Hardly Working

We all entered, our faces plastered with the most businesslike expressions we could muster. Ian Trutch was lounging in Jake’s extra chair. He raised his hand. “Hello ladies.”

We gave a chorus of hellos.

“I was just telling Jake that I was going to have to corner Dinah to go over the figures.” Ian’s smile made it clear that he wasn’t just talking about numbers. Cleo nudged me hard and Lisa giggled.

I let out a long breath and said, “We just wanted to let you know that we’re on our way out for the afternoon. Have a few office errands to run.”

Lisa and Cleo piped up a little too quickly, “Field work.”

“And I have to see Halliwell, the printer,” I said.

Jake wasn’t used to us justifying our actions. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

Our eyes were fixed on Ian. He looked at Jake as if to say, “Do they normally do this?”

We all nodded a little nervously then hurried out of the building.

“I think he bought it,” whispered Cleo.

I said, “Well if he didn’t, I’m sure we’ll be hearing about it.”

“And what’s more, Dinah, he likes you. Milk it for all it’s worth.”

I laughed. “You mean I might still have a job while the rest of you are standing in the bread line if I let the CEO crunch my numbers?”

“Something like that.”

We rushed out to Lisa’s battered old rust-and-rhubarb colored VW van. She drove fast to my place. We tumbled out and raced up the stairs.

In my bedroom, Cleo said, “I hope I’m dressed okay. What does one wear to a tree-hugging anyway?” It didn’t matter what she wore. A burlap sack would look good on her.

“Cleoooo,” sang Lisa, “we do not call it a tree-hugging. And it’s not a fashion event either. McClean and Snow Incorporated are about to knock down a stand of boreal forest that is millennia old, destroying the habitat of numerous species of wildlife with the runoff polluting I don’t know how many streams and fixing it so the salmon won’t be returning…”

Cleo examined the polish on her nails. “Lisa, we know you believe that plants have feelings…”

“And that if their feelings are hurt they should get therapy…” I added.

“You guys….” Lisa laughed.

“And animal rights?” said Cleo.

“If you swat a fly around Lisa, she’s likely to try CPR on it….” I countered.

Lisa clarified herself. “Before giving it a dignified funeral.”

We all grinned, then Cleo looked at me. “Uh, Dinah? Do you actually know what you’re looking for?”

“Sure.” I peered out from behind the high-rise of cardboard boxes that had inhabited the corner of my bedroom for ages. “My protest-against-the-big-money-grubbing-corporation wardrobe.”

Lisa smiled. “We all go through it. You’ll outgrow it.”

“Outgrow what?”

“Dressing up for protests. You’ll be wearing your worst rags at the next one. These kind can get messy.”

“Lisa, when I left Vancouver Island, I promised myself I would try not to look like a shrubbie from the Island. If I can just figure out which box the damned clothes are in,” I murmured.

Cleo said, “It’s important to consider your wardrobe at all times. There could be some interesting men there. When they come to arrest us, there could be men in uniform. I love men in uniform.”

Lisa said, “You love men…period.”

“Ha. You’re right.” Cleo took in the varnished pine floorboards, oyster-white paint that was no longer fresh, and mountain of cardboard boxes. “You moved into this place…when, Dinah? Three years ago?”

“Two and a half.” I tried not to sound defensive.

“When are you planning on unpacking them?” Lisa asked.

“Just these boxes I haven’t unpacked. I had them sent over later but there isn’t enough closet space. So they’re staying there. This is my storage depot.”

Cleo stopped flicking her Ray-Bans back and forth and parked them on her head. “Come on now, Lisa. Poor Dinah. Give her time. Moving is traumatic. It’s number two after divorce.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about divorce,” Lisa muttered. “Never having been married myself in the first place.”

I had once caught a glimpse of the pile of Bride magazines stashed in Lisa’s desk drawer at work. They definitely marred her free and easy earth-mother image.

“To hear Fran tell it, we’re not missing a thing,” said Cleo. “She’s always saying there’s nothing like marriage to cure you of wanting to be married.”

This was one conversation I had no intention of getting involved in. I set a carton precariously on top of another and was not quite in time to catch it as it tumbled to the floor. The three of us winced in unison as its contents tinkled dangerously.

“Not the Limoges, I hope,” said Cleo.

I shifted the box gently out of the way. “I have no idea and I’m not going to open it to see. Then I’d have to deal with it. You know I’m cleaning-impaired.”

Lisa smiled, revealing her big teeth. “Confession is the first step toward recovery.” She glanced at her psychedelic Swatch. “Just grab something so we can go, will you, Dinah. We’re late. The others will be there already.”

I tore frantically at packing tape and box flaps. My eye lit on something charcoal black. “Aha.” I held it up, triumphant.

Lisa made a face. “You cannot wear a Chanel suit to an environmental protest.”

“Yes, she can,” said Cleo. “She can wear whatever she likes.”

I was already pulling off my office skirt and scrutinizing the little black suit with the red trim. “It’s a demoted Chanel suit. I got it at a secondhand place. It was a steal. Secondhand means it’s recycled so that makes it environmentally correct, right? Now where have those flats gotten to…?”

Lisa shrugged.

After a burst of haphazard ironing, elaborate squirming and a tiny intervention with a safety pin at bust level, I was dressed. I grabbed the deluxe knapsack I’d prepared and followed them out. As we ran down my stairs, I felt proud. We were a squad, ready to lay down our lives for a stand of ancient trees. Well…maybe not our lives, but part of a sunny October day. Or so I thought until we were standing in front of Lisa’s van.

While Lisa was doing a last check of the heavy chains and padlocks in the back, Cleo leaned into me and whispered, “None of that stuff is touching my body. I agreed to be a presence but I’m not chaining myself to a damned thing. You know how hard it is to get grease or pitch out of corduroy? This is my best Lands’ End protest outfit. I’d planned on wearing it to the next No-Global.”