One by one, Brooke added more people, every single one of them full time.
Yes, there were a few bad hires, “near misses,” Peter called them. Whatever the reason, they didn’t last.
Brooke vowed to never be like Marion, the real estate lady who, on the day of Brooke’s three-month review, said, “Your fired.” Brooke hadn’t even finished her margarita flatbread pizza, let alone had time to look at the dessert menu. Brooke stood up, blew her nose on the napkin (knowing what Grandmother Doris would think of that) and tossed it, ever so casually, smack in the middle of her unfinished plate.
With each new hire, Brooke got closer and closer to what she was calling the Barking Out Loud “sweet spot.” She’d chuckle, remembering her father telling her mother how, if Lucinda wanted a new set of golf clubs, she could sell her old clubs for full price since the sweet spot was brand new.
Sweet spot hires, it turned out, were people like Brooke. They didn’t need to be women, but they needed to come at things more with the right side of their brain; not too serious, more creative, artsier, more whatever – just not people who belonged at the bank, hunkered down in a cube.
Peter’s people were different. They sat in front of a screen all day flipping switches, or whatever computer people do. His sweet spot was folks like himself, people with a sense of humor who could write stories about dogs, making the unbelievable sound believable.
Brooke’s people were out in public with clients and customers all day; they needed to look nice, presentable at least, and fit in with the dogs. Peter’s people worked from home.
Peter asked Brooke to drop something off at Joe’s apartment once. When someone answered the door, Brooke, who had a hard time adjusting her eyes from the bright sunlight to the computer genius’s dark room, saw a man who hadn’t shaved, may have been wearing jockey shorts and a dirty t-shirt, who, when she said, “Joe?” mumbled something. She stuck the envelope through the door and went on, hoping to forget the image soon.
“I’ve been looking at this,” Peter said to Brooke one morning, unfolding a large map where he had used crayons to color each neighborhood a different shade. Struggling to get it spread out on the table, he knocked the ginger Brooke used for her coffee to the floor. “Barking Out Loud is in every part of Charlotte, we’re even up in Davidson. That woman you found at Summit Coffee is doing great. Did you see her numbers from last week?”
Brooke knew Jessica would be right. That girl just had a way with people – and dogs. Brooke and Jessica had met over a chessboard on the deck at the Summit, and it only took Jessica two moves to say, “Checkmate.” Brooke’s right brain never would understand that game. She hoped Peter didn’t find out Jessica played chess. She’d beat him for sure, and Peter wouldn’t like that.
“I think it’s time we reach out further. You know the Carolinas, where do you think we should go next?”
Brooke wanted to say Asheville; she liked the mountains and Asheville had the feel of a town she’d like to live in someday. But she also loved Charleston. She’d hoped to attend The College of Charleston when she got out of high school. Brooke could see herself rushing from Language Arts to Anthropology (not Math) on the prettiest (and oldest) city campus in the country. But then Brooke got the offer from her own in-state university, so she ended up there.
“Maybe we should try the Triangle. I’m more familiar there. I could stay at the Arrowhead Inn where my parents stayed when they came to visit me at Chapel Hill. Besides, my car needs driving, and this will let me blow out the carbon.” Her grandmother had told her about exhaling, the loud explosive kind, being as good for your car’s carburetor as it was for your lungs.
Brooke felt secure at the Arrowhead Inn, surrounded by its history going back to the days when a large stone, shaped like an arrowhead, marked the intersection of the two original Indian trading paths in these parts.
Maybe she could find a place like it someday, make it her home, grow stuff in a garden, raise a large family, enjoy life, fit into the community; but for now, her little apartment above The Clover Café would do fine.
Friday morning, Brooke grabbed a quick bite from the buffet, just a nibble really, wanting to save her appetite for Guglhupf’s.
Traffic was light, so it barely took twenry minutes before she was stepping out of her Land Rover and striding into the already crowded German bakery. She ordered her usual black coffee (the nice lady said she’d find the ginger on a table by the wall) and a Chausson aux Pommes. It was just an apple turnover, but Brooke liked how it sounded when she said the words in French.
Standing on her tiptoes, looking for a table, Brooke couldn’t believe her eyes. Right there in front of her was Suzi, her friend from college, sitting all alone. They’d been inseparable those first two years until Brooke went to Europe and Suzi took off for Australia. They never connected much when they got back to Chapel Hill.
As Brooke walked toward her friend, Suzi jumped up, almost knocking her Frühschoppen to the floor. After much hugging, the two settled down. Suzi was still trying to find the right fit for her talents. She’d tried different things, but ..
Brooke explained what she was doing, how Barking Out Loud was a social media company that charged money to put images, videos even, of people’s dogs on the internet. How the customers would let Brooke’s people take their dog on location for a photo shoot, write cute stories, and then post the adventure on social media. All stuff the customer could do for themselves if they had time, which they said they didn’t.
“So what we’re doing is making the dog famous so we can become rich,” Brooke said. She didn’t like the way that sounded, but it was true. Every click on the internet made the dog more popular, and that brought in more dogs and more money. Simple, Brooke just needed to find a better way to say it.
The more they talked the clearer it became. Suzi’s job would be to travel up and down the East coast, finding sweet spot types, who knew where to find the people who wanted to make their pet famous.
“But only go to hip cities, the others are a waste,” Brooke said.
“Hip?” Suzi asked, knowing what the word meant but puzzled by what it had to do with dogs being on the internet.
“Yeah, I know it’s indefinable, but you know what I mean. Pick cities with art galleries, coffee shops, music venues, gay activists, food trucks, ride shares, cyber-journalists, buskers, street art.” Brooke paused for a breath, and Suzi jumped in.
“How about parks? Parks are important for dogs,” (people too Suzi thought). “Is that what you’re saying, mate?” Suzi liked the Australian term she had learned, it made everyone seem equal somehow.
Brooke went on a bit, asking how soon Suzi could start, telling Suzi how she and Peter would help, but at that moment, over Suzi’s Frühschoppen and Brooke’s Chausson aux Pommes, Suzi had the entire East coast laid out ahead of her.
Driving back to Charlotte, Brooke thought about how lucky it was that she ran into Suzi and that she was interested and available.
But why hadn’t she asked about Australia? Did Suzi meet anyone there, fall in love with a “mate” maybe? Was she planning to go back? Was she seeing anyone now? So many things they didn’t talk about, Brooke would do better next time.
And then, somewhere around Greensboro, she started to think about Peter and all the questions he’d have about salary and stuff.
Oh well, she’d tell him how in one short trip she covered Maine to Florida.
Barking Out Loud was becoming her whole life. It was all she thought about.