Free Hostile Makeover by Wendy Wax Page A

to five of everything on your lunch menu. Yes, yes. The time has come for us to really understand what we’re selling.”
    Obviously thrilled, her client shouted to someone in a deep, fluent Arabic as Shelley doodled smiley faces in the margins of the menu. “And be sure to add a Fab Falafel Plate for our new president, Ross Morgan. Oh, yes, he’s a great big chickpea fan.”
    After hanging up, she warned Sandra about the upcoming delivery. Then she called the falafel account planner. “Hi, Todd. This is Shelley.” There was a moment of silence. “Shelley Schwartz. I need everything you can give me on falafels. History of, national origins, sales figures, the works.”
    “Falafels,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “But I’m just heading out for lunch.”
    “Actually, I took the liberty of ordering you lunch. We’ve got enough falafels coming to feed your whole department. I’ll let you know when everything’s set up in the conference room.”
    She hung up the phone and spun joyfully in her desk chair. This AE business was a lot more fun than she’d realized.
    At twelve-thirty lunch arrived, hand-delivered by Fadah Awadallah and two of his sons. Soon the smells of falafel, pita, tabouli, and other things Mediterranean filled the office.
    “Lunch is now being served in the conference room,” Shelley announced over the office intercom. “I’d like everyone to try at least two dishes from the Falafel Shack. Then we’re going to brainstorm ideas.”
    She pressed Sandra and Mia into helping her serve as the staff took plates and found places to perch. The smell of a Middle Eastern street corner permeated the office; the only thing missing was the camels. Everybody ate, nibbled, and shared.
    “Here, try this.” Shelley handed Mia a plate of hummus (also made from the much-loved chickpea) and pita triangles. She cornered another coworker. “Put some of this tahini on that falafel ball.”
    “Um, thanks.”
    Shelley watched him bite into the sandwich and waited for his reaction as if she’d made the falafel herself.
    “Mmm.” He chewed enthusiastically. “S’good ’n chewy.”
    Shelley looked around her, pleased. Everyone was talking excitedly, their mouths crammed with food. Somebody found a Middle Eastern CD and put it on the speaker system. All they needed were some belly dancers.
    She spun around at the tap on her shoulder, her mouth still full of falafel.
    “What is going on here?” Ross Morgan whispered.
    She held a finger out toward him, signaling that she needed to finish chewing. When she’d swallowed the last bit, she searched around in the delivery box and located his Fab Plate.
    “Research.” She smiled at him. “Here, you need to eat this, and then we’re going to do a brainstorming session.”
    He flipped the Styrofoam container open, and she read the uncertainty in his eyes.
    “It’s the Fab Falafel Plate. From the Falafel Shack.”
    He squinted down at the four round balls sitting in sauce, onion, and cucumber.
    “We’re tasting the menu to come up with a new proposal. Fadah Awadallah was thrilled.”
    He looked around and she followed his gaze. There was food everywhere. People were looking very stuffed and sleepy. Shelley remembered that they slept away the afternoons in the Middle East. Possibly because of all those falafel balls sitting in the pits of their stomachs.
    “I bet.” His tone was dry, dry as the desert in the land of the falafel. “Who’s paying for all of this?”
    Fadah Awadallah’s oldest son stepped forward and presented Ross with a handwritten bill. “Thanking you so much for your interest in us and for the order.” He smiled at Shelley and pumped her hand. “One day Fadah’s falafels and the Falafel Shack will be household names. Shelley say so.” The Awadallah family left grinning broadly.
    Ross handed her his Styrofoam container and looked down at the bill. “You spent five hundred and fifty dollars for lunch from a falafel stand?”
    “Well, you told