Billie lights up when she talks about craftsmanship and heritage preservation, about sharing the town’s history and showing pride in Balsam Bay’s roots. When my eyes flit to Tim, he’s taking notes with a tight expression. He’s the only one who hasn’t said anything yet.
When we open up the floor for questions, they’re the things we knew they’d want to know.
“When can we start?”
“Would local businesses get priority for vendor spaces on the boardwalk?”
“What happens if we don’t get the grant?”
“How much will construction disrupt current businesses and the marina?”
She handles it all with patience and expertise, and I weigh in with the numbers. Everything seems to be going well, and all the while, Tim is still silent, scribbling away in his little notebook.
Finally, he speaks. “I hate to play devil’s advocate here, but six weeks for an environmental analysis is a tight deadline I’m not sure you’ll be able to meet.” I open my mouth to reiterate we already have things booked, so it is, in fact, possible. “And no offense, there, Darcy, but those towns you used as comparables have different demographics than ours. A different tourism infrastructure. One of them was on PEI, for Pete’s sake.” His haughty laughter morphs into a grade-A smoker’s cough.
I counter with the facts: the date for the environmental assessment, and that I chose those Maritime towns specificallybecausetheir tourism data was similar to Balsam Bay’s.
He presses on, “To be honest, I have concerns about committing land to parking when there are more lucrative options on the table. I mean, a parking lot won’t make the town money like, for example, a storage unit could.” He’s so sure of himself. When his eyes lock on Billie, who has been quietly gripping the edge of the table as he goes on, I grind my molars to keep from growling at the man. “Lizzie, you, of all people, should understand the value of practical development over these… ambitious tourist schemes.”
What the hell is he getting at?
No one says a word, and Tim must take that to mean his little speech is working. In the most patronizing tone I’ve ever heard, he continues, looking around the room as if everyone there is on his side. “My daughter’s enthusiasm is cute. Admirable, even. But we need to think about realistic returns, and I don’t think this is it.” Turning to her once more, he asks, “How many waterfront projects do you have under your belt, sweetheart?”
It’s Billie’s turn to clench her jaw. She places her palms on the table, almost as if to hold herself up. She’s calm on the exterior, but there’s a determined fire in her eyes. “With all due respect, Mr. Cameron.” She pauses, emphasizing they are both here as professionals, not as father and daughter, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a fucking turn on. I want to high-five the shit out of her for that power move. “Storage units won’t create jobs or bring in tourists. This will.”
Tim has the balls to laugh. “Okay. Well, I’m asking us to be practical. I could come up with a far more realistic proposal for storage units that won’t cost the town nearly as much and will see financial returns faster. Not everyone can afford to chase dreams.” The barb lands. I see it when Billie flinches almost imperceptibly.
“You know.” Mayor Simmonds finally speaks up. “These are all good questions. I think we have lots to think about and consider. Perhaps we should table this, pending further research?” She motions to table the discussion. It passes, and I hate the victorious look on Tim’s face.
“Wonderful. We’ll revisit in two weeks with additional data on the storage unit proposal.” The mayor looks to Tim, who nods enthusiastically. “Thank you, everyone.”
The meeting adjourns, and everyone begins to move about the room. A couple of them stop to congratulate us on a job well done. Even Cole thanks us for how much time we put into today’s presentation. It’s nice, but it’s not enough to get Billie to unclench her jaw as she fake smiles through the pleasantries.
Tim, the last to leave, stops in front of us, heaving out a sigh. “You know, I thought an investment banker would be smarter than to go for this pie-in-the-sky dream. Aren’t you finance fellas supposed to go where the money is?” I don’t bother giving him an answer. He doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged. I do, however, take a step forward so I’m standing slightly ahead ofBillie, who hasn’t moved an inch. With a scoff, he gives his daughter a once-over and arrogantly says, “I guess you don’t want the building contract for the storage unit, then. Throwing money down the drain. Pathetic.”
Finally, the room empties, and it’s just us. Billie takes a deep breath, then begins to pack up her things with enough force to cause some damage. I’ve never seen her movements so sharp and angry.
I don’t know what to say. I settle for, “That went well, other than?—”
“My dad being a total dick bag? Yeah. I know.”
Silence.
She continues to gather up papers, not looking at me.
“You were incredible today, Billie.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbles. “He’ll kill it. Storage units.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Becausethat’swhat this town needs.”
All I want is to comfort her, but I have no idea if that’s what she wants, or if I’m allowed to.
“Well, everyone else loved it.” I’m trying…
“Everyone else isn’t the head of the Business Bureau. He is.” She finally looks up at me, and the anger I’ve been hearing in her voice is nothing compared to the hurt in her eyes. “He always does this. I should have known. He thinks I’m some idiotluftmensch, you know? All he does iszalatwic. He can’t let me have anything. Not the company, not this project, not—” She stops herself, and all I want is for her to keep talking, to keep trusting me with her feelings and frustrations.
“What’s a loofmensh and zalavich, exactly?” I love it when she uses these random words.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not giving up.” Even with a shaky voice and tears in her eyes, my girl is promising to fight for this.“I heard you were in Toronto. I hope you didn’t have to cut your trip short for this shit show. You didn’t have to be here.”
