Key of Knowledge
Page 53
“Stop killing us with suspense.” Dana picked up a cookie. “Give.”
“Okay. I was thinking about a logo, you know something that incorporates all three businesses. Of course, we might all want separate ones anyway, but we could use one logo for letterhead, business cards, the Web page.”
“Web page.” Pursing her lips, Dana nodded. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Pays to plan. You remember Tod.”
“Sure. Really cute guy you worked with at The Gallery,” Dana supplied.
“Right. He’s a good friend, too, and he’s great at computer design. We could ask him to fiddle with looks and features for a Web page. Actually, I’m hoping to be able to offer him a job here. Down the road a little, but being optimistic, I’m going to need help. We all will.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Dana admitted. “But yeah, I’ll need at least one part-time bookseller who can handle brewing tea, serving wine. I guess I might need two people, realistically.”
“I’ve got feelers out for a stylist, a nail consultant. Some others.” Zoe pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach. “Jeez. We’re going to have employees.”
“I like that part.” Dana lifted her champagne glass again. “It’s good to be boss.”
“We’re also going to need a tax consultant, office equipment, signage, an advertising budget, phone systems . . . I have lists,” Malory finished.
Dana laughed. “I bet you do. Now what else is in the briefcase?”
“Okay. For the logo. This is just something I did from an idea I had.”
She pulled out a folder, opened it, then set the drawing on the table.
The figure of a woman sat in a salon chair, tipped back in a pose of easy relaxation. A book was open in her hands, a glass of wine and a single rose in a bud vase on the table beside her. All this was inside an ornate border that framed it like a stylized portrait.
Above the border was the single word: INDULGENCE.
Below the name, it read FOR THE BODY, THE MIND, AND THE SPIRIT.
“Wow.” Managing only the single word, Zoe put a hand on Malory’s shoulder.
“It’s just a thought,” Malory said quickly. “Something to unify what we’re all doing. Since we’re using the one name for everything. Then we could have this sort of thing on our individual cards, letterheads, invoices, whatever, with something like—I don’t know—‘Indulgence. For Beauty. Indulgence. For Books. Indulgence. For Art.’ And that would differentiate each aspect while keeping it under one umbrella.”
“It’s wonderful,” Zoe exclaimed. “It’s just wonderful. Dana?”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect, Mal.”
“Really? You like it? I don’t want to box you in just because—”
“Let’s make a pact,” Dana interrupted. “Any time any of us feels boxed in, she just says so. We’re girls, but we’re not weenies. Okay?”
“That’s a deal. I can give this to Tod,” Malory went on. “He could make up a sample letterhead. He’d do it as a favor. He’s better at the desktop-publishing stuff than I am.”
“I can’t wait!” Zoe let out a hoot and did a little dance around the room. “First thing in the morning, we’re going to start some serious work around here.”
“Hold on.” Dana spread her arms to indicate the walls. “What do you call all this painting we’ve been doing?”
“The tip of the iceberg.” Still dancing, Zoe grabbed her champagne.
DANA had never considered herself a slacker. She was willing to work hard, insisted on pulling her weight, and she got the job done. Anything less was unacceptable.
She’d always viewed herself as a woman with high personal standards—both personally and professionally, and she tended to sneer at those who skimmed over work, who complained that the job they’d agreed to take on turned out to be too hard, too involved, too much trouble.
But compared to Zoe, Dana decided as she dashed into the market to pick up a few supplies, she was a malingerer. She was a wimpy-assed crybaby. The woman had worn her out in the first twenty-four hours.
Paint, wallpaper, trim samples, light fixtures, hardware, windows, floor coverings—and the budget for all that and more. And it wasn’t just the thinking and deciding, Dana realized as she pondered a bunch of bananas, that was enough to make your head explode. It was the labor as well.
Scraping, hauling, stacking, unstacking, drilling, screwing, hammering.
Well, there was no doubt about it, she mused as she picked through the oranges. When it came to the organization, delegation, and implementation of labor, Zoe McCourt was in charge.
Between the work, the decisions, the worrying search for the key, and her struggle to keep her head above her heart regarding Jordan, she was completely worn out.
But could she just go home, fall on the bed, and sleep for ten hours? Oh, no, she thought with a hiss as she moved on to the dairy aisle. No, indeed. She had to attend a big meeting at Brad’s place on the river.
She really needed about two solid hours of absolute solitude and quiet, but she’d had to trade a portion of that for groceries if she didn’t want to starve to death in the coming week.
On top of that, she no longer had any confidence that she would find the answer to the key in the stacks of books she’d accumulated. She’d read and read, followed every lead, but she didn’t seem to be any closer to a concrete theory, much less a solution.
And if she failed, what then? Not only would she let down her friends, her brother, her lover. Not only would she disappoint Rowena and Pitte, but her inadequacy would doom the Daughters of Glass until the next triad was chosen.
How could she live with that? Depressed now, she tossed a quart of milk in her basket. She’d seen the Box of Souls with her own eyes, ached to watch those blue lights battering frantically at their prison walls.
If she couldn’t find the key, slide it into the lock as Malory had done with the first, everything they’d done would be for nothing.
And Kane would win.
“Over my dead body,” she declared, then jolted when someone touched her arm.
“Sorry.” The woman laughed. “Sorry. It looked like you were arguing with yourself. I usually don’t get to that point until I hit the frozen dessert section.”
