Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (22 page)

     “Hey Harry, anybody else we could get to help us clean this place out? It’s going to take forever if there’s just the two of us.”

     Bentley leaned an arm against the wall, arching his back as though all the lifting had caused it to ache. “Good point. Maybe we’ll just have our Bible study down here. Love in action, you know. We just studied First Corinthians thirteen a couple weeks ago, so this would be good practice.” He pulled out his phone. “
Hmm
, that’s strange. Can’t get a signal down here. I can get one just fine in my basement. Be back in a minute.”

     He headed up the inside stairs as Greg lugged another box out to the garage.

     Greg made several trips before Harry reappeared. But the older man looked triumphant. “Reinforcements are on their way!”

     “No kidding. All those guys are coming over here and help?”

     “Yeah, except we disqualified Ben. He’d be up there in a recliner with Karl Molander if we let him tote too many things up the stairs. Josh Baxter said he’d bring his tools too. There’s a good chance he can get that sump pump going again. He’s real handy with stuff like that. Manages a six-flat for homeless single moms called the House of Hope. Great kid.” Harry picked up a box fan in one hand and a suitcase in the other and started to leave, then turned back for a moment. “Hey, guess who else I snagged.”

     Greg looked up from rolling a small, soaked rug. “Who?”

     “I went out on the porch to make the call just as Lincoln Paddock was coming up the street, so I waved him down. Said he’ll be here as soon as he changes his clothes.”

     Greg stood up, watching Harry struggle up the back steps and head out to the garage.
Lincoln Paddock,
the playboy lawyer with the limos who’d been hitting on his wife?
He
was coming to help? Greg checked his watch: twenty minutes to eight. If he left right now . . .

     But something stopped him. No, he couldn’t do that. There’d be a big enough crew to finish off this job before it got too late tonight, but that’d still be a while. He couldn’t leave Harry here alone to tackle all this. The man was assuming he’d do the neighborly thing and stick it out. What if it was his own basement? He needed to stay, even if it meant he had to cancel his appointment with Jennifer Cooper.

     Which he better do now rather than later. He pulled out his own phone.

Chapter 21

“I don’t really have any openings in my schedule for getting together in the next couple of weeks,” Jennifer Cooper said the next day when Greg called again to reschedule their appointment. “But I have a few minutes right now. Can we talk about this on the phone? You said it’s about a business opportunity you think I’d be interested in. What is it?”

     “Oh. Can’t really do it over the phone. I have some stuff I’d like to show you in person. But I could say you’re doing a great job with the coffee bar at church. It’s great. I know a huge number of people come through there each Sunday between services. Everybody loves it. But I do have a suggestion for something that might make it better. However, it’s an idea much better shared in person.”

     “Well, then,” her tone became abrupt, “why don’t you see if you can catch me Sunday? Things usually slow down once second service gets underway.”

     Greg could tell he shouldn’t push it any more at the moment. “Thanks, Jennifer. I’ll do that.”

     He stared at his phone for a moment after they’d hung up. Maybe he should’ve excused himself last evening and gone to meet Jennifer. It was business, after all, and finally there’d been enough hands to empty the Molanders’ basement before ten. He hadn’t been that essential. He’d tried to call Jennifer and explain why he couldn’t come, but he’d only gotten her voice mail. Now she wasn’t interested in rescheduling a third appointment. Yeah, he’d broken his appointment, but so had she. Why not give him another chance?

     Greg looked out his front window. Across the street a green van sat in front of the Molanders’ house. Large yellow letters on the side announced: “Disaster Recovery. We clean up after fires, floods, and storms!” A man was carrying two commercial blowers that looked like huge green snails into the house. So, the Molanders were getting their basement dried out. Good! What else would they have to do? Probably open the basement walls to prevent mold. What a mess. But Greg had to admit it’d been fun working with the guys the night before. Josh Baxter had gotten the sump pump running, which drained the standing water in no time. Even Lincoln Paddock had worked just as hard as anyone else and without any overly familiar comments about “Nikki.” In fact, he hadn’t mentioned her at all or acted self-conscious around Greg. Maybe he’d been overreacting to the guy.

     It crossed Greg’s mind that Paddock’s stretch limos had mini-bars in them and might be a good place to stock SlowBurn, but he wasn’t ready to go that far. Let the guy be a good neighbor . . .
at the end of the block
. That was close enough.

* * * *

By afternoon, the air had turned hot and muggy. Greg had made all the calls he could think of at the moment, so he offered to give Nicole a break and took Becky and Nathan out onto the front porch to build a LEGO city. He was personally LEGO-ed out, having lost interest a couple of years earlier, as soon as Nathan could build his own creations. But he was happy to sit on the front steps and keep the kids company while he brainstormed how to get SlowBurn into some commercial settings. This business of making a killing by selling it to individuals wasn’t working for him. He hadn’t even gone door to door around his own neighborhood. But he’d leave the low-hanging fruit to Destin as a way to encourage him.

     Speaking of Destin, he saw the boy coming up the street on his bike right then.

     “Hey, Destin!” Greg waved him over and then met him on the sidewalk. “How’s it goin’, man?”

     “Okay.”

     They bumped fists. “I was just thinkin’ about you. How are your sales going? Makin’ a killing with your friends?”

     Remaining astride his bike, Destin looked up the street. “Sold a couple of cans, but that’s all. I don’t know, Mr. Singer. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

     “Of course you are! Gotta think positive, Destin. Positive! Don’t doubt yourself. You’re gonna do great. Hey, I’m gonna give you a break. The only people on this street I’ve spoken to about SlowBurn are your family, the Bentleys”—he pointed across the street—“and Mrs. Krakowski, who lives below them. She actually became a rep. I don’t have such high hopes for her as I do for you, but . . . What I’m saying is, I’m leaving the rest to you. They’re part of your warm list, people you know personally. You know everybody on the block, don’t you?”

