Dream Planner

The pungent air of sour cabbage, and smoked brisket hung thick and heavy in the room. It was after five and the place was clamouring with conversation, and the clatter of cutlery on plates. The owner motioned for her to take the usual booth by the window. The table had yet to be cleared from the previous customers, so she carried the dishes to the bussing station herself, and grabbed a cloth to wipe down the table.

Zel called from behind the counter, “ You don’t work here.” She grinned and shrugged her shoulders.

He brought over a large bowl of borscht to the table and a slice of dark rye without asking.

"Thank you, Zel,” she said. "I've been looking forward to this all day.”

He gave her a scrutinizing gaze. "You look tired. Are you eating?"

“Yes, I’m fine. Long week.” she answered.

"I got a bag for you. Don’t sneak off without it," he replied sternly as he rushed back behind the counter.

She raised the spoon to her lips and blew on the piping hot borscht. It had been a brisk day and the clear sky was beginning to pale as the last of the day’s sun suffused the foggy windows. She sipped the hot soup and closed her eyes. After a deep sigh she opened them and let her gaze drift. Her chest tightened. She abruptly put down the spoon, reached into her bag and felt for the rounded corners, and supple cover of her well-worn black notebook. She laid it on the table and opened it flat to the ivory coloured page bookmarked by the ribbon.

Rent $1050

Phone $80

Materials for winter coat $100

Winter boots $100

$1330

That left $170 for groceries and nothing to send home this month. Plus her weekly allowance for her Thursday after work borscht and Saturday morning croissant from the patisserie. She forgot to add that. Ah well, the croissant was a luxury anyway. And who knows, the weather might keep up and the boots could wait a little longer. But she simply couldn't skip her weekly borscht. That wouldn't be right. In any case $170 was generous for one person’s groceries. She reached for a napkin and carefully wrapped the slice of rye placing it in her bag.

Turning to the back of her notebook she opened the inner pocket and drew out her most recent sketches marked, "Bridal Collection."

The coloured pencil outlined a fairy-tale skirt of dusty rose tulle cascading into a chapel train, and a strapless neckline bodice with a lace up back. On the sides of the sketch were technical notes, 'basque waistline,' and 'hand-beaded corset.' On the top of the page were glued small square swatches of chiffon, tulle, lace, and several shiny beads that sparkled on the ivory page. She could only dream of a dress like this as a young girl in the village. She took another spoonful of the hot, sustaining broth and remembered.

Cold air clutched the back of her neck as the deli door opened behind her. Turning, she saw a silver haired woman walk slowly toward the counter surveying the room. She observed how the sapphire blue of her cashmere coat expertly, demurely draped her slim figure. How upright she stood. The server was helping another table and Zel was busy behind the counter. It was unlikely a table would come available at this hour. The deli was a well-established institution in the shoulder hours between work and home. She rose from her seat.

“It’s usually very busy about now. You're more than welcome to share my table,” she informed the woman gesturing to the booth by the window.

The woman turned to reveal her striking visage. Her handsome features commanded respect while at the same time kindhearted.

“That’s thoughtful of you young lady, “ she remarked, and took a last scan of the room. “I’d appreciate that.”

She led the woman to the table but not before reaching behind the counter for a menu.

“Would you care for a coffee? They serve very good espresso here.”

“You don’t work here, do you?” the woman asked.

“Not in a long time. But I like to help when it gets busy.”

“Well, isn't that something,” the woman replied, curiously. “An espresso would be lovely. Thank you.“

She caught Zel's eye, and he nodded his approval. His hands were full, and she knew he appreciated it, however reluctantly. She ground some beans into the portafilter, tamped it firmly with the brass tamper, and neatly brushed away any stray grounds. She locked the portafilter into the espresso machine and pulled two fine, caramel coloured cords of marbled espresso that poured like syrup into the white ceramic espresso cup. The cup was placed on the commensurate saucer w a small spoon, crema standing tall and stiff, and brought to the table with a mini pitcher of hot water on the side. “In case you'd like to add some water,” she said, sitting down.

“Well, goodness,” the woman declared.

“If you’re hungry, the borscht is very authentic. They serve it every Thursday. I never miss,” she explained enthusiastically.

“Borscht, why, what a great idea. That sounds like just the thing for this day, ” the woman remarked turning to look for the server.

Were hardly the words uttered from her mouth when the young lady jumped from her seat and headed to the counter. In a moment, to the woman's wonderment, she'd returned to the table holding a large bowl of borscht w a slice of dark rye bread.

“I must say, you are a formidable young lady,” she replied. "My name is Ruth. Ruth Richter." And not a few moments later were the two merrymaking over steaming bowls of borscht like long-lost relatives.

