How to Make an Impression

Lanni stood eyeballing the ramshackle printing press, determined that it should run. She had received a nice raise in pay with her move up from prep girl, but the new job wouldn't last unless she could turn out the work on time. She'd loaded on the stock and attached the plate, but as she flipped the switch to start up, the main cylinder shuddered and stopped turning.1

"Come on, come on," she urged, pushing a misaligned form roller back into place, but a few seconds later it had slipped again, bringing her project to a crashing halt.2

The printer had quit a week earlier, leaving old Georgia, Lanni's boss, in a panic over the dozen unfinished orders on the shelf. Nowadays, "the printer" is that troublesome plastic box attached to one's personal computer. If it had been the same then, her problem could have been resolved with a trip to Office World, but this was the 1970's. There was no Office World, and the computer would not become personal for another dozen years.3

Georgia's latest printer had been a tall, brooding fellow with a faraway gaze. He was gone forever, Lanni knew, following his dream of rambling around the Southwest in a remodeled blue van. He'd revealed this plan to her in their frequent conversations, but not the imminence of his departure. Which left the problem of who would cut the stock, load the paper, run the press, wrap the finished work in neat bundles of brown paper, and bring it up to the office for billing?4

"I think I can do it," said Lanni, on the morning Georgia had found his letter of resignation. Lanni had watched the process many times, even handling a run now and then; but inking up the ABDick360 by herself had proved a real challenge. Although it looked simple, getting the right amount of ink on the rollers was an art she hadn't mastered, and she wound up streaked and splotched with the "color of the day" before the copies began gliding neatly through the press.5

At least they had been running, until the damn roller popped out. Fixing the equipment hadn't been part of her training, but she would have to rise to the occasion. More than usually besmeared with black tarry ink, she wiped her hands on her smock before reaching for the repair manual.6

As she thumbed through the instructions, she looked up to see a stranger entering the pressroom. That was her place, reserved for employees only. Anticipating some explanation, she watched him approach, but he said nothing beyond a short "'lo." She responded with equal brevity, returning her gaze to the manual and pretending to know what she was doing.7

Paying her no further attention, the dude went straight to the Kluge and began racking up its metal type. There weren't many who could operate that ancient letterpress, feeding each card by hand and managing the foot-pedal motor at the same time, certainly not Lanni. Whoever he was, he knew the printing business.8

Not entirely relieved of the suspicion that he'd been sent to take over her new job, she turned back to the press. Poking a flashlight into the inky depths, she saw that the rebellious cylinder was missing a cotter pin. There was only one in the toolbox, so she snatched it up and aimed it into the appropriate hole. When it stuck about half way, she grabbed a ball peen hammer and gave it a delicate smack. The pin resonated with a high, metallic "ping," but didn't budge.9

By this time, the interloper had got the Kluge running in its slow, slightly comical rhythm. He looked up at the discordant chime. Lanni caught his glance and decided that his eyes were really quite nice, big and brown like root beer tootsie pops--bright on the surface, but with a promise of something hidden inside. She hit the pin again, "Ping."10

And again, "Ping! Ping!" It was a very satisfactory sound. Lanni's mechanical skills were sufficient to know that the pin was too big. She could not enlarge the opening or shrink the steel pin by hitting it, but, wickedly, she wondered if she could enlist some help from the man at the Kluge.11

"Ping! Ping! Ping!" At least, he should be amply annoyed to come over and tell her the pin was too big. But no such luck. He kept a straight face, offering neither a wink nor a smile, although his eyes seemed to grow larger with each "Ping!"12

Too proud to beg, Lanni continued banging on the pin. Eventually he would complain, tell her to stop, anything that would get him to cross the room. But the mysterious printer said nothing. When he had finished the job, he cleaned the Kluge, put away the type, and with the slightest nod in her direction, walked up to the office. Lanni followed, unseen, as far as the hall. She listened as he refused payment for his work, and as Georgia expressed her gratitude in her deceptively soft southern drawl, adding "Ah've had nothing but troubles since my dear Herman passed away."13

