Chapter 17
“He’s doing really well,” says Dr. Raymond. “But the X-rays show that the tooth decay is worse than we thought. There are nine teeth that require removal.”
“I’ll transfer you to the front desk for an exact estimate, and you can let them know how you’d like to proceed. Again, it’s your choice…”
“But he’ll be much more comfortable,” I say.
“Exactly,” says Dr. Raymond. “Hold, please.”
A punchy Rod Stewart song comes on, and, just as I am starting to enjoy it, I hear, “This is Kathy at the front desk. So for nine teeth, plus the cleaning, the anesthesia, the meds, the X-rays, the presurgical bloodwork…”—I can hear her acrylic nails flying around the keyboard—“that will come out to $2,300. And we include a complimentary nail trim.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. “$2,300?”
“Yes. Oh, wait. Do you need an Elizabethan collar? To prevent him from agitating the wound once he’s home? If so, that will be … $2,306.”
After a moment of stunned silence, during which I envision a loopy Dominic catching his cone-of-shame on the doorways of our house, I remember that I have a decision to make.
“Would you like us to proceed with the removal of the teeth?”
I don’t have the money, but I can’t bear the thought of Dominic waking up only for me to tell him, “Sorry, buddy, but we opted to let your teeth rot.” And besides, he is my father’s beloved companion; we need him healthy.
As I begin to sweat, Kathy says something about a payment plan. Four installments. Over time. Zero interest.
“Okay,” I say. “Yes, you can proceed.”
I know I’m doing the right thing for our cat, and, by proxy, for my dad.
But when I hang up the phone, I immediately panic.
Even with my new gig doing Paula’s tech and admin, it will take me months to pay off this bill.
I have to figure something out fast, and though it’s hard to stomach, there’s only one logical option.
I open my laptop and compose a new email.
Subj: Freelance help?
Gemma,
Hello! I hope you’re well. I’ve been eagerly following Actualize’s announcements and social feeds—looks like business is booming!
No surprise there. Things are busy here in the Adirondacks as well.
I’m writing because I have an opening in my schedule to do a bit of freelance work, and I immediately thought of you.
Any chance you need remote help with strategy or marketing? No worries if not.
All my best,
Cricket
I hit send with a wince. Writing to Gemma feels like crawling back to an ex who you know is bad for you.
But at the same time, I know what makes Gemma tick, and I hope this will be a path to a quick paycheck or two.
Just enough to cover Dominic’s dental bill, then I will move on from Actualize for good.
I close my laptop, sigh, and call to my father, “Dad? It’s time to go get the cat. ”
My father wanders into the room and looks around. “The cat? Where is she?”
“She’s at the doctor,” I say. (Gender is a construct.)
When we arrive at the vet, I reluctantly hand over my credit card to Kathy, and the vet tech eagerly hands over Dominic, who is lolling in his carrier, docile and high on painkillers.
“He did beautifully,” the vet tech says with a smile, as if Dominic has just aced the LSAT rather than drained my bank account.
“Thanks for taking such good care of him,” I say. It’s not lost on me that I once dreamed of being the veterinarian on the other side of this transaction. Maybe in my next life.
When we get home, I open my email and see there is a response from Gemma.
Re: Freelance help?
hey lady! Was just talking about you! Funny you should write. Ella is leaving and we need help with product copy asap
Cc’ing Adelaide to provide details
xoxoxo
G
Adelaide informs me that they need descriptions for thirty new products.
Copywriting wasn’t part of my job previously, but having been one of her first employees, I know Gemma’s sensibilities better than anyone, and I’m confident I can pull it off.
When Adelaide says they can pay me a flat fee of $500 for the rush job, I immediately accept.
It’s nearly enough to cover one of our payments to Dominic’s vet.
When we hang up, I pour myself a large whisky and contemplate the irony of my financial situation. Somehow, I’ve landed two gigs in the past week, and yet I’m deeper in debt than ever.
A few days later, a hefty box arrives from Actualize, filled with samples to help inform my writing.
Gemma wants me to “live the products” so that I can fully articulate their value to the customer.
I lay everything out on the dining table.
Among the samples are the ash bucket and accompanying accessories I had spied on Gemma’s desk back in April.
It’s a full-circle moment that leaves me feeling conflicted about being back in Gemma’s web, but at the same time, I need the money.
My father and I spend the rest of the day trying out serums, oils, creams, botanical tinctures, crystals, and infrared devices. I know I can trust him to be both candid and creative in his assessments.
“What the devil is this?” he says, holding up a comma-shaped object that’s dripping with liquid.
“It’s an eye mask. To depuff this area,” I explain, placing it under his eye, along the curve of his cheekbone. I hold up a mirror to show him his reflection.
“Looks like a leech!”
Though his commentary isn’t necessarily fodder for marketing copy, it does keep me amused as we move through the products. He doesn’t like the algae-infused mud mask (“like being licked by a slug”) but he loves the wildflower emulsion I rub onto his temples (“makes me feel like a fawn in a field”).
Finally, it’s time for me to start writing.
As I wait for the words to come, I pick up the ash bucket one more time and sniff it.
I will admit, it has a nice earthiness. I run the boar-bristle body brush along my arm and squeeze the sea sponge in my hand.
Channeling Gemma, I open my laptop and swallow my pride.
Why should bathing be a chore when it can be a sacred ritual?
Our “Manifest Destiny” collection takes inspiration from the pioneer women of yore, who traversed an untouched landscape, soaking up the elements along the way.
Think cold mountain streams, sage-scented crosswinds, and soul-soothing sunsets.
Perfect for trailblazers and trad wives alike, this collection will transport you to a purer place and a simpler time.
Go West, young woman! Go West and glow up with the country.
A few days after I send the assignment in, Gemma writes back to tell me I nailed it: Were you this good when you worked here? LOL.
I was, though I never got the chance to write copy or do anything remotely creative in my former role. I was merely Gemma’s henchman, a job I don’t miss.
She’s wondering if I’m willing to do another round.
It’s a slippery slope. I have a vision of myself on my deathbed, decades from now, wondering how I ended up working for Gemma Dwyer for the entirety of my life.
Then again, if I do four more of these copy projects, I will have made enough to pay off Dominic’s dental bill.
I say yes, but promise myself I will focus on finding more meaningful work once I’m out of debt.