Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (11 page)

     When the music began to play—the offering always followed the sermon at the Victorious Living Center—Greg pulled out his checkbook. In the back of his mind he knew he was acting in spite of Nicole’s reservations, but he told himself he was just exercising faith . . . boldly. “Give and it will be given to you!” He whispered the promise to himself as he wrote the check for twice their normal tithe.

* * * *

That afternoon as Greg was reviewing some of his contacts, getting ready for the next day, the doorbell rang. He let Nicole answer it.

     “Nicole?” said a woman’s voice. “We met last weekend when Mrs. Krakowski came back to the neighborhood.”

     “Sure, I remember . . . Michelle Jasper, right?”

     “And I’m Jared.” Man’s voice. “Is your husband home? I actually came down to see him, and my wife wanted to come along to say hi.”

     Now Greg knew who was at the door. He’d spoken with the man and his son that evening. African American family. Lived at the other end of Beecham.

     “You want to come in?” Nicole said. “Greg?” His wife stepped to the living room archway. “Someone to see you.”

     Greg saved the file he was working on and rose to meet his guest. “Hey, Jared, come on in and have a seat. I was just doing a little catch-up.” He gestured toward his computer.

     As they shook hands, the women wandered into the kitchen.

     “So, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

     “Well . . .” The man appeared a little self-conscious. “The other evening when the Bentleys had that welcome party for Mrs. Krakowski, you mentioned the possibility of going to a boat show you’re putting on—down at Burnham Harbor, I think you said it was.”

     Greg nodded. Oh yes, and he’d magnanimously offered to arrange a ride in a cigarette boat. What had he been thinking?

     “Anyway,” Jared continued, “I have to miss an important family trip Memorial Day weekend—got a conflict, you know—so I’m hoping to make it up to the kids by doing something special with them. I remembered the boat show you mentioned. My oldest son seemed especially interested.”

     “Oh, I’m sure they’d enjoy it. It starts June third at Burnham Harbor, goes through the weekend. But, uh . . .” Greg leaned forward, elbows on knees, and rubbed his hands together. How was he gonna say this? “Unfortunately, I’m not with Powersports any longer. I’m in the middle of a job change, lookin’ at some new possibilities.” He sat up and raised both hands over his head like a referee signaling goal or a man who’d just been freed, not fired.

     “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

     “No, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m movin’ on to better things. I’d been at Powersports too long as it was.”

     “Well, I guess that’s good, then. You got something specific lined up?”

     “Let’s put it this way, I’ve got plenty of solid connections. The only thing is, my connections probably wouldn’t get me free passes for
this
show. But hey, tickets aren’t too expensive, ten bucks online if you buy them ahead. Just put in ‘Burnham Harbor In-Water Show.’ There’ll be all kinds of activities, a lot of really cool boats to see, demonstrations of every extreme watersport you can imagine. And . . .” He thought about his earlier offer. “You might be able to talk your way into a boat ride, though probably not in that cigarette boat I mentioned unless you’re serious about buying one.”

     Jared laughed. “Not hardly. How much do those things cost, anyway?”

     “Oh, you can spend over a hundred grand on them real quick.”

     “Yeah, well, we’re not ready for the life of the rich and famous just yet, if you know what I mean.”

     Both men laughed to ease the awkwardness.

     Jared stood up. “Well, listen, I won’t keep you any longer. But I appreciate you thinking of us earlier. And I’ll be praying that you get the right new job.”

     “That’d be great. I appreciate that.”

     After the couple left, Greg realized he’d never asked Jared what kind of work he did. Not good. He’d make a point next time they met. Would’ve been one way to get the conversation off his own “job issues” too.

* * * *

Monday brought warm weather and blue skies with scattered, cottony clouds. Greg met it with the eagerness of a racehorse at the starting gate.

     There was, of course, still the question of how much he should reveal to those he called about Powersports’ situation. But having been “fired”—yeah, his self-image was strong enough to use that word—he didn’t feel the same obligation to keep Chuck Hastings’ secret. Apparently, the news was already out there, though he wasn’t ready to accept the full blame. And by now, Hastings would’ve spoken to several other exhibitors, any of which could’ve passed the word.

