Chapter 9 #2
“Well, as of tonight’s village meeting, you’re going to be busy strategizing how to deter GlennGlobal from invading Lakeside, right?” Marjorie said. “Maybe that will open some doors for you.”
Mention of my new role in town made me shift uncomfortably on the plastic fiber and metal lawn chair under me. The expectation of it all started to feel heavy.
“Ah, yes. I heard some murmurings about that company and a counterattack underway,” Maggie Jo said.
I just nodded and smiled.
“Where were you, MJ? I didn’t see you at the meeting,” Marjorie asked.
“I had a late client,” Maggie Jo said.
“Client? Oh, what do you do?” I asked, happy to take some of the attention away from me.
“I’m a nail artist and aesthetician. I have a salon on the square,” she said.
“Oooh! I noticed your place when I was walking the square earlier today. No wonder everyone has such well-manicured nails around here,” I said, looking at Stacy’s and Marjorie’s hands.
“MJ is a true artist and the town’s most popular therapist,” Marjorie said with a wink to her friend.
I must have looked confused because Maggie Jo added, “My salon has become a safe space for just about anyone to vent and gossip as needed, all while having their nails tended to or a facial. I do those too. And I don’t pass along gossip either. What is said across my table stays there.”
“It’s a sacred place,” Marjorie said.
These women were so different from the women in my life.
They were friendly and supportive of one another.
Not just polite with an undercurrent of judgment and competition.
They were also proud of their work. They had a place in life that while laborious and probably unforgiving most of the time, was meaningful and contributed to the overall functioning of this community. They had purpose.
That word, purpose, bounced around my head like a mantra. I was undeniably without purpose. In fact, how long had I been missing purpose in my life? Had I ever felt a strong sense of purpose?
My mind jumped back to my new project: defending Lakeside from GlennGlobal.
During the meeting, I’d realized that it might be why I was here.
And even though it was fleeting, it came with such clarity and truth.
So maybe that was my purpose. It was at least something that demanded focus and passion. I certainly had the time and talent.
The words of a former fling who was a nut about football and therefore talked nonstop about the game had drilled into me that “knowing your opponent inside and out is critical to planning a good offensive. And you always want to be on the offensive. Even if you are coming up from behind.” He’d even whispered it to me as pillow talk.
It was not sexy, but his broad shoulders and huge .
. . um . . . frame, sure made up for it.
Our relationship was brief, of course, but his game strategies?
Those stuck with me and came up in moments like this.
When it came to GlennGlobal, I knew their modus operandi.
I had that unique insight. GlennGlobal razzle-dazzled with promises of economic change and a payout that left most town leaders with stars in their eyes.
They razed and cleared original architecture and changed the topography of the land and roadways in order to achieve their development goals and plans.
They assessed the biggest infrastructure problems that the town was not equipped to address and offered solutions that felt like answered prayers.
GlennGlobal’s true motivations were disguised as progress and revitalization.
The problem was that GlennGlobal ignored what actually made the communities unique and desirable in the first place.
They disregarded the culture. They made all those changes to achieve their vision of improvement for the community.
Sure, GlennGlobal left every project pristine and poised for more growth and it all looked good on paper.
Nine times out of ten, GlennGlobal’s work resulted in local businesses being driven out to make way for corporate brands, increased taxes in order to sustain all the new infrastructure, and the culture?
Well, it doesn’t take much for a company like GlennGlobal to strip that from a community.
Not to mention the environmental impact and the violations they were covering up. I couldn’t get out of my head that memo I was drafting right before I was sacked.
And now sitting with these women and hearing about their day-to-day lives made me realize what was at stake when a company like GlennGlobal bulldozed their way in.
Each of these women contributed to the local economy and unique culture of Lakeside.
Each of them worked hard for honest, local businesses.
They were raising families and taking care of loved ones.
“Can I ask you ladies something about Lakeside?” I asked.
Marjorie looked at her friends before responding. “Of course.”
“What makes Lakeside, Lakeside?”
“Well, damn, girl! Coming in with the big questions,” Maggie Jo said with a spirited laugh.
“Ooh . . . too much? I’m sorry. You’re right. We’re trying to unwind here,” I said. Of course this wasn’t the right time. “I guess I just have this new responsibility on my mind. Never mind. It was a dumb question anyway.”