Her husband Herman, the old printer, had suffered a fatal heart attack almost a year before Lanni had come to work there. Lanni respected her boss's courage in trying to go it alone after thirty years of managing the front office for Herman, and she counted on Georgia for some sympathy to her own circumstances as the breadwinner for two young sons.14

When the clank of the doorbell confirmed the stranger's departure, Lanni slipped into the office. "Who is that?" she asked.15

"He has a print shop over by the bank, Lanette. His name is John." Georgia was the only person in Florida that called her by her given name. She preferred "Lanni," but it wasn't worth arguing the point with her henna-headed boss.16

"So, why was he here?"17

"He just did a favor for me, is all. Now, do you have those letterheads ready?"18

"Not just yet. I need a pin for the form roller." Lanni scratched her nose, transferring more ink from her index finger to her face. "I must look a fright," she thought; but to Georgia she just said, "Don't worry--I'll have them done after lunch."19

By the time the stationery was finished, she'd resolved to meet her mystery man, and she had devised a plan. Georgia was easily persuaded of the need for an errand that would take Lanni to John's shop. Once home that night, she scrubbed every trace of ink from her face, fingers, elbows, and other improbable places, before making mac-and-cheese for the boys' supper and losing a game of Chinese checkers to each of them.20

In the morning, wearing a new halter top with lace trim and her best jeans, she left Georgia's shop and walked the six blocks across town. The air seemed thick and hard to breathe as she went, rehearsing what she might say, but not getting past "Hi, I'm Lanni from the Lettershop…." She hoped she wouldn't sweat and spoil the effect of her carefully casual makeup.21

The heavy brown door with its high, clouded window gave no preview of what lay behind it, so Lanni was surprised when her cautious entrance brought her face to face with the boss. Unlike Georgia's shop, there was no counter, and John sat behind his desk, looking her over with a mock-solemn expression.22

"May I help you?" he asked.23

"Um, Georgia sent me over to borrow some green ink…."24

"Aren't you the ink blob who made such a racket with the ABDick?" He broke into a smile as he said it, and a little golden flame flickered in his left eye.25

"I was a mess," she thought, recalling how she'd looked yesterday in the washroom mirror. Her hair had been as tangled as her thoughts while puzzling over the form roller, and her inky smock gave evidence of a week spent battling the press. Giving the guy a headache with her banging didn't seem such a good introduction, in retrospect. "G-guilty as charged," she stammered. Then, gathering her courage, "I'm Lanni."26

He was laughing at her now. "I'm John, by the way." He extended his hand, and when Lanni took it, his grip was firm and gentle. Forcing herself to look past his eyes, she considered his other features. His forehead was high, his hair nearly black and cut off straight at the base of his neck, a style that was short enough to be practical for work yet defiant of the conventional. His nose was straight and his chin strong.27

'Almost a superman profile,' Lanni thought. Except his face was, well, a bit chubby.28

"Nice to meet you," she replied. "We…we ordered the ink, but it didn't come… the menus… had some, but the can was empty, and that was just…" Lanni shrugged. 'I'm babbling,' she thought. 'He'll think I'm an idiot.'29

"Well," said John, "let's get you that ink." As he rose and headed into the back of the shop, Lanni noticed his girth, which had been hidden by the desk, and by the letterpress between them at their first encounter. He wasn't fat all over, just around the middle.30

'Like a teddy bear,' thought Lanni. 'He's a big, cuddly bear.'31

John returned with the ink, saying, "Bring it back when you're done, or I'll have to be ordering, too."32

'You've got it, Mr. Bear,' she thought, as her mouth said, "Oh, sure. No problem."33

"If you come back around five tomorrow, I'll show you around the shop," he added. "You can meet the crew."34

"Cool," she murmured, feeling a little dazed as she turned to leave. "I'd like that."35

