“You look good,” Barbara said as they slipped into the booth, sitting across from each other.
And it was true. The thing was, Arla always looked good. She was tall and slender, with straight black hair that hung below her shoulders. She wore a black, clingy dress with a broad, black, patent leather belt. A lank of hair hung over one eye and she brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.
“Thanks,” Arla said. “Have you ordered?”
“Only coffee. I was going to get an omelette. What do you want?”
“Coffee’s good.”
“Go on, have something. I’m buying.”
Arla shook her head. “That’s okay.”
The waiter came. Just because Arla didn’t want to eat wasn’t going to stop Barbara. She ordered two coffees and an omelette for herself.
“So how’s it going?” Arla asked.
“Fine,” Barbara said, then frowned. She told her daughter, briefly, about the incident the day before involving the young woman who’d interned at Manhattan Today. Even as she told Arla the story, she wondered why. Was she hoping to garner some advance sympathy, maybe ward off the latest grievance Arla wanted to air?
“That’s awful,” Arla said with what seemed genuine concern. “Are her parents down here yet?”
“Probably,” Barbara said. “And now,” she said, raising her phone, “there’s another one.”
“Another elevator thing?”
Barbara nodded.
“I get totally creeped out in them,” Arla said. “It’s not that I think they’re going to crash or anything. It’s just, when that door closes, there’s no place you can go, and if you’re trapped in there with someone weird, you can’t wait to get to your floor.” She shook her head. “Two in two days. They say things come in threes.”
Barbara smiled. “I think that’s celebrity deaths. So,” she said slowly, “what’s your news?”
Arla inhaled deeply through her nose. The arrival of her coffee gave her a moment to exhale and prepare for what looked to Barbara like a major announcement. She took a packet of Splenda, ripped it open, and sprinkled half of it into the cup.
Pregnant, Barbara was thinking. History repeating itself.
“So...” Arla said. “I got a job.”
Barbara blinked. “You have a job. So this is a new job?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s good. Congrats. You didn’t like what you were doing?”
“No, it was okay. And I learned a lot of stuff there that I can do at the new place.”
“So where are you moving to?”
“Okay, so, you know at the job I had, I was doing all this survey stuff. Analytics, interpreting data, all that kind of thing.”
“Right. What marketing is all about.”
“No one makes a decision these days without looking at all the data. No one in business goes with just their gut.”
“Gut feelings are all I’ve ever had,” Barbara said. “I don’t understand any of this stuff you’re talking about.”
“It’s the way the world’s going,” Arla said. “I mean, even if you’re sure your own instincts are right, no one wants to make a move without data to support it.”
“And let me guess,” Barbara said. “Sometimes the data tells you what the people want, so that’s what you give them, even if, in your heart, that’s not what you want to do.”
Arla shrugged. “Pretty much. You find out what the people are hankering for and deliver it.” She shook her head. “God, who uses a word like ‘hankering’ anymore?”
Barbara chuckled.
Arla continued. “Anyway, you want to know if your message is getting out there, and if it is, if it’s reaching the target audience. All that stuff. It’s pretty fascinating. The company I just left, we were doing a lot of work for the entertainment industry. What movies people like and why, data from advance screenings. Funny thing is, even when you have a movie you think will be a hit, it can go out there and sink like a stone.”
“Sure,” Barbara said.
“But I was thinking, what if I could take those kinds of skills and apply them in a way that would have some more meaning? You know, instead of finding a way to make some airhead pop star even more popular, what if you could expose people to issues that matter, and make them care?”
“That actually sounds like a good thing,” Barbara said. “So who are you going to work for? Planned Parenthood? The ACLU? Save the Whales?”
“Not one of them,” Arla said. “But still, a place where I can do some good.”
“So, tell me,” her mother said.
“You promise you won’t get mad.”
Barbara sat back on the bench. Oh, no, she thought. She’s gone to the dark side. She’s working for Facebook.
The waiter delivered the ham and cheddar omelette, but Barbara didn’t even look at it. “Just tell me.”
“I got a job with the mayor’s office,” Arla said.
Barbara was too stunned to speak.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
Barbara found her voice and said, “This mayor? The mayor of New York?”
Arla nodded and smiled. “I haven’t actually met him yet. I mean, maybe I never will. You can work for someone like that and never come face-to-face. You’re just one of the minions, right? But you never know.” She leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, “I hear rumors he’s thinking of going for a Senate seat, or maybe even something bigger than that. Imagine being on the ground floor if that happens.”
Clearly, Arla had not read Barbara’s latest column that put out that rumor. Barbara pushed her plate to one side and leaned in, their foreheads almost touching.
“I get it,” she said.
“Get what?” Arla said.
“It’s creative, I’ll grant you that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arla said, leaning back into her seat.
“Don’t be cute, Arla.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you mean, Mother.”
“Did you actually plan it? Did you think, wouldn’t it be great if I could work for the man my mother’s been trying to get the goods on since he took office? The man is totally corrupt, you know. Always doing favors for his friends. Or did the mayor’s office seek you out?” Barbara suddenly smiled. “I could see it happening that way.”
“Not everything is about you.”
“Headley figures out who you are and offers you a job just to stick it to me. Were you headhunted? Maybe he figures if I know you’re working for him, I’ll back off. Or I’ll take him up on his offer.”
“What offer?”
“Never mind.”
“I saw the position advertised online,” Arla said. “And I applied. I went for an interview, and I got it. If you’re suggesting I was hired just to even some score with you, then thanks for the insult. I’m good at what I do. I got hired because I bring something to the table.”
“You went after it to spite me.”
“You’re not even hearing me anymore.”
“You wanted to rub my nose in it,” Barbara said.
Arla eyed her mother pitiably. “I’d have thought, being a writer and all, you could do better than a cliché like that.”
“Once they find out you’re my daughter, they’ll probably fire you.”
“Well, unless you’re planning to tell them, I should be fine.”
Arla’s last name was Silbert, as was Barbara’s. Matheson was actually Barbara’s middle name, which honored her mother’s side of the family. She’d chosen to write under it years earlier, so Arla wasn’t likely to be found out on name recognition alone.