Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
NATALIE
“You can’t. He’s in there with?—”
Victor’s assistant can tell me I can’t all she likes. The fury that’s brought me here drives me to charge right past her and toward the carved-wood door to his office.
Heart pounding in my chest, blood pumping in my veins, I haul it open.
Four surprised faces turn to stare at me.
“Natalie, we’re just in the middle of?—”
I silence Victor with my hand. I mean, it’s not like he can fire me. Although he’s done a good impression of that by sidelining me to let the Monster of Broadway take over early.
“So glad I’ve caught the whole arts committee together,” I tell them.
Judging by the burning sensation in my face, I must look like I ran here from Senior Central, rather than the parking lot out back. And judging from the sweat on the back of my neck, my body thinks I might have too .
“Do you have an appointment?” Gavin asks, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
They’re all holding cups and saucers and sitting in armchairs around a low table set with a tray, a teapot, and two plates of cookies and slices of cake. It’s like I’ve stumbled upon a relaxing afternoon at Buckingham Palace.
Victor clinks his cup back onto the saucer and places it on the table, while Uzma spoons sugar into her tea and Dorothy pops the final piece of a slice of yellow cake into her mouth.
“Too urgent for an appointment.” Sweltering, I yank off my hat. “Do you all know what that appalling woman is doing to the play?”
“Natalie, we—” Whatever Dorothy was about to say is interrupted by her coughing like her cake went down the wrong way.
Gavin leans across the gap between their two chairs and pats her on the back. “Cough up chicken,” he says, “there’s a duck in the oven.”
“What are you talking about?” Uzma asks.
Gavin looks around his fellow council members, stunned to find them all baffled. “You’ve never heard that saying before?”
They shake their heads.
“My grandmother used to say it,” he says with a shrug, like that explains it.
“But what does it mean?” Uzma asks.
“No idea,” Gavin says. “Never thought about it before. It’s just become a family saying when someone coughs. Because of Grandma.”
“Hmm.” Victor scratches his chin. “Chickens and ducks. Interesting.”
“Maybe it’s something from the days when there were lots of farmers.” Uzma desperately tries to rationalize the madness.
“My grandma used to say, ‘It’s not the cough that carries you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off in,’” Dorothy adds to the confusion.
Good God. Will they not shut up about chickens and ducks and grandmas and coffins?
“Look.” At my harsh tone, they turn back to me with oh-we-forgot-you-were-here expressions.
“Divina is ruining everything. I have no idea why you gave her the job. She’s obviously completely ill-suited to it. She has zero empathy. Less than zero understanding of children. And is turning the Christmas play into a one-woman off-Main Street show.”
“Well, we do think?—”
I don’t give one single fuck what Dorothy thinks. “She flounces around in her flouncy clothes, dropping names so often and so heavily I’m surprised there aren’t dents in the floor. And that’s all she cares about. Trying to impress people with her past credentials. Yes, the kids could benefit from learning from someone with way more actual acting experience than I have. But I can promise you, with one hundred percent certainty, that they will learn nothing from this particular someone.”
“But, Nat?—”
“Absolutely no buts,” I snap at Gavin. “She wanted to put a piano on the ice. Did you know that?” They glance at each other like they’re embarrassed for me that I’m standing here having a tantrum.
Screw that. Gabe and Aunt Lou might think I don’t stand up for myself enough, but I sure as hell will stand up for what’s best for these kids.
“So, apart from anything else, you should be concerned about her from a health and safety standpoint.” An added layer of form-filling might just be the kick in the butt they need. “We weren’t allowed to have the kids on the stage because of the fire damage, but she wants to put a whole-ass piano on a frozen pond that has kids standing on it, and you’re fine with that?”
“The thing is, Nat?—”
Uzma, who I usually like because at least she has a good brain in her head, can shut the hell up too, I’m on a roll. “I know it’s none of my business. I know I resigned. And I know I’m moving away.” And those are the first words that make my voice crack. There’s a growing tremble in my chest, but I am not done with these people yet. “I know you can appoint whoever you like to replace me. But I need you to know you’ve made a terrible mistake.”
They stare back in silence now.
Gavin drains his teacup, sets it on the saucer and holds it in his lap. Uzma and Dorothy look at each other, then turn to Victor, whose elbows rest on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.
“Please.” My voice is losing its power. “Please don’t inflict her on the kids. She’s all wrong for the job. So wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong. She’ll drive a steamroller right over everything I’ve built here these last six years.”
There’s a swelling lump in my throat and a dangerous prickle behind my eyes. I cannot cry in front of these people. I will not cry in front of these people.
I cough to try to get my voice back. “And, honestly, the kids might all quit. Then there’d be no program at all. And that would be a massive loss for the children and future children of Warm Springs. Some of these kids have a shitty time at home and a shitty time at school, and for them the drama program is the only joy in their week.” Okay, maybe I might cry in front of them. “Please don’t take away their only joy.”
I might be fighting back tears, but I’m fucking proud of myself for standing up for what’s right. For not caring what they think of me for speaking up.
Sure, maybe the only reason I don’t care is because I’m hardly ever going to see them again. But still, the me of ten days ago would have silently raged with fury and said nothing. At least something good has come from the whole Gabe situation.
He would be proud of me. I know he would.
But the most important thing right now is that I’m proud of me.
“Natalie.” Victor leans forward. “Would you take a seat for a moment?”
I search my pockets and come up with one old crumpled tissue and blow my nose on it. “I’m fine standing, thanks.”
“The whole reason we’re having this meeting is to discuss that exact thing.”
“Yes,” Dorothy says. “My grandson came home in tears yesterday. Told me Divina had changed his role from Second Fisherman to Arranger of the Train of Her Cloak after she’s positioned herself for her song.”
