Working It (8 page)

Finn turns to face Rachel. “This might be a good time to show Ms. Moreau your presentation.”

“Of course.”

Rachel pulls a small remote out of her pocket and pushes a button. The overhead lights dim, and blinds lower from the ceiling to conceal the windows. She presses another button, and a laser picture of teenagers weaving palm fronds on a white sandy beach materializes on the far wall. It is the first picture in a slide show featuring smiling children in exotic locales around the world.

“Each One, Teach One is a non-profit organization that empowers the world’s poorest citizens to reach their full potential through vocational training and life mentoring,” Rachel says, her voice low and serious. “Each One, Teach One outreach workers have helped three point two million people around the world gain the skills necessary to lead them out of poverty….”

Rachel continues her impressive sales pitch for several minutes, matching her most salient points with powerful, striking images. Her presentation is so inspiring, I am mentally writing a generous check to Each One, Teach One.

“In 2015, we opened the Sitka Edification Center.” She presses the remote and a picture of a small coastal village nestled between two snowcapped mountains materializes on the far wall. “Sitka, as you may know, is a city located on Baranof Island, one of several islands that make up an archipelago off the coast of Alaska.”

She presses the button, and a picture of a rambling three-story log cabin, the night sky above strangely aglow with wavy green lights materializes. I catch my breath.

“Our Sitka center offers vocational training to the citizens of Baranof Island, particularly Native Alaskans.” Rachel presses the remote, raising the lights. “We would like to offer you a position as an educational outreach worker at our center in Sitka.”

Working Knit

Text from Vivia Perpetua Grant:

Did you know R. H. Macy failed at seven business before finally making bank with his New York City department store? If Macy can do it, Moreau can, too!

“Sitka? This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke because nobody willingly moves to the middle of Nowhere, Alaska, except maybe hairy, toothless fisherman eager to risk their lives for a net full of stinky king crab.” Vivian gasps. “Ohmygod! Please tell me you didn’t audition to be on the Deadliest Catch.”

“What is—”

“The Deadliest Catch,” Vivian interrupts. “It’s an awful reality TV show on the Discovery Channel that follows a crew as they risk life and limb fishing for Alaskan king crab in the Bering Sea.”

The reality of my new anything-but-a-sitcom life is starting to sink in. I am moving to Sitka to teach natives about fashion design and sewing. Sitka. Alaska. I look around my modern posh apartment. What the fuck had I been thinking when I signed my name on the dotted line on a Each One, Teach One volunteer contract?

“Remember that non-profit organization I mentioned in my mission statement? Each One, Teach One?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I met with them today.” My voice suddenly wavers. “They asked me to become a community outreach something-or-other in Sitka, Alaska and I agreed.”

“What does that even mean? What does a community outreach something-or-other do?”

“I will be empowering Sitka’s poorest citizens to reach their full potential through vocational training and life mentoring,” I say, parroting Rachel. “I will teach them about fashion design and sewing.”

“So no catching king crab?”

“No.”

“That is freaking awesome, Fanny!” Vivian cries. “I am so proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because you bounced, girl. You bounced in a big way.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you could have let your termination deflate your spirit, but you didn’t. You bounced. You set aside your pain and found a worthier purpose than hocking pricey purses.” Vivian draws in a deep breath. “Do you realize what you have done? You have slipped the shackles of your materialistic life by agreeing to exchange your luxury apartment, designer wardrobe, posh city life, for an über-humble existence helping others. That is so on fleek.”

Panic seizes me like a bride clutching a gown at a Vera Wang sample sale. “Ohmygod! What have I done?” I gasp. “I can’t go to Alaska. What will I wear? Armani suits and Louboutins?”

“You will just have to go shopping for a new wardrobe.”

“Where? Cabela’s?”

“Hang on.” I can hear Vivian tapping on her keyboard, and I know she is probably googling Alaskan Attire. “No worries. There are six clothing stores in Sitka.”

“Please tell me one of those stores is Stefan Kaelin Luxury Ski Wear.”

“Nope,” Vivian laughs. “No Stefan Kaelin, but you do have your choice of fine attire from Fur Sure, Sitka Outfitters, Make Knit Work, Barren Land Surplus, Alaskan Bush Company, and One-Eyed Jack.”