As she stepped back outside, blinking in the bright morning sunlight, the city was suffused with gold. She inhaled deep breaths of sweet air and thought that the magnolias must be blooming near the bay. The sky seemed higher and the breeze cooler than before. Then she was running. She caught herself and slowed her pace; she turned toward Georgia's shop, hugging the ink can like a long-lost friend.36

Although she got back to the printing with a burst of energy and enthusiasm, it took a couple of days to complete the menus. While describing the process might prove comparable in excitement to the "habits of whales" in Moby Dick, this mostly-lost art deserves elucidation.37

Lanni's work involved actual drawing with pen and ink, along with the exacting placement of typography on artboard. This was followed by platemaking, which involved photographing the finished art, making a full-sized negative on film (like the kind once found in cameras, but much, much bigger) and "stripping" it to align with a "plate" that fitted on the press. Although it was called a plate, it was thin, like the metal of a soda can, but much larger and flat. When this was "burned" with the negative, its coated surface would retain ink only where it was wanted.38

Once the plate was wrapped around the main cylinder on the press, it could be adjusted until the image fell straight upon the paper. Since there were two sides to the menu, with two colors on each, four plates and four separate passes were needed through Lanni's small machine. The following afternoon, the first completed menu came off the press and she brought it to Georgia.39

"Look how the colors align on the cover," she piped.40

"The cover's beautiful, Lanette, but the prices on the inside are upside down." Georgia's eyes started to tear up. To her, there was not much sadder than the waste of time and paper on a botched job.41

"Omigod!" Lanni looked, and it was true. She knew that her mind had been less on the job than her after-work plans. In spite of that first murky impression, John had asked her back, hadn't he? But he was a…a business man, hardly the type that Lanni usually found attractive. Yet, she imagined the warmth of his bear hug and forgot everything else.42

"I can fix it," she reassured Georgia, "I've only just started the final run." To prove her sincerity, she hastened back to the press. Sighing at this sudden fall from grace, Lanni fumbled as she turned the misaligned plate. How could she have put it on backward? What would John think? John again? 'Get serious,' she scolded herself. 'You're a printer, not some dizzy chick.' While this was easy to say, it was much harder to do. Still, she managed to complete the menus, scrub up and change clothes in the washroom, and hurry across town by five o'clock.43

"C'mon, I'll show you the shop," said John, holding open the door to the back room.44

"Groovy," said Lanni, peering around his shoulder to the room beyond.45

"This is Jenny, my part-timer. We're putting together an auto repair manual."46

Lanni greeted Jenny, who responded with a peace sign. She appeared not much more than a teen with her freckled nose and pigtails, and wore a John Lennon t-shirt, which brought a grin of approval from Lanni. The tables where Jenny sat were lined with pictures of auto parts. "Too complicated for Georgia's shop," Lanni thought.47

"And this is Rhoda. She's in charge of the bindery." Lanni smiled at Rhoda, who batted false eyelashes at Lanni in return. She was shorter than Lanni, maybe a year or two older. Her hair was nearly black and pulled into a long ponytail. Big pointy boobs and dark eyeshadow gave her a certain seductiveness, which Lanni immediately resented.48

"Hi," they both said at once. Lanni gave her a smile of reserved judgment, and Rhoda did the same.49

John directed her attention to the press in the room behind them. It could run stock four times the size of Lanni's ABDick, and would put down two colors at once. "Happy hour, Brent! Shut her down for the day," he shouted to the bearded young man operating the massive device.50

"'S my assistant," he said to Lanni. I'll introduce you once he's done there. You can see the rest when I don't have to shout over the machinery. Meanwhile, want a beer?"51

"Huh?" slipped out of Lanni's mouth, as John opened a refrigerator beyond the row of light tables. He retrieved a can of beer, popped the top and handed it to Rhoda, who thanked him with another flutter of eyelashes. As he reached back into the fridge, Lanni said, "Uh, sure, thanks."52