“You're right, it is very good. I tend to be quite picky about borscht, you know.” Ruth remarked.

“Do you often find it too sweet? It takes longer to make it this way but you can taste the difference. And just a touch of dill. Like home.”

“You're absolutely right." Ruth agreed, taking another spoonful. "And where is home my dear?”

She paused. “My parents live in Ukraine," she answered looking into her bowl as if it were a fermata. Then finally, "I moved here seven years ago.”

Ruth thought she noticed a glint above the young woman's high cheekbones. Faltering a moment herself, she eventually asked, "And what do you do?"

“I’m a seamstress," she recovered.

“Really?”

“Yes, I work at Lee’s Department Store.”

“Lee’s?” Ruth asked attentively.

“Yes, it’s the busiest time of year, and we’re short-staffed."

"It is that time of year, isn't it. Do you enjoy it?"

“Oh yes, I love my work. I've been working there for 5 years..." she suddenly stopped. “Oh dear, what time is it? I completely lost track...” She quickly gathered her things. “My supervisor will be upset,” she rattled as she stood from the table. "I have to get back to work. I’m sorry to leave you like this...”

“At this hour, my dear?”

“It’s the holiday party season, and we’re so backed up.” She rushed as she put some money on the table and her bag over her shoulder. “This should take care of everything. It was wonderful to meet you. I wish I could stay and talk to you all evening.” She scrambled towards the door, then stopped suddenly and turned back. "I was supposed to pick up a bag from Zel, the owner, before I left. Would you tell him I’ll come by after my shift? It was lovely talking with you. I hope we meet again!"

“Please, you don't have to…” Ruth tried to answer, but she had already run out the door.

The next morning scuttling into work she kept her head down trying not to be noticed. After being reprimanded for being late the night before she certainly didn’t want to make the same mistake. And finishing her shift late she missed getting back to the deli before it closed. She felt sorry for having to run out like that, and to Zel for not making it back on time. Tired and threadbare she didn't hear the alarm this morning. And to make matters worse she upturned her whole room looking for her notebook but it was nowhere to be found. She must’ve forgotten it at the deli rushing off. No time to worry about it now. She took her seat furtively at the sewing machine.

“Mr. Lee is here,” whispered her co-worker, Katya, under the whir of the sewing machine.

“What?”

“Mr.Lee, the president, he’s here today.”

“In our store? Why?” she answered not looking up, feeding the fabric through the presser foot.

“A surprise visit to this branch. Nobody knows,” Katya answered surreptitiously.

She felt a tap on the shoulder. She froze and braced herself for another reprimanding.

“Mrs. Park, I’m sorry. After last night’s shift…”

“Collect your things and come to the office,” the supervisor interrupted. There was a hush in the room with only the whir of sewing machines hanging in the air. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

“Mrs. Park, if I could explain, last night...”

“Everyone back to work. Now, please. Collect your things.”

Her face flushed all the way to her ears. She picked up her bag and coat and followed the supervisor through the workshop. Not a sound was uttered the entire length of the room except the hum of sewing machine motors and clicking of heels on hard tile floor. She wouldn’t remember the elevator ride up to the top floor nor the walk down the long corridor to the president’s office.

Later that evening, in her tiny rented room, seated at her even tinier kitchen table that doubled as a desk and cutting table, she tried to put together the events of the day. She recalled the feeling of bewilderment as she looked across the desk of the president of Lee’s Department Stores. Seated there was none other than Ruth, the woman she had befriended the night before.

“Short for Liebowitz. My maiden name. My family thought that Liebowitz’ Department Store was too long for people to remember. And besides, there wasn’t enough space on the sign in those days.”

And then, something about an offer. “ I didn’t mean to snoop in your day planner. You’d just rushed off so suddenly and, well, I looked for your information inside the front cover. You'd told me you worked here... then I noticed your designs. Frankly I think your talents are being under utilized, Mina.”

She wasn't in fact sure that any of it was real except that she was holding a piece of paper in her hand that had the word “Contract” on the top centre. She looked closely at the paper. The luminous neon sign across the street, "Zel’s Deli" streaked yellow and blue light through her apartment window highlighting a figure on the paper. $20,000.

“Consider it a signing bonus. I noticed a sketch for a winter coat in your collection. Put it towards that. I'd love to see a sample. Then we can talk bridal. Anyway, take the weekend. You’ll have to work for it. But something tells me that's nothing new for you.”

Then she remembered Ruth’s final words as she was leaving the office. "Mina, here's your notebook. Oh, by the way, Zel asked me to give you this.”

Now, sitting in the dark in her tiny rented room, at her tiny kitchen table, lit only by the neon sign beaming through the window, Mina looked down. On the floor next to her was a burlap bag filled with plastic containers. A week’s supply of borscht.