“Okay. I was thinking about a logo, you know something that incorporates all three businesses. Of course, we might all want separate ones anyway, but we could use one logo for letterhead, business cards, the Web page.”
“Web page.” Pursing her lips, Dana nodded. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Pays to plan. You remember Tod.”
“Sure. Really cute guy you worked with at The Gallery,” Dana supplied.
“Right. He’s a good friend, too, and he’s great at computer design. We could ask him to fiddle with looks and features for a Web page. Actually, I’m hoping to be able to offer him a job here. Down the road a little, but being optimistic, I’m going to need help. We all will.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Dana admitted. “But yeah, I’ll need at least one part-time bookseller who can handle brewing tea, serving wine. I guess I might need two people, realistically.”
“I’ve got feelers out for a stylist, a nail consultant. Some others.” Zoe pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach. “Jeez. We’re going to have employees.”
“I like that part.” Dana lifted her champagne glass again. “It’s good to be boss.”
“We’re also going to need a tax consultant, office equipment, signage, an advertising budget, phone systems . . . I have lists,” Malory finished.
Dana laughed. “I bet you do. Now what else is in the briefcase?”
“Okay. For the logo. This is just something I did from an idea I had.”
She pulled out a folder, opened it, then set the drawing on the table.
The figure of a woman sat in a salon chair, tipped back in a pose of easy relaxation. A book was open in her hands, a glass of wine and a single rose in a bud vase on the table beside her. All this was inside an ornate border that framed it like a stylized portrait.
Above the border was the single word: INDULGENCE.
Below the name, it read FOR THE BODY, THE MIND, AND THE SPIRIT.
“Wow.” Managing only the single word, Zoe put a hand on Malory’s shoulder.
“It’s just a thought,” Malory said quickly. “Something to unify what we’re all doing. Since we’re using the one name for everything. Then we could have this sort of thing on our individual cards, letterheads, invoices, whatever, with something like—I don’t know—‘Indulgence. For Beauty. Indulgence. For Books. Indulgence. For Art.’ And that would differentiate each aspect while keeping it under one umbrella.”
“It’s wonderful,” Zoe exclaimed. “It’s just wonderful. Dana?”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect, Mal.”
“Really? You like it? I don’t want to box you in just because—”
“Let’s make a pact,” Dana interrupted. “Any time any of us feels boxed in, she just says so. We’re girls, but we’re not weenies. Okay?”
“That’s a deal. I can give this to Tod,” Malory went on. “He could make up a sample letterhead. He’d do it as a favor. He’s better at the desktop-publishing stuff than I am.”
“I can’t wait!” Zoe let out a hoot and did a little dance around the room. “First thing in the morning, we’re going to start some serious work around here.”
“Hold on.” Dana spread her arms to indicate the walls. “What do you call all this painting we’ve been doing?”
“The tip of the iceberg.” Still dancing, Zoe grabbed her champagne.
DANA had never considered herself a slacker. She was willing to work hard, insisted on pulling her weight, and she got the job done. Anything less was unacceptable.
She’d always viewed herself as a woman with high personal standards—both personally and professionally, and she tended to sneer at those who skimmed over work, who complained that the job they’d agreed to take on turned out to be too hard, too involved, too much trouble.
But compared to Zoe, Dana decided as she dashed into the market to pick up a few supplies, she was a malingerer. She was a wimpy-assed crybaby. The woman had worn her out in the first twenty-four hours.
Paint, wallpaper, trim samples, light fixtures, hardware, windows, floor coverings—and the budget for all that and more. And it wasn’t just the thinking and deciding, Dana realized as she pondered a bunch of bananas, that was enough to make your head explode. It was the labor as well.
Scraping, hauling, stacking, unstacking, drilling, screwing, hammering.
Well, there was no doubt about it, she mused as she picked through the oranges. When it came to the organization, delegation, and implementation of labor, Zoe McCourt was in charge.
Between the work, the decisions, the worrying search for the key, and her struggle to keep her head above her heart regarding Jordan, she was completely worn out.
But could she just go home, fall on the bed, and sleep for ten hours? Oh, no, she thought with a hiss as she moved on to the dairy aisle. No, indeed. She had to attend a big meeting at Brad’s place on the river.
She really needed about two solid hours of absolute solitude and quiet, but she’d had to trade a portion of that for groceries if she didn’t want to starve to death in the coming week.
On top of that, she no longer had any confidence that she would find the answer to the key in the stacks of books she’d accumulated. She’d read and read, followed every lead, but she didn’t seem to be any closer to a concrete theory, much less a solution.
And if she failed, what then? Not only would she let down her friends, her brother, her lover. Not only would she disappoint Rowena and Pitte, but her inadequacy would doom the Daughters of Glass until the next triad was chosen.
How could she live with that? Depressed now, she tossed a quart of milk in her basket. She’d seen the Box of Souls with her own eyes, ached to watch those blue lights battering frantically at their prison walls.
If she couldn’t find the key, slide it into the lock as Malory had done with the first, everything they’d done would be for nothing.
And Kane would win.
“Over my dead body,” she declared, then jolted when someone touched her arm.
“Sorry.” The woman laughed. “Sorry. It looked like you were arguing with yourself. I usually don’t get to that point until I hit the frozen dessert section.”
