Choose Wisely

“ARTIE? WILL I BE ABLE TO MOVE ABOUT MY NORMAL ROUTINE? I mean, I’m feeling the need to visit an old friend at a baker’s shop that I go to most mornings. Well, except for the morning of the murder.”

“You mean, Joao’s?”

“Yes, you know it?”

“Yeah, I know it. Remember, I’ve been watching you for a bit.”

“Oh.” Feeling a bit embarrassed, she asked, “Did you get a pastry?”

“Yes, and coffee. He’s a funny little guy, that baker.”

“You mean his first question?”

“Yeah. When I placed my order, he offered me a second pastry and said, ‘Choose wisely.’ Kinda weird, right?”

Smythe understood. She had become very familiar with her quirky friend. Upon arrival at the baker’s shop, each customer was asked a simple question. “What may I offer you?” After the first selection is made, he then asks his customers what their second selection will be and cautions, “Choose wisely.” Regulars like Smythe understand the invitation. The customer pays for their initial selection of a pastry. He then offers the customer another at his expense.

Most new customers refuse his offer. If they do make an additional selection, it is typically a duplicate of their first or something they are familiar with. So hurried to get to the next task of the day, or perhaps too unimaginative, many of his customers miss the opportunity to interact with this wise man. The invitation, she discovered, is to choose something outside of one’s habit.

“The baker always greets new customers with that phrase. So much of the time, we want predictability,” Smythe shared. “So, we often purchase what we know; we stay in the same old lane. The baker calls it the Camazozt Principle, from the book A Wrinkle in Time.”

“The what?”

“The Camazozt Principle. It’s where everybody in this neighborhood on a different planet did the same thing in perfect unison. No questions were asked, and no choices were offered. The characters almost seemed fearful of deviating from the expected norm. Joao loved that book. He said he watched the movie three times.”

Smythe smiled as she remembered her friend recalling scenes from the movie.

“The baker offers choices that we know and are comfortable with,” Smythe continued, “as well as the risk of choosing something different—something outside of our normal habit. Since you’ve been to his shop, you know he has a standard list of pastries to choose from, but he also creates selections that have never been made before, and may not be made again. I know because I’ve often selected pastries of the day that were so mouth-wateringly delicious that when I went to order one the following day, I discovered they weren’t there anymore! It’s not uncommon those special pastries are not repeated for weeks, if not months. Unfortunately for those who will not choose something different, the opportunity is lost. For those of us who do choose, well, you get the idea. Did you choose a second pastry?”

Listening intently to her new client, Artie smiled. “I did. It was so unusual. The texture was so light and fluffy; it seemed to melt in my mouth. I gotta say, I savored every bite. And like you said, it wasn’t available the next day, which was a real bummer.”

Smythe frowned. “Did you visit the bakery before following me?”

“To be honest—no, I hadn’t. So, thank you for stopping by. It’s a delightful, if not quirky hangout for me.”

“My favorites are his malasadas,” Artie continued. “I must confess, I’ve ordered them each time I’ve entered the bakery while checking in on you. The last time I had one was at Leonard’s Bakery on Oahu a few years ago.”

Smythe grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t really notice you. I think I’m glad I didn’t—notice you, that is. Probably would have freaked me out a bit.”

“Good! I’m glad to know I was stealthy enough. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

Smythe blushed and changed the subject. “His malasadas are my favorite, too. I haven’t tried them on Oahu, although I hear they are amazing. I’m hoping to go back one day. Forget the ocean or the hotel room—I swear I’ll head straight for the shop from the airport!”

“You’ll find they’re similar but ever so slightly different. Each delicious in their own way.”

“Can I go see him?”

“You mean the baker? Right now? Yeah, no.”

Artie frowned and looked at her watch. “It would be closed by the time we got there. You can go tomorrow, if you must. But honestly, you’re looking a little pale. I’d really prefer you rest. If you’re hungry, let’s order in instead. If you are up to it, maybe watch a movie? Do you have Netflix?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Ok, then. Why don’t you go get comfortable? Take a pain reliever if you have to, but don’t take anything other than acetaminophen. I’ll have my team deliver something to eat. Any preferences?”

“I’m kind of picky. I’m not a fan of beef, pork, chicken, or broccoli. With that said, I do love Asian food.”

