Thirty-four
“YOU want the Heart of the Story, sure,” Esther challenged, “as long as they’re not the broken ones.”
“That’s not true,” Sydney replied.
“Then why do you delete negative comments in your Cinder Chat forum? And ignore abuse reports on users?”
“That’s crazy!”
“Not so crazy,” I said.
Sydney turned on me. “And what would you know about it, Clare? I thought you were engaged to be married to a rather delicious police lieutenant.”
“How do you know about my personal life?”
“I always do my research. For instance, I know your daughter is a Paris-trained chef working at your Washington, DC, location. And you’re running this coffee business with your ex-husband, a coffee broker who owns a warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn—full of amazing beans he sources himself. Anyway, with a fiancé like the one you have, what are you doing using my Cinder app?”
“I’m not using it. A reliable source told me that Carol Lynn Kendall filed an abuse report on Richard Crest for his appalling behavior, but your administrators allowed him to continue using your app. She tried to warn other women about him, but your Cinder Chat moderators deleted her negative comments.”
“Your ‘reliable source’ is badly informed. I created this app to protect women from abuse, not encourage it. My Tinkerbells would never do what you’ve described. They couldn’t if they wanted to. We have backup systems in place for review and protections embedded in our coding.” She snapped her fingers. “Right, AJ?”
“Um, excuse me?” AJ tore herself away from Dante and hurried over.
“This is AJ, the temporary head of my development team.”
“Temporary?” I said. “What happened to your permanent head?”
“Gone,” AJ replied.
“Haley Elizabeth Hartford was a real whiz, and a real loss, I have to admit. Until recently, she oversaw all of our coding, but she’s gone off to spearhead development of a new app; and we wish her well, don’t we, AJ?”
“We don’t hold grudges,” AJ said almost robotically. “We like happy endings.”
“You see? That’s why your charges are totally bogus,” Sydney reiterated. “Tell them, AJ.”
“Tell them what?”
With that familiar head-toss of parental exasperation, Sydney explained: “These ladies have been led to believe that Cinder ignores abuse reports and deletes negative comments in its forums.”
“That’s crazy!” AJ echoed. “We encourage our Ellas and Fellas to tell us about abuse of any kind so we can keep all our users safe and happy!”
Sydney folded her arms. “You see, Esther, we strive for happy endings. Not broken hearts.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s your malfunction, not ours.”
Sydney tried to wave her away. But Esther stepped up, right into the CEO’s space. Before she could utter another word, one of the Tinkerbells rocketed out of the group and blocked my barista, forcing her backward.
“Hey!” Esther and I objected together.
“Stand down, Cody,” Sydney ordered.
A golden-tanned siren with a brownish blond pixie, athletic build, and square-jawed scowl, Cody looked like the girl most likely to be flagged for an offensive body check in Ivy League Lacrosse.
Like a good Tinkerbell (or German shepherd), she did as her mistress ordered, but not before glowering a warning at Esther. Then she took a position to the right of Sydney, her hand poised over a bulging pocket the way I’d seen uniformed officers anticipate a gun draw.
“Is she carrying a weapon?” I asked in alarm.
“Cody is my head of security,” Sydney replied, “and she’s licensed to carry a stun gun and other forms of protection. She’ll be here Saturday night with Team Tinkerbell, so you’ll have no worries.”
Saturday night? I exchanged glances with Esther and we both blurted: “Why Saturday night?”
Sydney glanced at her cyber-posse and snapped her fingers. “Is everything on schedule?”
A beautiful African American Tinkerbell with a curly black pixie raised her smartphone. “The crowd has been hired. Not as couples, of course. They’ll hook up in the coffeehouse for the cameras.”
“Thank you, Tanya.”
Crowd? Esther and I exchanged glances again: “What crowd?!”
“We’ve arranged for a rent-a-mob,” Sydney replied. “A lot of trendy young people will be hanging around the Village Blend Saturday evening. Two hundred or so will be coming, starting around six PM until you close.”
“But I don’t need a fake crowd,” I said. “I want real customers.”
“They will be real, paying customers. They’ve got a one-night expense account, and they’re urged to spend generously. They will all be young and attractive, too, and they are all bona fide users of my Cinder app. You don’t see the symmetry here?”
I scanned the tigresses around me. “Yes, and a fearful symmetry it is.”
“Oh, don’t get all apocalyptic on me, Clare. The crowd we put in place will do the trick. They’ll be posting on social media with images of your drinks, your pastries, and their attractive Cinder matches—all of the people coming are alphas with plenty of followers. And their activity will attract legit customers. The whole thing will provide the perfect background for our Post story. We have a reporter and photographer coming Saturday night.”
“The New York Post is coming Saturday?”
“The Washington Post. We’re taking this story national.”
“But—”
“Do you have tables you can set up outside?” Sydney asked. “It would be great if it looked like people were clamoring to get in.”
“But we can’t even fill this space—”
“You will. And you’ll need those tables outside, too.”
Dante stepped forward. “Boss, do you want me to haul up the outdoor café tables and heaters from the basement?”
“I guess so.” I turned to Esther. “You better call our part-timers to see who’s available for tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, I’ll be doing much more than that!” Esther promised with a mad poet’s gleam in her eye. (I was afraid to ask.)
Luckily, Cinder’s CEO took her words literally.
“Then we’re set!” Sydney declared. “You’ll see, Clare. I always deliver. Your Happy Ending—and mine—are on the way.”
Just then, my welcome bell jangled, and two women walked in. I knew these customers. They were NYPD detectives. And from the look in their eyes, they weren’t here to deliver a Happy anything.