Authors: Wanda Degolier
“No. No breakfast?”
“I’ll grab something later.”
Ben frowned. “I’ll run to my hotel to get my laptop while you’re out.”
“Sure.”
Helen rang Agatha’s doorbell at precisely 10:30 a.m. Within the span of a few heartbeats, the door cracked open. Agatha poked her head out, scanned the street, then invited Helen in.
“How’s Jeremy?” Agatha asked as soon as the door was closed.
Helen relayed the little news she had.
“I researched what his withdrawals will be like.” Agatha ventured further into the house. “When his cravings hit, I worry he’ll cause damage.”
“Don’t be worried about my basement. Nothing down there is worth much.”
“Maybe this will be a turning point for him.” Agatha sounded hopeful. She sat in a chair at her dining room table. “It can’t get much worse.”
Helen touched Agatha’s arm in comfort. “Things will turn out okay.”
Agatha’s jaw twitched. “Shall we get started? There’s a lot to cover, and I’ve got a hair appointment at noon.” Agatha pushed an inch-thick folder toward her. Frowning, Helen sat. In spite of her ignorance, Hot Diggitys had run successfully for years.
“Have you implemented any of my latest recommendations?” Agatha asked.
“Some. Everyone is wearing matching T-shirts now, and I dropped the AvocaDog from the menu. I also worked the last two weekends. I have to tell you, those DerFoodle Dogs are selling like mad.”
“Excellent. I don’t have monthly information from previous years, so I can’t tell you where your revenue is in comparison, but I suspect you’ll reach last year’s annual revenue by September.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. Thank you for helping us become more profitable.” The Hot Diggitys’ bank account proved something was going right.
Agatha beamed. “So are you ready to take Hot Diggitys to the next level?”
Helen’s expression froze. “I’m not sure right now is the time to ‘take Hot Diggitys to the next level.’ Things are kind of hectic right now.”
“I’m not asking you to work harder or more; I’m asking you to work smarter.”
Helen eyed the folder. She didn’t want to disappoint Agatha, but she’d rather ease into the changes at a slower pace. “What’s your idea?”
“To franchise.”
Helen’s eyebrows cocked up to form an M. “Like McDonalds?”
“Them and a whole host of businesses.”
It sounded grandiose, so out of her league. Helen squirmed. “Isn’t starting a franchise expensive?”
“The way I see things, you have two options. One: apply for a small business loan, which you would get by the way. Two: sell some of your stocks to an investor. The money wouldn’t be a loan, but of course, you’d be splitting up your ownership.”
Helen bristled, she didn’t want to split ownership
or
take on debt. “How about we leave things the way they are?”
“Fine choice if your goal is to live from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.”
“It’s not quite that bad Agatha. Who would want to invest in a hot dog stand?”
“Have you been listening to me at all these weeks? You’re sitting on a gold mine. I’d be stupid not to snatch the opportunity.”
“You? I can’t take your money. I know our profits are up, but truly Agatha, you’re being kind.”
“Snap out of it. As your friend and self-appointed consultant, I’m telling you, you’re playing too small. Why work as hard as you do and not earn more money.”
“But… they’re… hot dogs,” Helen said for lack of a better argument.
“Yeah and Oscar Meyer was just some guy’s name before he started a company,” Agatha said. “Can I be honest with you, Helen?”
“You always are.”
“Honesty is a virtue.” She cocked her eyebrow in emphasis. “Listen to me. You could do amazing things with Hot Diggitys. You’re smart, you’re creative, and you’re incredibly resourceful.”
“Thank you?”
“But you lack conviction you’ve grown used to living small.”
Helen grew cross. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I live. I don’t want a fancy house or a fancy car. So what.”
“Helen.” Agatha exhaled and got an I’m-winding-up-for-a-speech gleam in her eyes. “As I’ve grown older, I recognize that I didn’t do what I wanted because I was afraid. I see so much potential in you. You’re smarter than you think you are. You’ve decided it’s okay that you never went to college or had the career you wanted.”
Helen crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.
Agatha went on. “You’re okay without having a life-long companion, and you have this pleasant, settled serenity about you.”
Her blood pressure rising, Helen forced a tight smile.
“You put Theo’s needs before your own, but Theo’s almost a man. Your time has come. Right now.” Agatha thumped the table for emphasis.
“You think franchising Hot Diggitys is what I need to do because I’m coming into my time?” Helen asked.
“The joy lies in trying.”