“So do I. It’s settled, then, vegetarian Asian food it is. Go get comfortable.”

“This may sound weird, but are you or your someone from your team going to be staying here? I mean, in the apartment, overnight. Or will you be outside? I’m not quite sure how this all works.”

“Yeah. I’m hanging here during the evening and night hours.”

Artie caught the slight frown that furrowed Smythe’s brow.

“I’m sorry, I’ve created what’s called a double layer of protection for you. It’s going to require protection both in your unit and outside of it. Especially now, after an attempt was made on your life.”

She paused for a moment.

“I’ve arranged for an air mattress to be delivered. I’ll put it up every night and take it down every morning. I’m already having sheets and towels delivered so that I don’t inconvenience you too much.”

“Oh, hmm, ok. No, it’s-it’s ok. I was just wondering. I do have extra sheets and towels, and I wash them every week. I use environmentally safe detergent and it’s really good on the skin—that is, if you have allergies to harsh chemicals. You don’t need to buy them.”

Artie smiled warmly at the offer. “It’s ok; it’s covered. Go do what you do. I’ll handle everything else.”

Artie’s gaze followed Smythe as she moved into the kitchen. She regarded her client for a moment. She had a hunch. She hoped this first evening would be an opportunity to get to know Smythe. The more she knew her, the easier it would be to gain her trust and cooperation. She would soon discover her instincts would prove accurate.

Smythe put away her groceries before retreating into her bathroom. She followed Artie’s advice and removed a couple of pain relievers from their bottle and turned on the faucet sink. Holding the pills in her hand, she stared at herself in the mirror, tracing her index finger around her reflection. She shook her head, popped the pills in her mouth, followed by a palmful of water before taking a long hot shower.

Smythe stood, savoring the stream of water as it cascaded over the top of her head, finding its path down the length of her body. Soaking in the healing properties of the steamy shower, she pondered her circumstances. She considered her options, finally making the only decision that felt reasonable. Few choices would keep her alive and free, except the one who now sat in her living room and outside her front door. The deciding factor was the word—free. Remembering the airline instruction, “Feel free to roam about the cabin,” Smythe smiled. In some ways, she felt a sense of relief with a security agency now attached to her.

Refreshed after her shower, Smythe changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants. She appeared from the bathroom and cleared her dining room table, which served as a makeshift desk. A short time later, Team 1 delivered food, clothes, toiletries, sheets, a single blowup mattress bed, several clips for Artie’s weapon, and a duffle bag. Artie rummaged through the duffle bag before placing it in the dining room closet along with her other belongings.

Artie observed her client closely as they shared a companionable, early dinner. She made several attempts to convince Smythe to get bed rest, but in the end, acquiesced to Smythe’s objections. They settled into the living room and continued to exchange small talk before choosing two comedy movies to while away the afternoon and evening.

With each passing hour, Smythe’s body became heavier.

“I think you’re right. I need to go to bed. I’m finding I’m more bushed than I thought.”

“Good choice,” Artie replied.

Smythe slowly rose from the sofa and walked into her bathroom and opened the pantry door. When she returned, she held a blanket and pillow for Artie. Artie accepted the items and watched as her client retreated to her bedroom. Satisfied that Smythe was tucked away for the evening, she checked in with her night crew before spending a couple of hours developing security plans for the following day. A visit to the baker was at the top of her list.

“An unnecessary risk,” Artie mumbled. “She just doesn’t comprehend it yet.”

*
*     *

The next morning, Smythe arose well before dawn. While her headache subsided overnight, another ache had settled into her soul. She felt engulfed by its energy and desperate to see the baker. She hoped his simple presence would ease the gnawing sense of dread she felt. If she were completely honest with herself, while a security detail brought a certain level of comfort to her, they also frightened her. Their weapons and companionship served as a constant reminder of the murder she witnessed and the recent attack on her own life.

She showered, dressed, and attempted to spend a few minutes reading in her room. Unable to concentrate on one of her new books, she gave up and snapped it shut.