     In fact, it could be online by now. Greg typed “Trade Show Executive Magazine” into the Google search on his computer. As soon as the page came up, he scanned the “Breaking News” column. Hmm. No mention of Powersports Expos yet, but it could flash up there at any time. Okay. He wouldn’t explicitly announce Powersports’ demise to anyone, but he wouldn’t worry if someone else figured it out. Besides, with all that Hastings was dealing with at this point, it was unlikely he’d remember to call Greg and release him to say whatever he wanted to those gold-star exhibitors he prized so highly. They were Greg’s top candidates for a job too.

     From his contact list, Greg made sure he remembered the person he was calling, how to pronounce his name, exactly what he did in the company, as well as reviewing the last emails or letters they’d exchanged. He also went online to refresh himself with the company’s latest news, product promotions, and other features. He wanted to be completely informed and prepared.

     Nicole and the kids were in the lower family room getting started on the day’s lessons. He could hear Nicole’s gentle voice as she helped Nate sound out new words in the story he was trying to read. Nathan had been slower to begin reading than Becky, who was reading chapter books by this age, but it sounded like Nate was finally getting it.

     At five minutes to ten Greg started calling, late enough for his contact to have cleared away any urgent business that had collected over the weekend but hopefully before he got mired in the day’s work.

     Not many boat manufacturers were in the Chicago area. There was a company that built high-performance propellers, another that specialized in custom conversions, and a couple of racing boat builders who worked mostly on a project-by-project basis for the super rich. But there
were
a lot of boat dealers.

     The first dealer Greg called was Roger Wilmington at Potawatomi Watercraft up on the Chain o’ Lakes, the guy who’d let Greg use their cottage on Deep Lake. It would be a long commute, but a lot of people did that.

     “Are you telling me you’re actually looking for a position?” Roger asked once Greg had plowed the ground, so to speak.

     “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m ready to move into a more commercial role.”

     “Well, you’d be the man for it. How’d that in-water show go you did a couple of weeks ago in Waukegan? Sorry we couldn’t make it, but we had too much going on here.”

     “It was a good show.” Greg took heart. Didn’t sound like Potawatomi was in the kind of financial trouble he’d picked up in other quarters of the industry.

     “Any boats sell?”

     “Not as many as we would’ve liked, that’s for sure.” Greg knew Roger would find out the facts sooner or later. “But I think it would’ve made a big difference if Potawatomi had been there. Sometimes it comes down to chemistry. Know what I’m saying?”

     “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. That’s the key.” There was a lull in the conversation. Finally, Roger picked it up. “So you’re thinkin’ about a move. When might you be available?”

     “I actually could spring real soon. Chuck and I have had a good working relationship, and I think he understands what I’m looking for.”

     “So he already knows?”

     “Oh yeah. No secret there. And he’s glad to give me a good recommendation, if you need one. But then we actually know each other pretty well.”

     “That’s good. Listen, Greg, let me get back to you on this. We’re due for some reorganization around here, and you just might fit into our future. How ’bout if I get back to you next week, uh . . .” He paused, probably checking a calendar. “Oh man, can you believe it? Next Monday’s Memorial Day. I’ll call you Tuesday, a week from tomorrow. In the meantime, send over your résumé so I can have some talking points when I bring this up to the others.”

     “Will do. Thanks, Roger.” He started to take the phone away from his ear. “Oh, and Roger . . .?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Just thought I’d let you know. You’re the first person I called . . . today.”

     “All right. I’ll get back to you.”

     Roger had been the first person he’d called
today
. He almost hadn’t added that qualifier. But then there’d been those calls from the office that had gotten him in trouble. Though he’d counted those more as “feelers” than actual job hunting.

     He laid down the phone and leaned back in his chair for a big stretch. God was going to come through. He could feel it already. Blessing upon blessing.

