Brooklyn Girls (32 page)

And I’ll get over Aidan, too.

“I am not turning to a guy to fix my problems, goddamnit,” I say. “And anyway, he probably wouldn’t help me. He thinks I’m a total psycho.” Because I acted like one. But never mind that now, either. “So what do I do next? Google ‘venture capitalist?’”

“Probably not,” admits Julia. “You need an introduction … contacts. Aidan would have them.”

“I will
not
call Aidan … and I don’t have any contacts. I’d have to make a list. Cold-call them. But none of them will be at work till Monday anyway, and Cosmo is coming over tomorrow night.” I feel sick at the thought.

“Maybe you could call people who
should
own a food truck that sells low-fat, low-carb, high-protein food.”

“Can we order in from Bartolo’s?” asks Coco. “We need to eat.”

As we wait for our pizza to arrive, we brainstorm who might want to buy SkinnyWheels.

“Jenny Craig?”

“Ew, come on…”

“A gym chain? Equinox?”

“Tracy Anderson? Gwyneth’s trainer?”

“That Soul Cycle place? Seriously, everyone who goes there is cut like a fucking diamond.”

“Condé Nast? So they can feed all the skinny bitches who work for
Vogue
?”

“A model agency? I bet a model agency would love it.”

“One of those weight-loss reality TV shows?”

“
The Today Show
?”

“Why the hell would
The Today Show
want SkinnyWheels?”

“Oprah? Oprah would totally buy it.”

“That Hungry Girl chick?”

“No way,” I say. “Even if those people
should
use a food truck to promote themselves, it doesn’t mean they will. I can’t convince them. They have strategy people who decide what they should do, and before that they have, like, focus groups and market research.”

“How do you know all that?” says Angie.

“Lina told me,” I say, pouring myself another glass of wine. Then I pause, thinking aloud. “Lina … who is VP of strategy for some big hotel and restaurant group. Carus International! She might have advice for me! Or contacts! She might be able to help!” I look at the kitchen clock. “It’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night. I can’t call her, can I?”

“You can e-mail her,” says Julia. “Or text her. She lives around here, right?”

I nod. “I think so. I mean, she must, I met her at Bartolo’s. I saw her on the street with her kids.”

“So text her. Offer to bribe her with coffee tomorrow in return for a little career advice. It’s flattering. People love to give advice. I must have e-mailed a hundred people for advice over the years, then we meet up and I listen to them talk about themselves.”

“Really? Okay! I will!” I grab my phone.

Then the pizza arrives, and as we all start scarfing, I draft a text.

Hi Lina. Pia here. I was wondering if there’s any way that I could steal thirty minutes of your time tomorrow for coffee and a chat? I need career advice … apologies for the late notice; it’s a (semi)emergency.

That’s good, right? I’m underlining the importance of it without being melodramatic.

Ten minutes later, I get a response.

Of course! Chestnut, 11 am?

*   *   *

By eleven-thirty the
next morning, I’ve told Lina everything. From being fired for the Captain Morgan Facebook incident, to the ten thousand dollar loan from Cosmo, to everything I did to build SkinnyWheels, to—finally—spending the night in jail. I keep it as brief as I can, and skim over the Cosmo-is-a-crazy-freak elements, but it still takes twenty minutes.

“I’m not particularly proud of the loan shark.” I’m using my spoon to make little circles in my yogurt and granola. Then I realize it looks disgusting, so I stop. “Or jail.”

“Jail happens. I was arrested for smoking a joint in Washington Square when I was eighteen. So looks like I’ll never run for president. But the loan shark is a different story. You don’t want to get involved with people like that. I’m kind of worried, I think we should call the police—”

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry about that,” I lie quickly. “I’ve got the money. My parents transferred it to me. But now I, um, need to pay them back. Like urgently.” Urgh, I’m terrible at lying.

She takes a bite of her pancake, chews, and frowns. “This is not as good as yours.”

“Ha! Thanks, but I’m sure that’s not true.… Anyway. My friend Julia suggested I sell SkinnyWheels. The whole business, you know, not just the truck. I know it won’t happen overnight, but I was hoping—like, really hoping—that it might be an option,” I say. “And I was hoping you might have some advice for me.”