“The journey,” Helen said flatly. Agatha reminded her of a self-help book.
“Exactly, the reason I push you is because I’ve made the same mistakes. The biggest thing I regret in my life is not taking chances. Well no more for me, I refuse.” Agatha held a palm up. “I’m not asking you to make Hot Diggitys your
life
, I’m just asking you to gamble a little. Take some risks.”
Helen’s chest rose and fell. “What if the franchise fails, both the investor and I would lose money right?” Helen’s nerves were tangled in knots. Agatha’s timing was horrible, but she was correct, Helen preferred the safer route.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What do you see yourself doing if you’re part owner?”
“The role I’m already playing: getting patents and trademarks, doing research. Do you know what’s in my office as we speak?”
“A mess?” Helen joked, but Agatha didn’t crack a smile. “What?”
“A franchise kit.”
Helen took a deep breath. “So what would my job be?”
“Your current role: General Manager, the inventor of new recipes, and, of course, heading up quality control. This whole thing wouldn’t be possible if you hadn’t already built up a good reputation and product line. We start locally. Open stands in Tacoma, Seattle, Federal Way.”
Helen shook her head. “I need to think about this. I can’t just jump in the way you want me to. Things are crazy right now. I’m getting close to finals in my class, and Hot Diggitys is getting busier all the time.”
“And Ben’s in your life,” Agatha added.
Helen bristled. “He’s not
in
my life. He’s here for Theo, besides he’ll be going home soon.”
Agatha smiled as if placating a child. “I consider myself a pretty good judge of character,” Agatha paused, “and Ben’s all right.”
Helen shrugged. “He’s Theo’s dad regardless.”
“Maybe you should spread your wings in that direction too.”
“Agatha Cashman.” Helen plopped one fist on the table. “You’re not suggesting I get…cozy with him, are you?”
Agatha straightened her back. “Don’t deny your attraction. Something is going on between the two of you.”
“Yeah. Theo.”
Agatha quirked half a smile. “Enjoy your chemistry, it may never happen again.”
Helen covered her embarrassment with a cough. She stood. “I need to go, I have a few errands to run before work.”
“Tell Ben and Jeremy ‘hi’ and remember,
carpe diem
.”
Helen was almost scared to ask. “What’s that mean?”
“Seize the day.”
Helen stood. “I have a busy day ahead, I should go.”
Agatha held Helen’s folder out. “Don’t forget this.”
****
While Helen met with Agatha, Ben retrieved his laptop from his hotel room. He returned to find Helen was gone, so he sat at the kitchen table and began doing triage on his email.
Two hours later, after handling the urgent items, Ben googled
drug-withdrawal symptoms
. He suspected Jeremy’s detoxification would be worse than Helen and Agatha anticipated and hoped to head off problems.
He discovered different types of drugs had different withdrawal symptoms. Worse, he learned a person could die during detoxification. Possible death changed everything.
Ben sucked down the rest of his coffee in one long drink. He needed to find out what drugs Jeremy had taken. After preparing a tray with toast, banana, and apple juice, he opened the door to the stairwell. His nostrils flared as a vinegary scent wafted up. For a few seconds he stared into the black abyss, before flicking on the light.
“Oh man!” Jeremy’s unsteady voice drifted up. “Let there be light.” He cackled.
Given what Ben had read about withdrawal symptoms, the response baffled him. He descended the stairs, and as Jeremy came into view, Ben’s unease multiplied. Jeremy sat upright with closed eyes. One arm was outstretched, the fingers twitching, while the other was bent at the elbow with the hand shaking up and down. Jeremy lip-synced to a song playing only in his head.
About to call Jeremy’s name, Ben spied the glint of something metallic next to the beanbag. A knife? Common sense dictated not getting near Jeremy, but a voice inside Ben’s head asked,
if not you, then who?
Ben lowered the plate of food to the floor, got down on hands and knees, and crawled closer. Jeremy’s head bobbed to his internal music while his fingers strummed. Ben stretched his fingers toward the metal object, but it was too far. He inched closer, and this time when he reached out, he caught hold of the item.
“Whoa!” Jeremy’s skeletal arm shot out and grabbed Ben’s forearm. Ben jerked away and scooted out of reach.
The object, a spoon, was covered with black soot on the convex side and glistened on the concave side.
“Give that back.” Jeremy held out his hand.