John pulled out two more beers and passed one to her.53

Jenny opted for a soda, then began rolling a joint at the light table. Lanni sat on one of the tall stools beside her. "Do you do this every day?" she asked, feeling a bit like a guest at the Mad Hatter's tea party.54

"No," Jenny confided, "this is a special occasion. I'm getting married next week, and we're celebrating. Luke will be here in a little bit."55

"That's her husband-soon-to-be," John clarified.56

By the time Luke arrived, Lanni had been introduced to Brent, had marveled at the stat camera that occupied half of the prep room, toured the pressroom and bindery, and started on her second beer. The radio was turned up and, although the décor was strictly industrial and the seats few, they were having a party.57

"Here's to your marriage," proclaimed John, "may it be longer and happier than mine was!"58

'So he's divorced,' Lanni thought, 'well, so am I.' When another joint was half burned, she turned it around, shotgun style. With the lighted end placed carefully behind her teeth, she blew gently into each person's mouth. When she came to John, she let her lips touch his for just a second, and found them soft and inviting. 'I might be in love,' she thought.59

Along with the others, Lanni was quite buzzed by the time they presented Jenny with a gift, wrapped in silver paper and a big white bow. Jenny gave a cheer when she saw the popcorn maker. "We may be living on popcorn for the first few weeks," she giggled.60

John stooped down and picked up a piece of the silver paper that had fallen on the floor as Jenny opened her gift. "Look," he said, "it's shaped like a heart." So it was, they all noted. Inspired by the weed, they marveled at the symmetry of the accidental creation, the laciness of its edges. "For the queen of my heart," said John, and handed the paper to Rhoda.61

"Thanks," said Rhoda, smiling coyly at John as she set the impromptu valentine on the table.62

Lanni's heart did a half-twist, gave her stomach a punch and flew out the window, or would have, had there been a window. 'How could he love Rhoda?' she asked the aching hollow in her chest. Aloud, she said, "Well, I really have to be getting home."63

"Are you okay?" asked John, at her abrupt announcement.64

"Shall I walk you…somewhere?" asked Brent.65

"No, no, I'm fine. I've just gotta get home. Kids, you know. Uh, thanks for inviting me." She waved as she found her bag and backed out the door.66

"Come again," John called after her.67

Instinctively, Lanni ran east, toward the park that extended along the bay. "Queen of my heart," she muttered, "What a corny line! He'll probably be singing 'Mandy' in another half hour." Breathless, she slowed to a determined walk. "And fake eyelashes, how tacky." None of Lanni's freak friends would approve Rhoda's overdone style.68

"Well, they deserve each other," she resolved, pausing in the shade of an immense banyan tree, but she didn't believe herself. Something still ached inside her, and as she leaned against the tree's smooth trunk, she remembered the sweet, smooth touch of John's lips, and tears dribbled down her face. She let them fall, turning away from passers-by.69

It was a mystery to her, how she could have fallen for him so quickly. This mystery joined hands with other great mysteries of Lanni's existence. Staring above her, she felt a surge of anger. If the universe would not let her find love, it ought at least provide some magical insight to wrap around her heartache like a cocoon. For instance, what does a tree feel as it roots into the dark earth and rises into the sky at the same time? Or what would it be like to soar through the air? She tried to imagine herself as a pelican, winging toward the sun and then plummeting into the bay. It was no use. She wanted John. She sighed and wiped her face on her sleeve, the briny breeze off the bay cool on her cheeks.70

Her thoughts turned south toward the Sunrise Tavern, where there would be familiar faces and another beer, but it was getting late and her boys were waiting for supper. She shrugged and started walking north to the bus stop and the long ride home. 'Well, that was that,' she thought, resigning her crush to the romantic dustbin. And perhaps that would have been the end, had Lanni proved a better printer.71