“I am not buying clothes from someone named One-Eyed Jack.”

“Don’t be a hater,” Vivian admonishes. “One-Eyed Jack could be an inspired designer.”

“I doubt it.”

“You never know. Look at Karl Lagerfeld.”

“What about him?”

“He’s a big designer, and he’s blind.”

“Karl Lagerfeld is not blind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why does he wear dark sunglasses all of the time?”

“It’s his fashion statement.”

“Get out,” Vivian cries. “Who does that? Nobody wears Ray Charles sunglasses day and night unless they’re high or blind.”

“Roy Orbison wore them.”

“Roy suffered from crippling stage fright. His glasses helped him cope. It’s not the same, at all.”

I laugh and shake my head. This is classic Vivian. Frequently random and off-topic. Lost in her own stream of consciousness. She is perpetually, irrepressibly upbeat, and she can find the humor in any situation. I love that about her.

“You’re going to be okay, Fanny,” Vivian whispers. “I promise.”

Emotion clogs my throat. I wish I had my best friend’s optimism, but I am terrified that I am about to prove my father’s dire predictions right by becoming an embarrassing failure. Unrealized potential. That’s what he said after I told him I planned on pursuing a career in fashion.
Fanny, my dear, you are a tragic example of unrealized potential. You’ve been afforded the benefit of a superior lineage and an exclusive education, and this is what you do with it, become a bourgeois merchant of frocks?

“I wish I had some of your optimism, Vivian.”

“Ain’t nothing but a thing, girl,” Vivian says. “I have enough optimism for both of us. When you feel the negativity closing in, just call me. I gotcher six.”

A bubble of laughter pushes past the thick emotion clogging my throat.

“
En Anglais, s’il vous plait
.”

“I told you.” Vivian sighs. “I gotcher six means I have your back. I am protecting your most vulnerable spots.”

“Thank you, Vivian.”

“Do you want me to join you in Alaska? I have Kayak open right now. A couple of clicks and I will be winging my way to Sitka for a little QT with my best girl.”

“Thanks, but I think I need to do this alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I am not sure. Not one bit. But asking Vivian to join me in Alaska would be admitting a vulnerability, and vulnerability is not my default mode. “Besides, I don’t want you wasting your frequent flier miles on a trip to boring old Sitka.”

“Are you kidding?” Vivian protests. “I would gladly sacrifice my miles if it meant embarking on another adventure with my best friend.”

I laugh. “Scotland was adventure enough for a lifetime.”

“Pfft. That was nothing.”

“Nothing?” I laugh again, but this time it is an incredulous laugh. “You fell off a mountain. You had to be rescued by a Coast Guard helicopter. That is hardly nothing.”

“A mere trifling thing.”

“You were hospitalized for days.”

“True,” Vivian sniffs. “But it made for one helluva vacay story, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

“The thing is, Fanny, you can try to organize and manage your life, but it’s the unpredictable, messy bits that bring you the most growth and joy. If I hadn’t fallen off that mountain, I wouldn’t have had my epiphany about marrying Luc.”

“So what are you saying? That I should fall off a mountain?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Vivian says, uncharacteristically serious. “I am saying you should let go, Miss Type A. Stop trying to force your life to follow an unnaturally controlled path. You’re going through an unpredictable, messy bit right now. I know it’s frightening, but have courage. This time next year, you just might find yourself traveling in a new, happier direction.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Trust me, a lot can happen in a year.”

Bottoms Up

Text from Vivia Perpetua Grant:

When Vera Wang failed to make the U.S. Olympic figure-skating team, she made alterations to her dream (See what I did there?) by becoming an editor at Vogue. Then, after being passed over for promotions, she became a designer. Alter your dream and make it work, girl!

“Anchorage has changed.”

“Too many damned Californians. Too built up.”

“We should call it Los Anchorage.”

“Bahaha!” Sardonic laughter explodes from my lips, and the chatty passengers behind me finally fall silent. I have been listening to their less-than-scintillating conversation—about hunting for caribou, the salmon run, the best home-brewed beer, the unusually cold spring—for the last two hours. I really don’t know how much more I can take.