Chapter 11

Greg knew he couldn’t count on the job with Potawatomi Watercraft until it was actually offered, but Roger Wilmington had been so encouraging—almost like it was a sure thing—that Greg found it hard to keep looking. There really weren’t any boat manufacturers in the Chicago area that interested him, but he kept himself on task, calling all the large boat dealers, ATV dealers, and snowmobile people within commuting distance.

     Tuesday midmorning he overheard Nicole whisper loudly to Nate as he came up the basement stairs to get their snacks. “Don’t go in the living room. You mustn’t bother Daddy. He’s very busy.”

     “But why?”

     “Because he’s working at home today. So that’s his office, and you’re not to go in there and bother him.”

     “But I use’ta phone him at his other office.”

     “Well, this is different, and you can’t bother him today. What he’s doing is very important.”

     Nate stomped into the kitchen, and Greg could imagine the big frown on his face, but he didn’t come into the living room.

     Nicole’s support eased Greg’s mind. That’s what he needed, for them to be together in this quest. And it crossed his mind he ought to give Nicole that kind of support as well. He should probably drop that thing about Lincoln Paddock. After all, like she said, he was probably just being a good neighbor. They needed more neighbors like that on Beecham Street. He could remember when he was a kid how every parent on the block took charge of the kids. And during the summers a couple of moms would round up all the kids, load them in a van, and take them to the pool for the day. That’s what neighbors were for. Of course, back in the day they were all moms, not some playboy hitting on his wife—

    
Stop it, Greg!
he told himself. If he wanted Nicole to trust him, he needed to trust her. He had to put those suspicions out of his mind. What was it “The Love Chapter” in First Corinthians said? “Love . . . thinks no evil . . . believes all things, hopes all things.” That’s where his head needed to be, especially at a time like this.

     As the week advanced, his job search proved a sobering process. There simply weren’t a lot of opportunities out there. Tony Barns with Sea-Doo down in southern Illinois had been right—in a job market like this, he’d be smart to stay put. Only that was no longer an option. So he kept working the phone, sending out résumés, searching the web for other opportunities. As perfect as Potawatomi sounded, it seemed smart to develop alternatives. In fact, maybe he should be prepared to accept a slightly lower salary than he’d hoped for if it allowed them to stay in Chicago—and he would, too, if necessary. Though he pushed aside the nagging question of how that would fit with his vision for greater prosperity.

     To find alternatives, he stepped outside the field of sports to see what might be open at the Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events for the City of Chicago. The city sponsored huge events all summer long. Unfortunately, the mayor’s office had hired a new “Relationship Manager”—the position that might have interested Greg—earlier that year, and by all accounts she was doing very well.

     Next, Greg contacted McCormick Place, the Allstate Arena, the United Center, the Bears, the Bulls, the White Sox, the Cubs, the Blackhawks—any facility or organization that might need someone with his skills. Theaters, museums, even big hotels required someone capable of organizing and promoting major events. And he was their man.

     Only he wasn’t. After five days, Greg turned up only three open positions, and none of them attracted him. FarMor Marketing wanted an events coordinator and described itself as “a company committed to our consumers and results for our clients. Our goal is to expand through cross-training the appropriate individuals in all aspects of business and marketing, to build strong managers to take on additional campaigns . . .
blah, blah, blah.”
So much jargon Greg couldn’t even figure out what FarMor did. A couple of universities needed events coordinators, but the salaries they posted didn’t come close to Greg’s vision of new—or old—prosperity.

     Nevertheless, by Friday afternoon, he felt like he’d done his due diligence in looking for local alternatives. If Potawatomi didn’t offer him a job next Tuesday, he’d have to look outside the Chicago area.

* * * *

In spite of Monday being Memorial Day, Greg went to work refining his “outside-Chicago” call list. Should he start calling those contacts first thing Tuesday morning? Or wait until he heard from Roger Wilmington? What was the balance between faith and wisdom? The old song Pastor Hanson always quoted said, “Take your burden to the Lord and leave it there. If you trust and never doubt, He will surely bring you out.” But that seemed kind of passive, perhaps even irresponsible when he could use his time to get a jump on exploring alternatives.