Lina nods. “Okay, well, I can’t—”

Then she stops, and stares at the wall behind me, deep in thought. After about a minute, she blinks, and looks at me again, and then rapid-fires questions at me.

“It’s only been, what, six weeks since you started? How did you think of everything? How did you know where to go, what to do, how you’d tweet and Facebook, how did you know what people would want?”

I think for a few seconds. “Instinct, I guess? SkinnyWheels was just an idea because it seemed to me to be so obvious. That’s why I’m not sure if it’s even a business idea worth selling. Anyone could do it. It’s not that special.”

Lina stares at me, and nods, lost in thought.

As the seconds tick into minutes, I realize she’s trying to figure out how to tell me to get a grip. Oh, God, how embarrassing, I’m such an idiot. I’ll apologize for wasting her time, I’ll just say, never mind—

Then she looks me right in the eye and starts talking again.

“The gourmet food truck movement has been gaining a lot of traction over the past four or five years. People adore them. It’s a combination of the allure of a genuine passion for specialty or gourmet food, the personal touch of being served by the chef or owner, and the toy-like adorability of the trucks. Plus, it’s the new mom ’n’ pop store. It’s so personal; the owner
is
the food truck: they drive, cook, serve, and sell. In this day and age, having something that feels so
real
is a draw in itself.”

I nod uncertainly. I feel like she’s giving a presentation, but I’m not sure why.

She keeps talking. “You know exactly what you’re getting with a food truck. It’s fast, but it’s not dirty, like most fast-food chains. The prices are low, it’s great value. You can follow them online, track them down via social media, which makes it feel like an achievement when you find them.… It’s like a game.”

I nod. Everything she’s saying makes sense to me. “I think people also get emotionally attached to trucks,” I say tentatively. “They’re really passionate about it. It’s like seeing a buddy out and about around the city. You feel like you own that truck. People actually wave at me when I’m driving!”

“That’s amazing!” says Lina. “And now you have food trucks pairing up with brands. I was in San Francisco a few years ago and got a snow cone from a food truck advertising some ski resort. I mean, fantastic idea, right? So brands can use the truck as the medium. Or the truck can pair with brands for events and launches—turn up, give food out, it’s more exciting than the ubiquitous caterers with goddamn cupcakes. Like that truck Treatery, they’ve really nailed it. They pair up with brands but they keep their own name. Every time a brand pays them to turn up somewhere, their name gets a little more cachet.”

“Right,” I say. I don’t really know what she’s talking about.

“You may think ‘anyone’ could think of this idea, Pia, but that’s not true. Some people are creative and original thinkers, some people aren’t. The people who are tend to believe that whatever they create seems like the most obvious thing in the world, like you do. I’m a strategist, and I’m not particularly creative, but I can recognize a great idea when I see it. And more important, I can explain why it works.” She stares at me, nodding fervently. I don’t know what to do, so I nod back. “Tell me more about how you thought of the idea.”

“Um, my roommates kept saying how they were in carb comas at work; I saw all these trucks selling greasy, fatty foods, and I’m the kind of girl who likes to eat but also likes to fit into tight jeans, you know? When it comes down to it, SkinnyWheels is all about vanity, really.…” I grin, trying to make a joke, but Lina isn’t smiling.

“Vanity is a huge part of every major new business success in the past century,” she says seriously. “It’s human nature. When you look great, you feel happy. No one should ever apologize for that. That’s the reason the fitness industry has become a multibillion dollar industry in the past twenty years. Not to mention fashion, cosmetics…”

There’s another pause. I take a sip of my coffee, nodding. I don’t know anything about the fitness industry, or fashion, or cosmetics. I feel like I’m frantically paddling to keep up as Lina’s brain races ahead.

Then she smiles at me. “I think food trucks are really interesting, Pia. And I particularly think your take on food trucks is really interesting.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Do you have any other ideas? Like, food truck ideas?”

“Yeah … I have lots of ideas. Driving a food truck leaves you a lot of time to daydream.”

“Dazzle me,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly on the
dazzle
.

“Uh, I think that there should be an all-day healthy breakfast truck. People want gluten-free pancakes anytime, I get requests at three in the afternoon that I can’t fulfill because I’m always out of batter. And it should offer waffles, too, and seasonal fruit salad with fat-free yogurt.… And there should be a truck specializing in eggs: omelets, egg-white omelets, scrambled eggs. I get requests for that all the time but I don’t have the capacity to do it.”

