Chapter Four

 

Harriet Smith looked nervous. On the first day of their meeting, when the publicist took her photograph for the website, the digital shop captured her perfectly. A roundish face, a blank smile, too-wide eyes filled with fear beneath a limp mop of corkscrew auburn curls.

Em suppressed a grimace as she watched. Poor girl. What had persuaded her to go through with this? Was it romantic desperation? Fear of chronic loneliness, like the previous caller, Claire Bates? Or was it as Doctor Ferris suggested — a chronic desire for fifteen seconds of fame?

Colin. Not Doctor Ferris. She would have to work on that part, since her brain kept inserting the cold formalities whenever she thought about him. Not that she did very often, or very willingly, with the man himself beside her providing constant reminders of why.

"All right. Let's get this thing on a roll. You'll make your introductions, then you'll start your questions, and just pretend I'm not here." Their videographer was a producer from the WMZ news team, armed with a simple handheld camera — nothing fancy for mere webisodes, Em surmised, tidy little five-minute segments featuring her and Colin sniping at each other, Harriet's timidity in the background.

"Harriet, nice to meet you." Em shook hands with the girl. A clammy palm was clasped against her own, briefly. "I'm Doctor Emma from Heart Therapy."

"Yeah, I recognize your voice." Harriet perked up slightly at this point. Her normal tones were uncertain ones, as if her voice was one of those which perpetually seeks reassurance for any statement it makes. Pale freckles were scattered like sand on her cheeks, her complexion somewhere in between sunny afternoons and too much time indoors.

"I'm sure you remember Doctor Colin Ferris —"

"A pleasure." He took Harriet's hand for a brief handshake, the girl's small hand disappearing in his own. Harriet was shrinking away from him instinctively, Em noticed.

He's certainly made an impression on her, Em thought. She thinks she's an insect he's about to step on.

"So let's sit down. Tell us about yourself, Harriet," said Em, drawing a chair from the loneliest corner table, which had four chairs. This venue was Harriet's regular hangout, apparently, where she and her coworkers came after hours — it had been Colin's suggestion, surprisingly enough, to meet somewhere natural to Harriet.

"Okay." Harriet kept her smile, even though her hands were still clasped in desperate prayer beneath the table. She took a deep breath. "Um, well, you know that I'm — I'm single. I live in an apartment with my cat ... I have a mom, she's in Portland ... and there's my job, which is an over-the-phone customer service assistant at the Lunden Staple Company's headquarters. You know? They make staples, obviously, and office supplies..."

"And your friends?" Em prompted. "Talk to us about them."

She was taking the lead thus far, which surprised her also. She had expected Colin would appropriate it as his right. He was busy sifting through the portfolio they had both been issued: one which covered the basics of Harriet's life, including photos of her apartment and workplace, a few personal snapshots from her life that she had dutifully yielded several days ago to the producer.

"From work, mostly. Well, there's Bobby, who's a sign painter, actually. But the rest are just the staple crew. That's what we call ourselves. Well, what I call us, anyway." For a second only, the smile flickered with doubt. "That's me, Mickey, Charisse, Tonya, Steve. And Elton. They're great. They don't know about this yet, but they'll be really supportive. Elton, especially ... he's really understanding about stuff."

A nervous tell. Elton was an office crush of sorts, Em perceived.

Colin spoke. "Tell us about your relationships," he said, setting aside the folder. "Whom do you think was the closest relationship you've shared with a potential date?"

Harriet looked startled by his address. "Um. Well. With a friend in college? He was my lab partner in science class. We used to make up silly stuff about the professor. Tease each other about things."

"Did you tell this person secrets? Intimate things about yourself?"

Harriet's face flamed several shades brighter than her hair. "No?"

"Whom do you tell those things?"

"My mom. And my friends Bobby and Elyssa — she's my best friend back home."

"Let's talk about what you want in a relationship, for starters," said Em. "And who you need to be to find that kind of happiness. That's what Doc—Colin and I are here to help you figure out."

"What do I say?" Harriet looked bewildered.

"Just — describe it."

"Or, you can fill out these." Colin removed a stack of papers from the folder. "A personality profile and a relationship questionnaire." He pulled a pen from his breast coat pocket and clicked the tip open.

"I think Harriet's words will do fine," said Em.

"I'll take the quizzes," said Harriet, looking grateful. She pulled the pages towards her and accepted the pen meekly from Colin's possession. She glanced at both of them, timidly. Time for them to retreat, Em surmised.

"Was that really necessary right now?" Em whispered under her breath as they moved away. "She was just beginning to open up to us."