Despite her success with the Sunrise menus and some other jobs squeaked out under deadline, Lanni was producing less than Georgia wanted, and she had to admit there was some paper wasted each time she inked up the press. It was a struggle to load up ten thousand sheets, or chop poster-sized stock into business cards. She felt like Jack in the land of the giants; everything was a little too big, too heavy, too tightly screwed down. And yet, she had to manage. With the raise she'd been given, her kids had new clothes for school. If it took a man's job to support them, she'd have to do a man's job.72

Still, it was not entirely a surprise when Georgia called her into the office about six weeks later. A couple sat there, older than Lanni, and looking, she thought, a bit smug. Georgia introduced them as man and wife. "Ah need a man to do the printing, Lanette," she explained "and Noreen here is going to take care of production." That meant Lanni's old job--now she would have no job at all.73

Lanni gulped. "What'll I do?" she wondered. She shook hands with the new couple, scarcely noting their names or faces as she tried to blot their existence from her mind. Without further comment, she withdrew into the darkroom where no one could see the moisture escaping her eyes.74

Later, when they were alone again, Georgia came back to find Lanni wrapping up an order for delivery. "I had to do it, you know. That man Serge has all kinds of experience, and his wife is going to help without pay. I'll have both for the price of one. They're just what I need to keep my bi'ness going."75

"But," asked Lanni, biting her lip, "what'll I do?"76

"John says he has an opening for an artist just now. You should go and talk to him," replied Georgia, looking a bit guilty.77

Lanni's thoughts and feelings tangled up like a kite in a tree at the mention of John. She had tried to put him out of her thoughts, but here he was again. If she took the job, she'd see him every day, her heart urged, but her head doubted the wisdom of it. Above all, though, she needed work, and right away. It couldn't hurt to find out what he was offering.78

Owning a minimum of "job hunting" clothes, she ironed a white top to wear with her black miniskirt and her only jacket--a black cotton nehru style with paisley trim. She set out for John's shop with a portfolio of her best work tucked under her arm.79

As she tugged open the door for the third time, she found no one in the front office, and stood wondering what to do. Shortly, John burst in from the back with ink on his hands and a drop of sweat on his brow. "Ah, there you are," he said. "Jenny's moving to Orlando with her new hubby, and we're busier than shit."80

"But…" Lanni tried to analyze the situation before making any giant leaps, "Jenny was part-time…"81

"'safact," he acknowledged. "If you can do art work as well as prep, though, I can offer you full time, since I won't have to keep sending out to the agencies." Lanni set her portfolio on the desk and started to pull out the graphics, but John shook his head.82

"No time now," he said. "If you want the job, you're hired. What are you making?" Hopefully, Lanni told him her new salary as printer. "Fine," he agreed, come back Monday and we'll get you set up."83

"Sure," said Lanni, "but…" as John hastened back through the prep room door, calling "No time, presses running…"84

On Monday, she'd been installed at a table in the corner of the front office with her own drawing board. "That way, you can keep an eye out for customers when I'm busy on the press," John had explained.85

Within a week, she had fallen into her new responsibilities, sometimes working in the prep room and sometimes at her drawing table. She was quite content to show off her artistic skills and leave the printing press to John and Brent.86

She was also falling for John, all over again. There had been no partying since the first time Lanni had visited, but it was easy to converse with him in the course of their work. She had told him about her two sons--Robby, who was inventive and wild, and Ricky, so bright and eager to please. He had sympathized, being as he told her, an orphan himself.87

His mother had been a Native American of the Mohawk tribe, who'd given him up for adoption in infancy to a Swedish couple. They'd proved to be affectionate and capable parents, but were now, sadly, deceased. His efforts to learn more about his biological family had led him to spend a summer on a Mohawk reservation, where he had earned the dubious sobriquet of "Stumbling Bear."88

"I knew you were a bear, the first time we spoke," Lanni crowed.89

"Hmmpf," John snorted, "is that why you ran away?"90

"No," she asserted, "You don't scare me. It was…something else." That something still troubled Lanni. Although she told herself it was none of her business, she still felt queasy when she saw John talking to Rhoda. It was true that the discussions she heard were about printing, but she remembered the lovelorn expression he'd worn at Jenny's party.91