“Go on,” says Lina. Her eyes are gleaming.

“And my friends had a truck called A Meal Grows in Brooklyn. All the food came from the Brooklyn area, right? Sustainable, local, organic, hand-reared, yada yada. Such a great idea, and so Brooklyn. But they’ve failed, they had to close the business. Someone should buy the idea from them or, uh, the equity in the business.” I talk quickly, trying to cover up that I still don’t really know what equity means. “You could launch a chain of trucks nationwide, with different regions getting their own local produce on the menu. A Meal Grows in Santa Barbara, A Meal Grows in Seattle, A Meal Grows in Dallas…”

“A Meal Grows in Detroit?” says Lina, smirking.

“Exactly,” I say. “And there should be a packed-lunch truck in the mornings, for people like my friend Julia who hardly ever leave their desk. So you could buy a good packed lunch when you’re walking from the subway to your office, with a midmorning snack and an afternoon snack. Like a little school lunchbox! With a salad, maybe celery stalks with almond butter, a sugar-free flapjack…”

“Right on!”

“And there should be a dinner-for-two truck, for when you’re heading home from work and you just want to put something in the oven and have it with your boyfriend or husband or whatever.” I’m gabbling now. “People are always buying two of my salads at the end of the day, to take home and have for dinner, but in winter they’re not going to want that, you know? They’re going to need something they can warm up at home. Like a gingery-honey poached chicken with steamed vegetables, or a tuna steak that’s marinating in herbs and all you have to do is grill it quickly on each side. I mean, you can get that stuff at Whole Foods, but let’s make it so people can just pick it up after work right outside their office, without going out of their way or spending a fortune, right? And there should be an organic Italian food truck that gives you take-home packs of organic and gluten-free lasagne or pasta.”

“This is fantastic! Keep talking!”

“And there should be a soup truck, but like, a really genuinely low-fat, health-packed, low-salt soup truck with gluten-free bread rolls. Half the soup places in this town have more fat and sodium than a Big Mac.…”

“Pia, this is great stuff. Really, really great stuff.” Lina is frowning at me intently.

I beam. Why do I feel like I just passed an exam?

She clears her throat. “Look, I work with someone you should talk to, and I’ve been working on some things that might … hmm. I shouldn’t tell you more till I figure out if and how it’s going to work. Can you come to my office at ten in the morning tomorrow? You may have to wait awhile, his schedule is crazy, but if I’m any good at my job he’ll find time to see you.”

“Yes…” I say. I’m confused. Who is “he”? What would a huge, glossy hotel and restaurant chain want with a measly little SkinnyWheels food truck? But I just nod. There’s something about her enthusiasm and focus that makes me desperate to impress her. “Thank you, Lina, thank you so much.”

Lina’s phone rings. “Hey, hon … Okay, no problem, I’m coming now.” She hangs up. “I’ve gotta go, Pia. We’ve got an afternoon playdate with another family with kids the same age as Pia and Gabe.”

“Sounds like a blast,” I say.

“Oh, it is,” she says, pulling on her jacket. “It’s like double-dating, but more potential for sandbox fights and tears. So I’ll see you at ten tomorrow?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. Sheesh, Pia, dial down the desperation. “I mean, yes. And thank you so much for meeting me, I really appreciate it. You go ahead, I think I’ll have another cup of coffee here. And, uh, is there anything I can do to prepare for tomorrow?”

“Can you get some photos of your salads and the truck? Apart from that, nothing. You’re perfect.”

She takes some money out of her purse and tries to give it to me for the check.

“No, no!” I say. “I’ll pay. Thank you so much, again, for meeting me.”

As we say good-bye and she hurries back to her busy, seemingly perfect grown-up mommy life, my mind is spinning.

What is she planning? Should I have opened my mouth and bothered her for every detail instead of pretending to understand? I met her for advice—but now I’m even more confused!

Okay, okay, it’s fine. I’ll just prepare for whatever happens in the meeting tomorrow, just like she said.

And try not to think about the fact that Cosmo is coming over in a few hours.