"No such thing was happening," he muttered back. "Trust me. The power of a pop quiz for the average woman will do more than two strangers asking questions."

He was right. That truth peeved her more than she wanted to admit.

 

 

*****

 

 

It took Harriet two hours to fill out the personality and relationship assessments. An hour and a half too long, thought Em. Clearly, Harriet Smith was fumbling with hesitation and doubt for each question. Across the room at the table for four, she crossed out an answer for the third time.

She could see the same sentiments on Colin's face. "We might as well throw this girl into a pool of sharks," he said. "That's what the world of dating and relationships is for someone of her limitations."

"She's not that bad."

"Look at her," he said. "That dress — a size too large. She never wears it, because it's too bold — she has a closet full of oversized sweaters and overly-mature office attire that she turns to first —"

"So she's not stylish." But even Em could see from the way Harriet kept tugging at her dress — a brown, long-sleeved one with big blue and green flowers splashed all over it — that she was uncomfortable with the garment. "Next you'll be saying she's too heavy for a relationship."

"Of course not." He must have detected the ire in Em's voice, his own mollified for this statement. "A little plump, perhaps, by society's standards, but she's far from unattractive. I'm talking about her demeanor, her obvious insecurities. The way she bites her nail, and says half her words like she's afraid of instant contradiction. She's cringing. Her 'hurt puppy' attitude is hardly going to attract anyone."

"I find that hard to believe," said Em, dryly, "given the number of men I've known who seem to find weak, helpless, and insecure women attractive — circling them like sharks sensing blood in the water. But those women had physical attributes which Harriet doesn't. That's the gist of your analysis, doctor."

"I'd rather not discuss the weaknesses of attraction right now."

"I think weaknesses may be all we have, according to you."

He snorted. "As I said before, insecurity and self-doubt is like a bad smell. It holds people of either gender at arms' length," he said. "Which means that certain men are off the table, yes. Her best possible candidate right now is probably someone like him." He pointed towards a man slouched over his drink in the corner of the bar, skin pale beneath rosacea and straw-colored stubble, his body sporting a paint-splattered black t-shirt, shorts, and high-top sneakers.

"He's probably a perfectly nice guy," said Em. "But are you seriously saying Harriet has no chance with anyone in her social circle? Her everyday sphere?" Colin had deliberately selected the grungiest figure in the bar, she detected, the only one dressed like a loafer and a bum in a place where three-piece-suit office lackeys were having an early round.

Em spilled Harriet's portfolio pictures across the bar's surface. "None of these men are male supermodels," she answered. "Look at them. They have the same flaws on the outside. I'm sure they have the same insecurities on the inside, too. Are you saying none of them would give her a chance, if they truly noticed her?"

He studied it. "Not the one on the right. The one in the middle already has a crush on the girl in the circle, the blonde. And the one on the left — difficult to say without actually meeting him. But I think the smirk on his lips says 'no,' don't you?"

"And none of them will overlook her flaws for the sake of her better qualities?" pressed Em. "Like the fact that she's nice? And has deeper interests, hobbies, a pretty smile?"

Colin didn't answer. One eyebrow quirked up, conveying his doubts with a single look.

Romantic my foot. Frank's description about cavemen earned the top spot in Em's consideration of her opponent. Where was the old-fashioned chivalry mentioned on Doctor Ferris's book cover? What about the 'knights in shining armor' and 'rose and handkerchief tokens of love' equivalents his critics had bashed so eloquently in their reviews of his work?

"I think she's done," observed Em, looking over his shoulder. "We should go if we're going to finish building that profile you're so keen on."

"I suppose you'd rather read her voice and trust the judgments you draw from it.”

"You'd be surprised what the human voice can tell you," Em answered. His tone, for instance, told her that Doctor Ferris held a decidedly low faith in human resilience, Harriet's, in particular.

Harriet had finished, sitting upright again in her chair with the papers stacked neatly in front of her, a hopeful and expectant look on her face. Like a puppy waiting to be rewarded, thought Em, painfully.

"Where's Vic?" asked Em, referring to their cameraman and producer.

"He's asleep over there," answered Colin, pointing to another table. "I think he found he had nothing to occupy his time."

At the sound of his name, Vic begin to stir. With a stretch and exaggerated yawn, he glanced around. “Ready to get this on the road?” he asked them. “Maybe head to another location on the list? We could get some footage to contrast home life with the after-work hangout.”

"You mean, you want to see my apartment?" Harriet looked uncomfortable. "I didn't make my bed today. Or put away my clothes."

Apartment, workplace, friends — the whole shebang. The producers had made Harriet aware of this fact, but it was just now sinking in, apparently.

