Consulting With Creative Types

Liseli froze in the hallway, listening to what sounded like four different women entering and exiting Jefferson’s apartment at ten minute intervals. Though she was just back from the supermarket and had perishables in her bag that desperately needed refrigeration, the fear that she would miss something important was preventing her from opening her door. Plus, if she moved now it would be highly suspicious since nobody had seen her come in 40 minutes ago.

Downstairs Jefferson was just ushering out his fourth consultant, a slight blond woman named Eleanor Ferris. His sister had given him a list of idly employed wealthy wives who consulted on a variety of matters in their free time, generally for huge sums of money that passed between them as each hired the other to give advice on some matter or another. Most offered a free first consultation to new customers of the right breeding, of which there never were any.

The list offered women with expertise on a variety of subjects, and Jefferson had decided to up his game with the ladies and have a very heterosexual, masculine home and self makeover day. He booked a food consultant, a fitness consultant, a design consultant, and a wardrobe consultant all for the same day, hoping that the four hours of advice would do him well. When the first lady exited her cab and saw what she was working with, with the drab lobby at 17 Greenwich appearing roughly equivalent to an abandoned lot in her eyes, she called the other ladies. They agreed to each pop in so as not to ruin their relationship with Jefferson’s sister, but stay no longer than a few minutes. This was all for free, after all. As a result, his consultants went about giving their advice at breakneck speed, rushing out as Jefferson smiled and pretended he’d be in touch.

As Eleanor Ferris made her escape, a noise from above caused her to look up. Liseli had finally given up on staying still and with her first step in 40 minutes, tripped on the long-broken floor tile at the top of the stairs. A spark of recognition ran through Eleanor’s eyes. “Liseli Knobson?”

Liseli put down her food bags and tiptoed downstairs to face Jefferson and the female voice. Seeing the woman that the voice was coming from did not clarify things any further.

“It’s me. Ellie. From Jelly Falls.”

“Jelly Falls?”

“The amusement park. In Ohio.”

Liseli had spent a good ten yeas attempting to forget the summer she worked at Jelly Falls as a doughnut dipper. The entire summer had been a montage of her discovering herself covered in powdered sugar at inopportune moments. “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Of course you remember. We both were going after Jay Schmoot. The football player. God, I miss those days.”

“Who are you now?” It was a fair question. Ellie Pinker, a name she now vaguely recalled, was wearing a mink coat and hobnobbing with the likes of Jefferson Morble, ne’er-do-well son of fortune.

“I’m Eleanor Ferris now,” she said with no indication that Liseli’s question was odd or out of line. She was a different bird now, after all. A rich bird.

“Why are you here?” In times like this Liseli’s social skills diminished considerably. She hoped Jefferson wasn’t paying too much attention.

“Oh I consult now. When I’m not managing things at home. It’s so busy over there. Those Park Avenue moms are always cooking up something to do.” She smiled good-naturedly. “What about you? I always thought you would be an artist or something. You were so creative.”

“Creative” in Ohio was code for spacey and weird. If there was one thing Liseli did remember about her childhood, it was that. “I’m a dancer at a contemporary company in SoHo.” “Creative” - check.

“Oh wow. An artist. Just like we thought. Do you perform? I’d love to see you.”

This was when Liseli remembered another thing about Ellie Pinker. Before working at Jelly Falls together and backstabbing their way through the summer over their love of Jay Schmoot, they had also gotten into a very raucous fist-fight at a birthday party in second grade. Liseli had broken Ellie’s tooth. She could see the patched tooth still, slightly discolored along the crack.

“I do perform. I’d love to see you there,” she said through a smile. Then, without offering up any further information she turned back to the stairs and marched away.

“What company?,” Ellie called after her.

Liseli kept walking, swopped up her groceries, and finally found the strength to open her front door and leave Jefferson there, staring at the empty stairs, wondering if he should make this up to her.

Safely inside her apartment, Liseli examined the scar on her forehead that had caused the broken tooth. It was still red, still pretty gruesome, but she definitely had won the fight.