     “Uh, not really. Not everyone.”

     There were a few families Greg didn’t know either. “Well, that doesn’t matter. You can still tell them you’re their neighbor. Should be easy sales.”

     Nodding his head at each house, Destin looked up and down the block. But the look on his face was like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of noxious medicine. “I’ll try, Mr. Singer.”

     “That’s the spirit. And what about your friends at school? You giving out samples?”

     “Yeah. I’ve used up two six-packs so far. But it’s costin’ me more than I’m makin’, lots more.”

     “You can’t look at it like that. This is a business. You have to invest before you reap the rewards. How many more days of school do you have?”

     “School’s out Friday.”

     “Well, you’ve got to take advantage of that. If your school’s anything like mine was, these last few days are pretty much blow-off days. Right?”

     “Yeah. Tests are all done. I don’t know why they make us attend.”

     “There you go. All these young people gathered together in one place so you can sell them SlowBurn. How ’bout that? That’s why you have to attend. Our tax dollars at work for your benefit.”

     Destin grinned at Greg’s humor, but then he shrugged. “It’s just . . . I feel kinda awkward, like I’m taking advantage of our friendship or something.”

     “Now you can’t let that stop you, Destin. You like to play video games, don’tcha?”

     “Yeah.”

     “What’s your favorite?”

     “NBA 10.”

     “Never heard of it, but doesn’t matter. You have a copy?”

     “Yeah. It runs on PlayStation.”

     “How much did it cost?”

     “I got a deal, $19.99. A friend told me about it.”

     “That’s my point. If it’s something you like, then you don’t have any hard feelings toward your friend for telling you about it, do you? In fact, you’re probably grateful. Right?”

     Destin nodded.

     “It’s the same with SlowBurn. You know it’s good. You know it gives you extra energy. And because of that your friends are going to be happy with you when you tell them about it. Get what I’m saying?”

     “All right, Mr. Singer.”

     “You’ve got two more days of school. Make ’em count. Especially work on your basketball buddies. They’ll trust you. They’ll give it a try. And don’t worry about giving out samples. That’s the only way they’re going to know. The returns will come. You’ll do great. Selling’s just like anything else. It’s hard at first, but then it becomes second nature. Like riding a bike.” He gave Destin a slap on the shoulder and sent him on up the street to his house.

     Greg went back up to his porch, taking a few moments to admire the LEGO village his kids were building, then he lowered himself onto the top step. He hadn’t said anything to Destin he didn’t believe himself, but he had to admit, he hadn’t been selling much of “the Time-Release Energy Drink that won’t let you down” either. And the truth of the matter was, he also felt awkward trying to sell people on something they weren’t asking for. It’d been so much different when he was working with Powersports Expos. All his clients were in the business. They were looking for ways to present their products to the public. And even if the recession prevented the public from buying their products, people were still interested in looking at the latest boats, four-wheelers, and snowmobiles. Everyone wanted to hear about what he had to offer.

     But now, most people didn’t care what he had to offer, so he had to make them care.

     How was he supposed to do that?

     “O God, in the name of Jesus, just give me my blessing!”

* * * *

Nicole was late getting to her seat in church the following Sunday. There’d been some holdup in the line for checking Becky and Nathan into the children’s program, and it had taken an extra twenty minutes. But Greg had gone on ahead to save their usual seats in the balcony of the Victorious Living Center.

     The last praise song was just ending as she worked her way down the row of people before they sat down. Greg smiled and held out his hand to her. She was grateful that the tension that had been building between them since he lost his job seemed to have eased a little in the last few days. She smiled back and cuddled close to him as they took their seats.

     Pastor Hanson stepped to the pulpit. His image appeared on the big screens and then faded to black as the lights in the auditorium dimmed. A video of the huge, distorted mouth of Mick Jagger began, and the sound came up to full blast.

You can’t always get what you want

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You get what you need!

     The refrain repeated again and again, and then faded to silence and black as the lights came up and Pastor Hanson’s image again filled the screens.

     “Brothers and sisters, that was Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones. We know . . . we know they were not sent from heaven.” Chuckles swept the auditorium. “Yet the world—and even many Christians—accept their words as if they were a message from God Himself. Do you?”

     He paused for dramatic effect.

     “Well, you shouldn’t. That’s worldly wisdom, and the Bible tells us . . .” The words of 1 Corinthians 3:19-20 replaced Pastor Hanson’s image on the screen.

For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written,
“He catches the wise in their own craftiness”;
and again,
“The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.”

     “So I won’t even commend Mick Jagger’s counsel as ‘worldly wisdom.’ It’s just plain foolishness. Let me show you why. He begins by telling us,
You can’t always get what you want
. Well, I’m here to tell you, you can! You can get what you want. But hold that promise, and I’ll tell you how in a few minutes.”

     Nicole closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why did every Sunday’s message focus on
getting, getting, getting
? She glanced at Greg. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin in hands, eating it all up. How were they going to avoid another big quarrel on the way home from church? Maybe she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe if Greg asked her what she thought, it’d be better just to . . . well, not lie, but deflect—yes, deflect his question. She could tell him about the long line at children’s church and how that had caused her to miss the worship so that her mind wasn’t on what the pastor said.

     But it was.

     Pastor Hanson pointed up to one of the screens. “The second falsehood is that if you
try
—that is, if you try hard enough in your own strength—then sometimes, just sometimes, you
might
get what you need. Now who wants to live like that?”

     The pastor waved his Bible. “But the Bible says, ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the Lord of hosts.’”