"That's not a problem," answered Em. "We're just trying to get a sense of the kind of person you are, Harriet. Getting to know you through your real life. That way we understand how to help."

The camera was rolling again, meaning Em was forced to put on her extra-bright smile. Colin clearly didn't feel the need to do the same, until Em discreetly poked him in the ribs and pointed while off-camera. He made an effort afterwards.

"Okay, sure." Harriet was clearly trying to be brave about this again. "Sounds great."

"And ... that's a wrap." They collected their things and turned to go. Harriet lifted her hand and waved towards someone in the corner. The boy in the paint-stained clothes waved back, eagerly.

"That's Bobby," said Harriet. "He's a friend of mine. Not from work; he paints signs for the city ... he just came by for moral support." Bobby shot her a thumbs-up before going back to his open book — he was hunched over a graphic novel, Em realized, something with a comic book cover.

"He knows about this?" Em said.

"Oh, yeah. I had to tell someone. I couldn't tell anybody from work. Not yet —" she blushed, furiously, at this point, "— but I guess they'll find out. Eventually. I was just hoping it would be after I was kind of ... you know. Better."

That wasn't on film. Em was grateful for that. She felt herself softening as she laid her hand on Harriet's arm.

"I'm sure they would want to support you, if they're really your friends," said Em. "But, in the meantime, we'll be discreet when we're around them ... and we'll hope they're not fans of In the Moment's debate forum." She smiled with this last part, feeling sure there wasn't much danger of a youthful office crowd tuning in, unless they got wind of Harriet's involvement through her social media.

For the first time, a real smile almost appeared on Harriet Smith's face.

Harriet's apartment seemed like a classic setting for What Not to Wear, or, maybe, Plain Jane — Em had seen more than her share of reality makeover shows during cold and flu season. An unmade bed displaying a crowd of throw pillows and stuffed animals against its footboard, the garments packed in the closet all hand-me-downs from friends and relatives, Em suspected. An oversized green plaid button-down, a pair of worn leggings, jeans so baggy that both Harriet's legs could fit into one side alone.

"I'm so sorry about the mess," puffed Harriet, stuffing garments into drawers and collecting nappy wool pullovers and gym socks from the floor, hastily.

"I'm messy, too," said Em, with a conspiratorial smile. She wasn't, but it was better to comfort Harriet than worry about little details like that at the moment. Harriet stuffed a pair of worn sneakers and a pile of leotards under the bed, then yanked the rumpled comforter towards the headboard.

"That's better," she said, gasping for breath.

The cameraman was shooting the living and kitchen area combination, where Colin was studying Harriet's short row of photos. The dual room showcased secondhand furniture and posters of flowery fields and French cafes. The scant row of photos featured Harriet posing with coworkers at an office birthday party, an office Christmas party, and an office barbecue. A photo of Harriet with her cat, a photo of her and her mother at an amusement park.

"I just don't take many photos," said Harriet. The kitchen counter was stacked with pyramids of canned goods, the front burner occupied by a recently-washed saucepan.

"Do you cook?" asked Colin.

Em was tempted to ask him if that was the best way to a gentleman's heart, but refrained from it. Harriet's flustered look had returned when he spoke to her.

"No. I mean, I cook chili con carne sometimes, when friends come over. And my mom's cabbage soup. But I'm not what you'd call an experimental gourmet cook or anything."

"What hobbies do you have?" Colin set the photo of Harriet and a female coworker carefully in its place again.

"I used to knit. I made hats and scarves for people I knew...and I journal. I love journaling. And scrapbooking. Then there are mementoes that won't fit in books, so I make special memory boxes to keep them in. I use decoupage." She opened a narrow coat closet in the corner near the door, revealing a top shelf stacked to the ceiling with collage-covered shoeboxes.

"Mm. I see." He hadn't cracked a smile since entering the apartment.

Harriet now attempted to retrieve her cat, a wispy-tailed white long-hair mix that scurried off into the bedroom as she pursued it. Vic followed — maybe hoping to get a shot of the cat, giving it up to take stock footage of the tidy, less personal parts of the girl's room.

"I'm kind of a romantic," admitted Harriet, with a blush. "I just love the idea of Paris. And Valentine's Day. You know? I've always hoped the guy of my dreams would propose to me on that day in Paris. Near the Eiffel Tower. In the rain, maybe." The cameraman wasn't listening, busy taking a shot of the satin and velvet heart pillows piled on the windowsill of Harriet's bedroom. 'Only Yours' and 'True Love' embroidered on them, framed by the frilly lace border.

