Brooke typed his name and number into her phone, being sure to spell out JUSTICE in all caps so she’d remember it wasn’t Justin. That was embarrassing.
The two set a price for his help, and now Justice was on most of the shoots. Brooke wasn’t sure why it took her so long to realize by having Justice by her side, the shoots went so much easier and faster. She was seeing how doing it all herself was hard, how different people have different skills, and how Justice, the dog trainer, was about treating each dog the same, with simple words and rules they understood.
Brooke read more about Amos. He was a prophet who lived years before Christ and was the first to write about God’s unlimited power, and about social justice. “Wow,” thought Brooke. “Is that why his name is Justice?” He must have gotten his name from his parents, but why did they choose Justice? Didn’t they know it would be confusing? Or did his parents change his name to Justice when they began to see signs of a modern day prophet? Some said prophets didn’t exist today, but she thought they did. She’d ask sometime.
But the time never seemed to come. They were always too busy. When they did talk, well, he was a man of sparse words.
“Hey Justice, could we work together full time?” Brooke asked as they waited for a Customer and his German Shepard.
“What, like be on the payroll?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. It would be a full-time job with benefits and all. Peter says Barking Out Loud is doing great, so you would be the first employee, well, other than Peter and I.”
“Let me think about it, Brooke. As long as you both think it’s a good idea. I could use healthcare, not that I’m sick, but you never know. Maybe you and your partner could write out the details, then I’ll take a look.”
Those were the most words Brooke had heard him say at one time.
That evening, when Brooke handed over the day’s folders, she told Peter about Justice. She asked him (more told really) to put together a package of benefits, vacation, expense account even, like she had wanted at the bank, for their first employee.
“Brooke, that’s crazy. There’s no need to pay out all that money. Everyone uses contract workers these days. Your friend, what’s his name, will get a larger hourly wage, but he can buy his own health insurance and the rest. And as for vacations, well, paid vacations are a thing of the past, Brooke.”
Brooke wondered if Peter was just being bratty, or was he jealous? How could anyone forget a name like Justice? Rather than ask, she closed the conversation with, “We hire ‘full-time’ at Barking Out Loud, Peter.” She didn’t want to remind her partner who owned the 70%.
The shoots were going faster now that Brooke didn’t need to coax the dogs into every pose.
Brooke would call Justice with the time and location. When she arrived, he’d be there, always standing in the same spot, – dressed in what Brooke thought could be the same clothes; various shades of black or grey t-shirts with skinny jeans topped off with a billed cap that never came off.
She looked at his ball cap once, it had the Yankee’s logo embroidered on the front, but in the same color as the hat. Was her first employee Jewish and a New Yorker? “oh lordy,” Brooke thought, no wonder he doesn’t say much. Charlotte, or at least the part she was raised in, still wasn’t welcoming to those from “way up north.” I’d keep quiet too if I were him, Brooke thought. Well, if he is from New York, he’s probably not from “The City” – they can’t stay quiet no matter what, Brooke chuckled to herself wondering what Grandmother Doris would think of her first employee.
Now, with Justice on board and the photoshoots going much faster, she had time to open more accounts, even speak at some functions where people wanted to learn about different business start-up ideas.
Often she’d hand Peter contracts for new Customers that hadn’t even been put on the schedule, she’d get to it this week, she hoped.
Brooke had lunch at the old soda shop, where she went with her dad, when a lady with black curly hair, asked if they could talk for a minute. The woman was a co-founder of a newspaper. Okay, not really a newspaper; more of a daily email. Anyway, she said she’d like to do a story on Barking Out Loud. The co-founder woman had seen Brooke in the neighborhood, even heard her speak once, explained how the other co-founder of the newspaper, or whatever it was, didn’t like dogs, but she did and wanted one as an office pet. “Maybe your story will help,” she told Brooke.
It was the perfect story; readers liked the idea even more than stories about where to get five tacos for five bucks, or the newest brewpub in town.
Next, the co-founder lady asked about running a new story each Friday where the newsletter would feature one of Barking Out Loud’s dogs. The lady with all the hair told Brooke how print newspapers were dead, and everyone was getting the news this way these days so Brooke said it would be fine.
“They’re what?” shouted Peter when Brooke shared the news. “They’ve got thousands of readers, hundreds of thousands maybe. I read their email every morning. This is great news Brooke, congratulations!”
Peter went on, “Their readers are the bankers and developers who want to be ahead of the curve on everything new in town.”
The stories in the series became so popular that people were calling the e-paper, wanting their dog to be featured and being happy just to get the number of Barking Out Loud so they could call and be put on a list.
Brooke’s phone kept ringing, the FaceBook numbers kept growing, and Peter was busy replying to all the comments (part of the Gold and Platinum service), that he thought he’d need to hire help of his own.
Brooke told her psychiatrist how the meds must be working, she hadn’t thought about being a Xennial in months. The two talked for a while, then when Brooke left, the woman gave her a card with the next visit set for the usual time.
As Brooke left the woman’s office and walked to her car, she thought what she really needed were more people to help with the work, not more time on a couch.
Perhaps another photographer would help. Blair said he would spread the word around The Clover, but not with a sign like last time. They both laughed.
Blair talked to Geoff, a photographer with a studio in The Mill, who did a lot of work around town to see if he might know someone. Geoff’s wife, Aisyah, worked at the ballet and reminded her husband of the dancer who had been sitting with him on the front row when he took photos in rehearsal. “Didn’t you tell me the recovery from her injury was going slower than planned and you were teaching her how to use your old Nikon? Maybe she could help Brooke.”
“Soña does seem to have an eye for the best image. I’ll tell Blair, or Brooke, the next time I see them,” said Geoff. “Why don’t you just call Brooke?” Aisyah asked.
And that’s how business empires begin.