Perennial Club

Carol arrived towing a small trailer full of cuttings, rhizomes, and bulbs, along with all the tools of the garden. The rest of her belongings consisted of clothes, books, and a laptop, neatly fitted in her car.

She reasoned her transfer, a downgrade, was actually a good thing. She could pursue her writing with minimum interruption, she thought. A hundred miles from her friends would exclude the time wasting drop-ins insisting, “You just have to come with us, and we’ll have so much fun.” And it was fun, but enough was enough, so she took the cut in her career with the hope of becoming so much more.

She had the whole weekend to settle in before her new job began. She prepped the huge yard that had attracted her to this house. She carried her journal and carefully mapped her new garden. When all was done Carol soaked the whole yard and started on her office, the spare bedroom.

Monday was exciting until she met her immediate supervisor. Francine or Frankie as she insisted everyone called her was very good at looking busy when the main boss walked in. The rest of the time she spent on the phone with a friend or flirting with delivery guys.

Carol knew better than to complain. She kept on with her work, and since it was the same job she had in the city, she knew she was doing Frankie’s work as well. She went home to a blank computer screen. It had been blank since she relocated.

Plants sprouted. Carol had something to keep her mind off of work.

One day, Frankie walked into the office her customary hour late. She stopped at Carol’s desk and said, “I see you have a bunch of perennials in your yard. I’d like some. I read the tags and here’s a list of the ones I want.” She laid a sheet of paper on the desk. She walked out of the room.

Carol scanned the list. “She just wrote down all the markers in my yard,” she said under her breath. That evening Carol sat down to her keyboard.

The Perennial Club, she typed. She looked at the list. I’ll make Frankie the antagonist, she thought. I’ll call her Maureen. I’ll be the protagonist. I’ll call her Maggie.

She typed a wonderful beginning. She started with Maggie moving to town and planting her yard. She described Maureen as a grasping, selfish person, but with a bent toward classical music. She added that bit to fictionalize her. Then she basically described that mornings exchange verbatim.

She stopped typing and made a cup of tea. I have to have conflict she thought. Maggie just said no, and that was that. No conflict, no story she thought. She took her tea to the porch and listened to the softball game down the street. It was tournament time, and her new town was hosting this year. She knew. The boss’s son was on the team.

Carol finished her tea and returned to her story.

 It rained heavy, heavy enough to swamp Maggie’s yard, but not enough to cancel the local softball game. Maureen snuck into the yard after the game. There was so much driving and honking around town that she remained invisible, just another person walking home. Maureen pulled a trowel out of her oversized purse. She pulled a large garbage bag out of her purse. She started digging up plants and bulbs with the zeal of a busy gopher. She reached the soggy part of the yard and splashed in a puddle. She used the trowel to grab mud and gain her balance. Her footprints looked like the result of some drunken dance.

The next day it rained. Not enough to stop the softball game, but with Carol’s regular watering part of her yard was sloppy with mud.

The next morning Carol walked into the yard and found all the digging and floundering that took place the night before. The yard looked just like her story. Carol gasped. She decided it was a coincidence. After all, I probably heard the weather forecast, and, she thought. And what she replied?

Frankie seemed smug the next day at work. Carol noticed some dirt still under her nails. So it is her. Classical music wafted across the room from Frankie’s desk. The boss came in and congratulated Frankie for the work that Carol had just completed.

That night Carol sat down to her keyboard. It was ridiculous to think she had caused the story. Out loud she said, “What if is the meat of fiction.” This took some thinking. Carol didn’t really believe she caused the assault on her garden. Some small part of her decided to experiment. “Alright,” she said to no one. “I will treat it like a real possibility. I should be careful not to hurt her too bad. It could backfire.”

She didn’t type that night.

The next day she watched Frankie. She listened to her conversation with a girlfriend on the phone, the whole boring 45 minutes of it. She searched for any weakness she could capitalize on. After lunch Frankie came in gushing. She had the most amazing lunch. She heard a state senator was on his way. He would be in town tomorrow to meet and greet the locals. He was the rural senator. His office fully supports the grass roots communities that hold this state together and keep it strong.

Evening came and Carol knew her weakness. Frankie wanted to work in the capitol. She sat down to the keyboard and smiled.

Maureen had always wanted to work at the capitol building. She fell in love with the domed ceiling and all the stone walls and floors on her fourth grade field trip. Who would have thought a state senator would notice her in the crowd. Everything she said was gold. He hired her on the spot.

The next day Frankie was gone to the meet and greet. She was gone all day.

Frankie came in early the next morning. She was ecstatic. She couldn’t wait to see the boss. She came out of his office, smiled for the first time at Carol, and left.

A few minutes later, the boss came out and said, “It seems the Senator has hired Frankie onto his staff. Carol you’re the new supervisor. Please hire someone to take your place.”

That evening Carol stared at the keyboard. Hmmm, she thought, what should I do next?