Page 51 of The Secret
Letty’s cramped and shabby office makes my jaw drop. Files are everywhere, old bits of paper fixed to the walls with yellowing Scotch tape like they’ve been there since the 1970s. A dead plant graces the gray plastic desk in front of me as I take it all in, somewhat awed.
“I’m sorry about the mess. I’m the only person here, and somehow fundraising is always more important than this,” Letty says, waving a hand around, and stands to clear a pile of papers off a chair so I can sit down. She stacks them on top of other files, and they instantly slide to the floor. She ignores them and plonks herself back down on the other side of the desk from me.
I nod. People are dying. Who puts admin or decor above that?
“So, I think you said on the phone that you normally volunteer in Africa?”
The smile that breaks across my face catches me unawares. “That’s right.” I give her a potted history of what I‘ve done to date and how my life works: how I earn money by working at the university before periodically heading off to Africa. I’m not telling her about Dan, so I waffle on about how I’ve read about the problems in the Philippines.
She nods, sighing as she glances around the office. “As you can probably tell, I’d be grateful for any help you can give me. Even a few hours in here would be amazing. It seems impossible to keep on top of everything.”
“I really like this place, Letty,” I say, and she blinks at me.
I don’t want to leave New York right now, but I could help Letty for a couple of hours a week at least. It would get me out of the apartment and get Kate and Jo off my back. Despite all my protestations to Jo and Kate, I know I’ve got to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get myself out of the hole I’m slipping into. I examine the bun that’s falling off one side of Letty’s head and the pilled brown cardigan pulled over a floral dress. I don’t have to make a big commitment here.
I smile at her. “I’d be very happy to help.”
She grins at me, and we arrange that I’ll come in the following day for a couple of hours.
As I’m heading out my phone vibrates with a text. Fabian:
Hundreds of thousands of matches on Dan’s photograph. You could wade through them, but it’d be a long checking job. Probably take you years, I might be able to write some software to speed things up, but the bottom line is, it’s a very long shot.
My stomach drops. Oh God. I feel my eyes start to tighten, but the dots start again:
Still working on hacking into a few places to see what I can find. Will let you know when I’m in there.
I stare across the street, and the red gleam of a Coors sign catches my eye. A bar. Alcohol. Perfect.
* * *
Friday, November 8, 2019
Three weeks later, Letty’s office is looking considerably better. I’ve cleared the space, found all sorts of funding applications buried in the piles, and organized her entire filing system. I’ve bagged two office chairs from other offices in the building, and yesterday I brought in plants. And Letty has turned from this frazzled person into someone calm and capable. She’s the most amazing networker I’ve ever known. She spends all her time on the phone, making contacts, and going to events and meetings to make more connections. There’s so much to do, and I’m amazed that she’s pulling it all off.
She puts her hand over her phone and whispers at me.
“Could you do a meeting on Tuesday with somebody at Google?”
My eyes widen. “Yeah sure, but I’ve never done …” I start, but she just nods and goes back to the person on the other end of her call.
When she’s off the phone, I clear my throat. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“We’ll do a run-through before you go.” She glances at her wrist. “Oh my God, I’ve a meeting uptown. I’ll see you this weekend?” She says as she grabs her purse and flies out the door as I’m nodding.
I stare around at the quiet office. “What am I doing?” I ask out loud to no one.
I inspect all the bids sitting on Letty’s desk. I’ve printed them all out to keep her on track, ordered by submission date. As I scan down them my heart jumps: One of them has tomorrow’s date on it.Shit. I fire off a quick text:
The deadline for the USAID bid is tomorrow.
What comes back is:
Oh no!
followed by:
Can you have a go at it?