“No. No,” Marjorie said reassuringly. “It’s not too much.
And it’s not dumb. We get it.” She paused to think about her answer.
“Well, Lakeside . . . It’s our home. It feels kind of hard to pinpoint what makes it unique because we’re so close to it.
Okay . . . when you were a kid and you’d walk into a friend’s house, you know how you could smell their house?
Like it had its own unique aroma. And you’re sure yours had a scent too, but you were never able to smell it because it was your home and you were used to it? ”
I nodded along because I did know what she meant. No matter how much our housekeepers maintained luxury hotel lobby fragrance, there was still always the smell I recognized as my home base.
“It’s like that. This is our home. Many of us grew up here so we can’t fully describe what makes us, us,” she said.
“How many beers have you had?” Stacy asked Marjorie with a friendly nudge.
“Oh stop! This is my first one.” She shrugged off her friend. Then back to me, she said, “Asher was worried about an outsider getting involved, but I . . . I think you’re the perfect person. You’ll see us from a different angle.”
I nodded, taking that in and appreciating the support.
“It’s the people!” Maggie Jo said a sudden burst of energy escaping her.
“Oh come on. It’s the lake,” Stacy said swooping her arms toward the lake, which wasn’t visible in the dark.
“Yeah, but there are thousands of lakes and lake towns just like ours all over Wisconsin. Aren’t we the state of like fifteen thousand lakes or something? So that can’t be what makes us unique,” Marjorie said.
“There are unique people in all those towns too!” Stacy said.
“Yeah, but our people are special,” Maggie Jo said.
“We’re like this quirky smattering of personalities and carefree lifestyles.
We’re full of pride for our town, but we’re not all rigid and conservative.
We’re creative and hardworking. We’re boundless but still .
. . I don’t know . . . rooted. That’s it.
Many of us carry a strong faith in God. Some of us don’t.
And all of it’s okay. We’re accepting of other points of view.
Our biggest attribute: We care. Care for each other.
Care for our land and the lake.” She paused, then continued, “I hope other towns have the same, but I suspect it’s less and less these days. ”
She stopped talking with a far-off look in her eyes. A little dreamy.
“Maggie Jo’s the sensitive one of us,” Marjorie whispered to me.
I could tell. I imagined she wrote poetry in the privacy of her own thoughts. Hopefully, she wrote those words down in a journal and every now and then shared the beautiful way she viewed the world with others.
Maggie Jo shook her head and blinked. “Oops, I got carried away there.”
“MJ, you’re always so eloquent with your words,” Stacy said.
Our moment was interrupted with a loud belch from the other side of Marjorie. “Tim! You are such a barbarian!” she said with a sigh, and we erupted into laughter.
“Sorry, babe. Excuse me, ladies,” Tim said.
“I swear, it’s like he was raised in an actual barn.” Marjorie rolled her eyes and tossed a look to the side as she took a drink from her own beer bottle.
Tim reached over for her hand and pulled it close to his lips. “Thankfully, I have you to domesticate me, love of my life.”
Marjorie looked back at Tim with a flirtatious smirk, and I could tell all was forgiven.
“Ali . . . Ali . . . Ali! I can’t see you. Where are you?” Misha whisper-shouted from across the fire.
“I’m over here,” I said and lifted myself out of my chair so he could see my figure if he wasn’t able to make out my face in the harsh contrasting light of the fire.
As he made his way through the gathering of people around the fire, I saw him get stopped by Eric. He didn’t make it much farther toward me after that. I sat back down.
“Your friend is handsome,” Maggie Jo said.
“Yes, he is. And he knows it,” I said with a little laugh.
“Is he available?” she asked.
“He is,” I said tentatively, hoping she wasn’t asking for herself. That would be an awkward conversation. I was pretty sure Misha was not open to women at all. At least not since experimenting with all sexual orientations during his college years.
“Good! Because my brother couldn’t shut up about him after meeting him at the Corner Market today,” she said pointing in the direction of the two men speaking.
“Ah . . . your brother is Eric, I assume,” I said.
“Yep. He’s the youngest and a hopeless romantic,” she said.