“Did you hear we are getting a Target?”

I groan and press my fingers to my temples, rubbing in vigorous circles. The flight attendant comes over.

“Headache?”

I nod.

He pats my shoulder. “Would two aspirin help?”

“Only if you bring a very large glass of wine to chase them with.”

“Be right back,” he says, winking.

The loquacious Alaskans aren’t the sole cause of my foul mood. When I picked up my itinerary and travel orders from Each One, Teach One yesterday, Rachel told me I would be meeting another outreacher at the hotel in Anchorage. Apparently, we are traveling from Anchorage to Sitka together. Her name is Delaney Brooks, and she is going to be my suite mate.

I hate meeting new people. I hate sharing my space with anyone—let alone some crunchy-granola environmental educator from Boulder, Colorado.

I stretch my legs, looking down at my high-heeled leather Burberry Finway boots.

Vivian would laugh if she could see me in these boots. She would tell me how impractical they were and insist I buy a pair of those hideous sheepskin boots she always wears with her jeans and band T-shirts. Uggs. They are truly the ugliest boots ever mass produced.

The flight attendant returns with my aspirin and wine. I pop the pills in my mouth and nearly drain my glass in one swallow. The lady sitting across the aisle looks at me, one eyebrow raised in silent judgment, her lips pressed together in a grim, sanctimonious line.

I raise my glass and smile.
“Salut!”

I defiantly tip the rest of the wine into my mouth. She picks up her book,
Tea with Jesus: Morning Devotions for the Baptist Woman
, and begins reading, turning the cover so it’s facing me.

The ridiculous almost-farcical nature of this moment is not lost on me. I am moving to a cultural wasteland. A place where people get excited over a Target store opening. If the passengers seated around me are any indication of what Alaskans are like, I am going to be a fish out of water. I don’t hunt. I don’t drink beer, unless it’s from Belgium. I don’t read religious books. The only thing I have ever purchased from Target was a box of tampons.

I order another glass of wine, pop a pair of earplugs into my ears, and pretend I am winging my way to Milan.

* * * *

By the time we touch down at Ted Stevens International Airport in sunny Los Anchorage, I am working a pretty good buzz. The kind of buzz that makes me feel like I am wrapped in a cocoon as warm and fuzzy as Vivian’s hideous, trendy sheepskin-lined Uggs.

Pulling my rolling carryon behind me, I follow the crush of passengers down the boarding ramp and through the terminal. I am not sure what I expected the Anchorage Airport to look like—perhaps a World War II era Quonset hut filled with cheap plastic chairs and vending machines—but I never expected it to be a sleek, modern facility with local artwork hanging on the walls and massive windows offering panoramic views of distant snowcapped mountains.

I roll past a glass case displaying shaman masks, sealskin boots, and fur parkas. I pause when I come to a second display case, this one containing the stuffed carcass of the largest Kodiak bear ever killed by a human being. The bear has been posed in an attack stance, standing on its hind legs, gigantic paws outstretched, claws poised to rip flesh from bone. The wooden plaque affixed to the display case lets curious onlookers know that this dead beast has a thirty and twelve-sixteenth skull score. Whatever that means.

“Awesome, isn’t he?”

I turn and find Ms. Los Anchorage, the chatty passenger seated behind me during the flight, standing beside me, staring up at the stuffed bear.

“He certainly is,” I say, looking back at the plaque. “It says this bear was ‘harvested in Anchorage in 1997.’ That must have been when the city was still relatively small and less developed. You probably don’t see bears in Anchorage anymore, do you?”

“Twenty years ago, the hills around Anchorage were filled with moose, dall sheep, red fox, black bears, and brown bears, especially in the spring when the lingonberries and blueberries were ripe for the picking”—she sighs heavily and shakes her head—“but that was before the snowbirds arrived.”

“Snowbirds?”

“People from the lower forty-eight,” she says. “They watch those damned reality TV shows—
Alaska State Troopers, Deadliest Catch, Man Versus Nature
—and then they move here, their heads filled with silly romantic notions about living in the last frontier. They bring their fancy SUVs and Starbucks.”