A flash of outrage sets off my heart again. “She did that to Jacob? He’d worked so hard on casting his line into the pretend fishing hole. What is she think?—”
“As I was saying,” Victor interrupts to prevent my rant from resuming, “we are aware of the situation. The number of complaints we’ve had in the last three days is many, many times the number of complaints we’ve had in the last six years.”
“So that means you’ve had complaints about me ?” This is the first I’ve heard about it.
“That’s not what I’d want you to take from that sentence,” Uzma says. “I think the only call under your watch was about four years ago from a parent who was upset her son wasn’t selected to sing the lead in the summer musical.”
“What?” Then it dawns on me. “Ah. Barnaby Ruck. Beyond tone deaf. Like a serious fingers-in-ears job. His parents tried to bribe me to give him the part. They showed up one day with an actual brown envelope stuffed with cash. It was like something out of a spy movie.”
“If the spies’ kids couldn’t sing,” Uzma says with a smile, clearly trying to lighten the proceedings.
“Well,” Gavin says. “The important thing is your record is unblemished.”
“And Divina has managed to smear hers with multiple blemishes in seventy-two hours,” Dorothy says, rolling her eyes over her teacup.
“Anyway.” Victor sighs. “The long and the short of it is that we can admit when we’ve made a mistake.”
“When who has made a mistake?” Uzma presses her palms together in her lap.
“Okay, okay.” Victor stands up and pushes his hands into his pants pockets as he walks around his chair. “I admit she was mainly my idea.”
Gavin reaches for a cookie. “ Mainly is a bit of an understatement,” he mutters.
Dorothy and Uzma shoot each other looks and tiny smirks.
“Maybe if you had a really big talk with her,” I suggest, “you might be able to get her to understand. ”
Victor takes hold of the back of his chair and leans forward on it. “That’s very generous of you, Natalie.”
“Always so good-hearted like that,” Dorothy adds.
That’s a compliment I am happy to accept.
“But,” Victor continues, “I think Divina is possibly beyond repair when it comes to trying to make her the right person for this job.”
“Yup.” Uzma meets my gaze, a smile in her eyes. “We’ve made him see the light.”
“I think it was the complaint about her insisting the sequins be removed from the icicle costumes because they clash with her hat that was the final straw,” Gavin says.
Oh my God. They really are going to get rid of her. My body and brain struggle to cope with this roller coaster of emotions. I’m so awash with relief that I have to clasp my hands to stop them from trembling. And I now wish I had sat down because my knees are a bit wobbly too.
But there’s a fire in my belly I haven’t felt before. A fire from fighting for how valuable I am, for my own worth. Yes, I know I’m good at my job, but I’ve never blown my own trumpet about it. Maybe I should do that more.
I stand a little taller, pull my shoulders back. Is this how confident people feel? People like Gabe who never have an ounce of uncertainty about how great they are at what they do? It’s a weird feeling—not like I’m showing off, which is how I always thought it would feel, more like I’m just telling the truth about my own knowledge and abilities.
“Okay, well, anyway.” Victor straightens and takes long strides across the office to his desk that sits in front of two tall windows. “Before you got here, we had a serious conversation. And we realize that this is a tricky role to fill. It will take approximately two weeks to get approval for the wording of a new job posting. Then regulations say it has to be advertised for two weeks. Then there’s another two weeks assessing the applications. Then we have to give at least two weeks’ notice to applicants of their interviews. Then it’ll take another couple of weeks to decide who to call back for a second interview. We have to give at least two weeks’ notice for those as well. Then after we’ve interviewed the final candidates it will take us at least two more weeks to decide. Then we’ll have to let them know our decision and the lucky candidate will likely have to give at least two weeks’ notice on their current job, so we’ll be looking at…”
He stares out of the window while he tries to add up how many multiples of two weeks he’s just rattled off.
“The long and the short of it is,” he says, clearly having given up on the calendar math, “it would take us an incredibly long time to find anyone like you to do this job.”
“We’d never find anyone like Natalie,” Uzma says.
“No,” Gavin agrees.
“Absolutely not,” Dorothy adds.
“They’re right.” Victor taps his fingers on the edge of his desk. “No one could even hope to scratch the surface of the drive and passion you have for not only the kids but the community itself.”
His words turn my fingers and toes ice cold. He’s clearly building up to saying they are scrapping the program—or at the very least putting it on hold. Dear God, no.
Victor walks around to the front of his desk and perches on the edge. “And given the dearth of qualified applicants when we posted the position in the first place and the issues we are now experiencing with the candidate we selected, we are in somewhat of a quandary because?—”
“Oh, for the love of God, Victor. Shut up.” Uzma stands up and looks at me as she straightens her skirt. “It’s good to see this fight in you, Natalie. Inspiring, in fact.” Dorothy and Gavin nod and make noises of agreement. “So what we really need to ask you is—is your heart absolutely set on moving to New Orleans?”
“Um.” Victor’s gaze darts from one committee member to the next. “This is all exceptionally irregular. Not to mention a little prematur?—”
Uzma’s side-eye to Victor immediately silences him.
My brain freezes, stuck on trying to process what she just said. I glance from one face to the next, each one looking at me with a hopeful smile. A pleading, hopeful smile. Well, except Victor, who’s folded his arms and has more of a resigned look of okay then on his face.
Are they asking me to stay?
My stomach flips over. The domino effect of the consequences if I were to undo my plans for moving and back out of the new job rattles across my brain. “What?”
Gavin picks up one of the plates and holds it toward me. “I bet you can’t get cake like Kneads Must’s in New Orleans.”