President Darcy

“Whose idea was Spaghetti On-a-Stick anyway?” Elizabeth asked. Surely there were hundreds of foods that were better candidates for being put on a stick.

“Dad’s,” Mary replied. “He’s very enthusiastic. He had this idea for wrapping the noodles around the stick that was very innovative—something nobody has ever done in the industry.” Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane and knew they were thinking the same thing: maybe there was a reason nobody had tried it. “But it turns out that spaghetti is kind of slippery, so R&D has been having trouble getting it to stick to the stick. And with building that new factory out in Duluth…We’re out on a limb financially.”

“Shit,” Elizabeth said, feeling suddenly unmoored. She was the only Bennet who didn’t depend on the food company for a livelihood; if the business cratered, the whole family would be in straitened circumstances.

“Without new products to market, sales have been lagging. And we lost the City of Chicago contract to On-a-Rod, Inc. I don’t know what we’ll do if sales don’t pick up. Dad doesn’t want to sell to one of those big conglomerates, but—”

“He can’t sell the company!” Jane cried. “It’s all he ever dreamed about. And now it’s finally a success!”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t know how we’re going to survive. We only have about a couple months’ of business expenses in the bank, and nobody will give Dad another loan.” She slouched into her chair. “What we really need is a steady customer to provide a stable stream of income.”

“Weren’t you going to apply for the USDA contract?” Elizabeth asked. The application for the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s school lunch program had been the sole topic of conversation within the family for at least a month. She smiled her thanks at Jane as her sister handed her a cup of tea.

Mary brightened a little. “Yeah, that’s a huge contract. It could save us, but we won’t even know whether we won it for at least a month.”

“All right,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll try to dwell on the positive when I talk to Mom.”

Jane patted her hand. “Thank you for coming. Sometimes you’re the only one she’ll listen to.”

“Better you than me.” Mary rolled her eyes. “And you probably know this, but Dad wants to keep it quiet, so you can’t say anything to Lydia—that would be like taking out an ad in The New York Times.”

“What’s going on at Lucas and Lucas?” Elizabeth asked. The PR firm was the pride and joy of her friend Charlotte’s life.

Mary shook her head sadly. “Charlotte seemed upset on the phone. I guess business has been slow since her dad has been doing so much volunteering for the Democratic National Committee.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea. “I wish there was something I could do. She’s kick ass at PR.”

“You know anyone who needs a PR guru?” Mary asked.

Elizabeth gnawed on a fingernail while she considered, but Jane spoke first. “Maybe Bing does! Politicians always need good PR or know someone who does.”

“That’s a great idea,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure Charlotte would appreciate being recommended.”

Mary nodded slowly. “Now, if only we knew someone who can get spaghetti to stick to a stick…”

***

The phone rang. And rang again. Elizabeth rolled over and groped for it on her bedside table. “Hello?”

“Lizzy?”

The strained quality of Jane’s voice put Elizabeth on instant alert. “Jane? What’s wrong?” Her first thought was another financial emergency like the one a week ago.

“I…um…hurt my back again.”

“Oh no!” Elizabeth bolted upright in bed. The last time Jane injured her back it had turned out to be a herniated disc which had prevented her from walking for almost three weeks. “How bad is it?”

Jane gave a humorless laugh. “Pretty bad.” If Jane admitted to being in pain it must be excruciating. Elizabeth’s mouth was suddenly quite dry.

“Are you lying down? Do you want me to come over? I could bring my heating pad. Is your prescription up to date?”

Jane chuckled without mirth. “Yeah, my prescription is up to date. Unfortunately, it’s at home.”

“And you’re not?” Where could Jane be at—Elizabeth squinted at her clock—1:36 a.m. on a Saturday night? Well, technically it was Sunday Monday. Had she gone to Bing’s place?

“I was hoping you could go to my apartment, pick up the medicine, and bring it here.” Elizabeth could tell Jane was trying to keep the pain out of her voice. Each word was carefully enunciated.

“Of course. Where are you?” Elizabeth stood, pulling off her pajama bottoms and struggling into her jeans.