One morning Lanni and Rhoda happened to be working in the prep room when John dashed through on his way to the presses. Lanni's eyes followed him, enjoying the way he tossed his hair back when he hurried. Rhoda turned to Lanni and whispered, "You like him, don't you?" Lanni stared at her. It was the first time Rhoda had said anything to her beside, "Hand me that pencil," or "Is there any more coffee?"92

Well, she wasn't going to disown her feelings; that would be total surrender. Maybe they'd have to fight about it, she decided. "Yeah, I do. Don't you?"93

To her surprise, Rhoda shook her head, giving Lanni a look of pity that might have followed the disclosure of an incurable malady. "No, he's not my type."94

"But he…"95

"Yeah, well, this is a good job."96

"And you've never…"97

"No way."98

"Well, then…" What Lanni might have said was lost as John dashed through again, but her thoughts continued in that same groove. It was one thing to break up an ongoing romance and quite another to distract a man who was uselessly wooing the wrong wench. 'You're mine, Mr. Bear,' she promised.99

Having established that certainty in herself, it should have been easy to convince John to look her way. Lanni tried wearing her shirts off the shoulder like her friend Sheri. With little money to spare for wardrobe enhancement, she spent evenings cutting & sewing the necklines of her t-shirts lower. She even invested in mascara, and spent time previously dedicated to pushing the snooze button on her alarm clock carefully applying the stuff to her lashes in the morning. Most of the time it wound up in stripes on her glasses, as she blinked after putting them on.100

Still, The Bear rumbled kindly at her, but did not make a move. She'd never been able to imitate Sherri's bold ways with men, and refused to adopt Rhoda's false eyelashes. Well, if he didn't love her for herself, what was the use? She pouted at his indifference and became almost tongue-tied when spoken to.101

One day John caught her doodling bears when she should have been prepping a job. They were very sexy bears, and Lanni had developed their features rather well, she thought, through repeated sketches that she kept hidden under her drawing board. "I'm paying you the big bucks for this?" he chided, but when he noticed the behavior of the cavorting cartoons, he snatched them from under Lanni's pen. "Oooooh…see what I've got…! Bad, bad, bears!" He looked at Lanni and for just a moment his eyes gleamed like a chocolate birthday cake. Then he turned toward the pressroom. "I'm showing the gang…."102

"Noooo!" Lanni jumped from her stool and chased after him, snatching at her papers. She would be humiliated if Rhoda and Brent saw them. "Give them back. I won't goof off any more," she panted, chasing John as he danced around the camera's window-sized copy board, keeping the drawings just out of her reach.103

"A likely story," he taunted.104

"Stop, thief!" she shrieked.105

John stopped in his tracks and wheeled around to face her. "Don't you ever call me that," he said, his face suddenly serious.106

Lanni felt anger in his tone, and was taken aback. She hadn't been serious, hadn't meant to give offense, but now her words hung in the air, false and unfair. Feeling guilty and a bit shocked, she stared at her feet. "Sorry…I…" she mumbled.107

"…didn't mean it," John finished, his tone regaining its usual kindness.108

"Never meant it!" declared Lanni, staring into John's eyes. In the suspended moment that followed, she recalled that the drawings were still in his hand. With a quick swoop she reached forward and snatched them.109

"Hah," she exclaimed.110

"You little minx!" he protested, but Lanni knew that now he was just fooling around.111

"You--you old bear!"112

"You--inkblob!"113

"You hunk of…" Their faces drew closer with each remark, and before Lanni could complete her thought, John's lips had covered hers and she was falling, falling into a kiss.114

And that was that. They stuck like superglue: not their lips, which eventually had to be put to other uses, but in all the ways two people can be together. It was only a couple of months until John and Lanni had moved in together, and he proved as good to her sons as he was to her. And if they didn't last forever, it wasn't from lack of love, but perhaps too much of it.115