hard life. Lonely. And with plenty of time to think.”

“How can you expect us to believe a homeless person placed this ad?” someone shouted, then a few others started mumbling similar doubts.

Jim calmly raised his hands to quiet them. “If you’ll let me speak, I’ll tell you. Whether you choose to believe it is
…
well
…
that’s your problem. I’ll just tell you what I know, and then you can go do with it what you want. Last year about this time a little girl and her mom walked up to me one day and gave me five bucks. But before they left, the girl asked me if I was happy living like I do. And that got me thinking. Am I happy? And what is happiness, anyway? I see people every day in their shiny cars, driving to their big, warm houses. Are they any happier than me? I dunno. But I decided I wanted to find out. Now, it took me awhile, because, as you might guess, I’m not exactly swimming in cash. But I scrimped and saved, just like anyone would who wants something bad enough. And then about a month ago I had enough money stored up to get myself a PO box and a want ad in the paper. I wanted to know what the rest of you think happiness is. Seems like everything I ever had in my life that brought me happiness eventually went away. My job. My house. My savings. I was dying to know if you people—the ones that seem to have it made—know anything more about happiness than me. Someone out there must know, right?” He paused and looked around. “So there you have it,” he added. “Now you know my story.”

There was a brief silence, and then one of the reporters asked, “If it’s your PO box, then why did you send the woman in here to open it?”

Jim stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You think I don’t read the papers? Hell, I sleep on them every night. I’ve seen all the editorials the last couple of days, and I was worried the media might start snooping around, trying to find out who was behind the ad. When I saw more people loitering in here than normal, I approached her on the street. She’s shown me kindness in the past and I know her to be a very generous woman; she agreed to come in here on my behalf. Of course, I didn’t expect the sort of feeding frenzy that happened. If I’d seen the news vans parked around the block I wouldn’t have put her up to it.” He looked directly at Sophie. “Again, ma’am, sorry for your inconvenience.”

Sophie waved, as though it had been nothing. She was still worried that someone was going to ask why she still had the key to the box in her possession, and why she hadn’t given him the single piece of mail that she’d retrieved, but nobody did. Apparently, they were all too caught up in the victory of uncovering the story to wallow in such details.

When Jim asked if there were any more questions and they responded with things like, “How long, exactly, have you been on the street?” and “How old, would you guess, was that precocious little girl who triggered your quest for happiness and journey of self-discovery?” Sophie knew that it was safe to leave. Without drawing any further attention to herself she quietly slipped out the door.

Once she was a safe distance from the post office, Sophie found the yellow piece of mail that she’d taken from her box. It was a notice from the postmaster that her recent volume of mail far exceeded her box’s capacity, and that she would have to pick it up at the counter during business hours. Not wanting to risk being seen collecting all that mail, she decided to have it forwarded instead. Any other time, she might have been upset to learn that she was on the verge of being inundated with responses to the want ad, but at that moment she was simply grateful to be out on the street, her anonymity intact, and on her way back to Chocolat’ de Soph.