In the living room, Artie sat up and listened as Smythe rustled around in the bathroom and then her bedroom. She rose quickly, showered, and dressed, preparing for Smythe’s appearance. She disassembled her blowup mattress and glanced around the living room. For a moment, she thought of allowing Smythe her space. Yet, she dismissed the thought as nothing more than wanting the convenience and comfort of her own home rather than the discomfort of a blowup mattress each night. She placed the disassembled mattress in the dining room closet, pulled out her laptop, and reviewed her notes from the previous day.

Smythe continued to sit in her armchair. Why so restless? You’re safe.

She glanced at her alarm clock.

God, it’s only 3:00 a.m. Much too early to leave.

Smythe sighed. She rose from her chair, walking quietly toward her steamer trunk. There she picked up her tablet and opened it. She searched through her files until she found a meditation led by her mentor. Returning to her chair, she slowly closed her eyes and deepened her breathing.

Feeling calmer after twenty minutes, Smythe opened her eyes and steeled herself.

It’s going to be ok. Just greet her. And try not to be so geeky or mean.

Smythe exited her bedroom and walked into the dining room, finding Artie sitting on the sofa, hunched over her laptop.

“Hi. How did you sleep?” Smythe asked, forcing a half-smile.

“Fine. How about you?”

“Nothing that a tenth of a muscle relaxer couldn’t fix.” She watched as Artie rose from the sofa and pulled out the duffle bag from the closet.

“I’d like to go to the baker’s shop.”

Artie frowned. “I know.” She turned to look at Smythe.

“We’ll go, but before we do, I need to outfit you a bit.” Artie lifted up a black bulletproof vest and reinforced mesh sports cap from her bag and handed them to Smythe.

“Put the vest on under your sweatshirt. I need you to wear both the vest and hat when you’re out in public. It’ll deflect any flying debris.”

“You mean bullets.”

“I mean bullets.”

Smythe accepted the vest and cap. Dear God. This can’t be happening.

“It should be easy enough to figure out, but ask for help if you can’t. One arm in and then the other.”

“I think I can manage, thank you.”

Smythe lowered her head with the cap and vest in her hands and returned to her bedroom. She laid the vest upon her bed, her fingers lightly touching the nylon. It felt stiff beneath her touch. She took off her sweatshirt and found a T-shirt in her closet and put it on. She lifted the vest from her bed. Placing one arm through the opening and then the other, it felt heavier and more confining than it looked. She fastened the vest tightly to her torso. She slipped her sweatshirt on over and returned to the living room, stopping before Artie. Artie smiled, asked permission to lift the sweatshirt and inspected the fit of the vest. She gave an approving nod, taking the cap and placing it on Smythe’s head.

“There. You’re good. Let’s go.”

“Just so you know, I’m not a fan of baseball caps.”

“Neither am I, but it’s necessary.”

With Smythe behind her, Artie exited the apartment. Team 2 positioned themselves at the front door and directed Smythe to their vehicle. Smythe, however, had other plans. She made a beeline for her own SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat. Artie paused for a moment, her eyes harpooning a glare into the back of Smythe’s head.

Driving! What next?! Might as well wear a sign. Here I am!

Artie looked at her team. “Did you inspect her vehicle?”

“We did. It’s all clear.”

Artie sighed. “Alright, then.” She pursed her lips. Her tactical training required she place her client in the back of her team’s’ vehicle, yet she also reasoned she needed Smythe’s trust.

Another give.

She shook her head and strode around to the passenger side of Smythe’s vehicle and got in.

“Is there a problem?” Smythe asked.

“It’s foolhardy for you to drive and for me to allow you to drive. But then again, I can often be a fool. For now, I’ll let it slide. You’ll drive, but only between both of my vehicles. No wobbling. First sign of trouble, you better follow my instructions to the letter. Understood?”

“Yup.”

“When you are out, turn off your cellphone and disengage Siri.”

Smythe pulled her phone from her messenger bag and turned her guidance system off before shutting down the phone completely.

Sandwiched between her two security SUVs, Smythe made her way through the sleepy enclave and wondered at the entirety of it all.

Just a short time ago, my life had such a different trajectory. Yet now, on a day like any other, I’ve got armed security on two sides of me. How did this get to be so out of control?

Smythe continued along the route Artie mapped out. She looked toward the heavens and quietly mouthed, “Help me.” As always, the Universe responded—perhaps in ways she did not understand, or want. But responded.