At the internal bend of Jeremy’s elbow was a fiery-red circle. A black rubber tube poked out where the spoon had been. Ben felt nauseated, Jeremy’s shooting up in Helen’s house seemed sacrilege. “Hand over the drugs,” Ben said, his hand outstretched.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Give me back my fucking spoon.”
He gestured to someone invisible. “He’s ruining my high. Fucking jerk.”
“You will not shoot up in this house again.”
Jeremy crossed his eyes and stuck out his splotchy tongue then burst into laughter.
“How long ago did you use?” Ben asked.
“Do you see a fucking clock? I’m like a caged animal, no, worse. I don’t know whether it’s day or night. No television, no food. Prisoners got better accommodations. At least they get some daylight.”
Jeremy ranted himself to distraction, and Ben slipped the spoon into the back pocket of his pants.
“How’s your bladder?” Ben asked when Jeremy paused to take a breath.
“I need to piss like a race horse.”
“Let’s get you to the toilet before I’ll give you the food I brought down then.”
Ben got to within striking distance, and half expected Jeremy to stab him with his syringe. To his surprise, Jeremy cooperated, and propping him up was easier than Ben had expected. The high Jeremy was more agile than the sober one. Jeremy used the crutches as Ben manhandled the bucket. Once they reached the toilet, Ben headed back to the center of the basement. He flung the beanbag aside, found the tubing, a syringe, a lighter, and a small plastic bag with white powder.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Jeremy’s arms flailed as he leaned toward Ben.
“I’ll be right back.” Ben carried the drugs and paraphernalia upstairs while Jeremy shouted a string of expletives. He was still wailing after the contents of the plastic bag were flushed down the toilet.
Ben returned to the basement, where Jeremy stood in front of the toilet with his face glowing red. “You stole my Aunt Hazel! Mine. I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
“Aunt Hazel?”
“Fuck off.”
Given Jeremy’s mood, Ben wouldn’t go near him, but he didn’t like leaving Jeremy standing in front of the toilet. He tossed the beanbag chair in Jeremy’s direction followed by the pillows and the blankets.
With his toe, he pushed the tray of food, sans the spoon, to within Jeremy’s reach.
“I hate you,” Jeremy said, tears streaming down his face. “You really are ruining my high.”
“I want to help you through the withdrawals, so tell me what you’re addicted to?”
“Fuck off Mr. Fucker Fuckhead.”
Ben raked a hand through his hair. He pitied Jeremy. “If you need anything,
other than drugs,
clap your hands.”
Ben returned to the kitchen and Googled
Aunt Hazel
. He expected charming stories of little old ladies, instead, he got heroine. Shit. The only benefit to Jeremy’s using earlier that day was that Ben had time to do more research before Jeremy went into withdrawals.
Ben checked his email; seventeen new messages. His shoulders sagged, his workload would be unbearable by the time he returned. He scanned the subject lines, opened a few, and began responding to one when Helen came through the door carrying two bags of groceries. She set them on the counter then sat in the chair across from him.
“You won’t believe what Agatha is suggesting,” she said.
Helen Ben closed his laptop, giving her his full attention. “What?”
Helen told him Agatha recommended franchising Hot Diggitys, and that she wanted to be an investor. Ben listened while reveling in the fact Helen was sharing the news with him. Helen finished by saying she didn’t know what she was going to do.
“What are the pros and cons?” Ben asked.
“The pro is money. Hopefully, anyway. Some traveling too.” Her face lit up. “I mean if Hot Diggitys took off. I’d be going to new locations. I’ve only been out of Washington State twice.” Her eyes sparked then faded, and she sighed.
“The cons?”
Helen took a deep breath. “I guess I’m a wimp.” She frowned. “I don’t want to risk Agatha’s money or anyone else’s. Plus, I don’t want to quit college, when I just started taking classes, and franchising would suck up all my time.”
Ben wanted to fold her protectively in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. “Are you positive expanding would take more time?”
“Starting a franchise would. How could it not?”
“You could hire a full-time manager for Hot Diggitys.”
Helen seemed thoughtful. “I suppose. Hot Diggitys
is
doing better.”
“I think franchising is a viable option,” Ben added.
“The idea is scary and exciting.” Helen’s muted enthusiasm gave him hope.
“Imagine opening restaurants in the international market: Europe, Australia, Hong Kong,” Ben said.
Helen’s eyes glittered. “It all sounds good, but things almost never go the way they’re planned.” Her tone sounded resigned. “Have you checked on Jeremy?”