"You see what we're up against," muttered Colin. "It's the room of an eleven-year-old girl going on thirty. Miss Smith is due for a quarter-life crisis when she wakes up and realizes how far her real world is from her fantasies."

"Because she has stuffed animals?" Em answered, keeping her voice low. "And a few romantic notions about relationships? I hate to burst your bubble, but so do most women."

"What about this photo collection?"

He had her there. Harriet's smile was clearly the most sincere in all of these pictures, featuring the same small group of people. And it was a painfully, deliriously happy smile that seemed wildly out of place among those smirks, lip quirks, and limp grins. Even the cat had a feline frown.

"There's nothing wrong with her life per se," hissed Em. "She has a place of her own in a city teeming with possibilities for meeting people and pursuing new interests. Just because her life is small doesn't mean it has to be empty, pointless, or unhappy."

"But Miss Smith's is all three," he hissed back. "That, or she's mentally unbalanced."

"Is that your university degree making the judgment?" The snark in Em's voice didn't match the innocent look on her face. Colin's expression had only a breath of time to grow cold before Harriet reappeared.

"Um, guys, I have to go," she said. "I only took a half-day off from work ..."

"No. Great," said Em. "We'll come and see your workspace. Vic can get a quick shot of it for the video journal and we'll be on our way." She did not add the part about this being a discreet chance to observe Harriet in her element.

More stuffed animals with plushy hearts decorated the cubicle where Harriet worked. A 'Paris is Forever' pencil mug with the Eiffel Tower and a pink heart, an alien stress ball that was obviously an office gag gift. Harriet put her purse in her desk drawer as Vic dutifully took a few footage shots of these items.

"Okay ... so I guess this is it for now? Or do you guys have some more questions?" She glanced from Em to Colin, then back again, quickly. Obviously, she wasn't ready to tell her coworkers about them — Em wondered if it was because she hoped her workplace crush would notice the 'new her' first.

"Not now." Colin closed the folder he had been perusing. "We'll be seeing you again —"

"Wednesday," supplied Vic.

"On Wednesday. And we'll begin helping you evaluate your life circumstances."

"We'll be helping you find the real problem, Harriet," said Em. "And helping you work towards fixing it so you can have the best life possible."

Harriet looked less confused after this reply. "Sounds great," she said. "I should go." She grabbed a memo off her desk and hurried away. Em saw her talking, briefly, to a young, blond man from one of the photos, and a dark-haired girl with a loud laugh. She wondered what Harriet was telling them about her three visitors, only one of whom was in business clothes.

"That's it for me," said Vic. "See you two docs next Wednesday noon at her place." With a grin, he pocketed his camera and walked away. Em half-expected Doctor Colin Ferris to correct the obvious error of her title, but he didn't.

Outside the building, Colin descended the steps at a swift pace, hands in his pockets. "To help Miss Smith —"

"Harriet," supplanted Em.

"Harriet. Forgive me. To achieve the outcome the producer so desires, we'll have to change her demeanor completely, you realize. The metaphorical equivalent of a personality transplant, with the amount of time we've been given."

"We can help her find some bit of confidence in six weeks," Em answered. "Why do you think we're so destined to fail at this?" Probably for the same reasons you do, Emma, suggested the tiny voice in the back of her mind.

"Listen. You know the psychology of her potential dates, right?" Em continued. "The psychology of the modern, romantically-inclined male, which ones are candidates, which ones are players — and what they need to see in Harriet to like her. Who better to go on a date with Harriet than a chivalrous gentleman you've helped select?"

Maybe this honeyed compliment soothed him to silence. "As for me," Em added, "I'll do what I do best."

"Which would be the role of the soothing voice which tells her all will be well, I gather?"

"Yes," conceded Em. "And helps her realize that being the girl next door doesn't mean being desperate and clingy, or being the constant hanger-on in the social group."

"That's a great deal to cover in six weeks," said Colin. "You'll have decimated her world and half her friendships by then, in this quest to get her a single date. We'll likely do more harm than good."

"It's not as destructive as you make it sound," said Em. "But at the end of six weeks, we will agree on enough helpful maneuvers to help Harriet Smith as a person and as a potential girlfriend."

"I can hardly agree with the methods this project will demand," answered Colin. "But there's nothing better I can suggest for the moment, so we'll have to bite the bullet and go through with your suggestion."

"I'm so glad you surrendered this gracefully," answered Em, sarcastically. "I was afraid you might be rude about resisting this whole project after you signed on."

"What other choice do I have?" he asked. "But it's against my every professional fiber to do this, you realize."

"You'll have the chance to air that grievance at our first debate," Em replied. "Along with many more, I'm sure."