January 29, 2015

CHAPTER 2

PAMELA

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

“I know this about him. Seth’s word is his bond. He may knock on the door in the next second or it may take him three days. But Seth will be here. Mother, I love you but you need to back off. Seth is going to happen, so please, deal with it.”

“Well, Pamela,” Victoria, said in a disapproving tone, “if you know him so well, just where is this Seth?”

“Mother, if I had to guess, he is somewhere downstairs, terrified that I live here.”

****

Sitting in the dining hall at Brearley School, a prestigious all-girls private school, Dusty Brighton set aside her empty plate and said to her best friend, “It’s so lame what Mother is doing, it’s just stupid.”

“So what are you going to do?” Cyndi asked, finishing the last of her salmon with mustard sauce.

Caught in a slouch by her French teacher who was standing against the wall on monitor duty, Dusty sat up and said in an agitated state, “I don’t know. Even my grandmother is upset. I heard her tell my mother that she was being selfish for what she was doing. I mean, Mother met this guy on a plane. Can you believe that?” Raising her voice, she said, “Now she’s bringing him to the house. Hello. Is that lame or not?”

The French teacher looked sternly at Dusty. The school mission included teaching young girls how to become graceful with proper etiquette. Now twelve and in the seventh grade, Dusty knew she’d be pulled aside by the teacher for a lecture on how to sit properly and not yelling in the dining hall.

“Maybe,” Cyndi said, “he won’t be like your father?”

Raising her hands in frustration but keeping her voice low, Dusty said, “Flash. Everything was getting better after he died. I like it the way it is now. And I sure don’t want another man in the house. Not after him!”

Dusty refused to call her father by his name or Dad following that last terrifying night three years ago. Estranged from the family for his affair and drug abuse, her father had burst into the home charging Pamela had sent demons to torment him. Terrified, Pamela and Dusty locked themselves in the bathroom while he pounded on the door. His mind cooked and his body wasted, he was unable to break down the door. Smashing into lamps, tables and chairs, he left a path of destruction when he stumbled out into the hallway. Minutes later, he stepped off a curb into the path of a car.

It had taken two years of intense psychotherapy and moving into the penthouse before the psychologist announced that Dusty had emotionally recovered from that fateful night. Victoria had moved in to help establish a stable family environment.

Leaning into Cyndi so the girl eavesdropping at the next table couldn’t hear, Dusty said, “My mother said he was in the war,”

“Really?” Cyndi said, shocked,

“Is that real or not? I bet he carries a gun too.”

“When do you have to meet him?” Cyndi asked, concerned.

Starring at the eavesdropping girl until she turned away, Dusty said, “He was supposed to meet Mom at the house this morning. I don’t know when he is going to leave. Mother said I had to be polite to him. Grandmother said I didn’t have to like him.”

“You could tell your Mother you went to my house to study. Maybe that way, you won’t have to meet him.” Cyndi and her mother lived two floors below in the Breckenshire House

Dusty immediately broke into a smile. “Hashtag. Solution. I’ll call mother during break.” Given a brief morning and afternoon break for personal business, students could use their cell phones to call their parents.

Speaking with all the drama a pre-teen girl could muster, Cyndi asked gravely, “But what if you do have to meet him?”

Dusty leaned back and spoke with confidence. “I have been talking to my grandmother. She told me not to worry. She’ll think of something to get rid of him.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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January 27, 2015

PAMELA

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Brushing off an errant speck of lint on her designer wrap dress, Victoria said, “Yes, but I didn’t meet him on an airplane. I knew about his family and he had breeding. Breeding is important, Pamela. And what about your daughter? Dusty can’t be happy about this.”

“Let’s just say Dusty and I are having a continuing conversation. Relax, Mother. I know what I’m doing. I need to know if something happened on the plane between Seth and me.”

****

Back braced, chin tucked in, Pershing hat brim two fingers above the nose, the stern doorman said, “Sir, may I be of assistance to you?”

“Uhh,” Seth said, unsure how to get past the obstacle of a doorman who wore a double-breasted-great coat with a double row of brass buttons, spit-shined shoes and white gloves. Seth imagined he looked like George C. Scott in the movie Patton.

Continuing the interrogation, the man said, “Sir, you will have to speak up.” The grinding noise of the buses, trucks, and cars, along with the constant honking, was deafening. Competing with the traffic was a young man, with dirty clothes and a backpack, who preached about Jesus.

“This is the Breckenshire House condominium, right?” Now that was a stupid question, Seth. You just looked at the plaque on the building.

“Yes it is.” Interrupting himself, he opened the door for an elderly woman with a wide-brim-white hat and a poodle resting in the crook of her arm. Returning his attention to Seth, he continued his interrogation, “Sir, you have been standing here for five minutes. Unless you have business with a resident, I must ask you to step along.”

Seth asked with a touch of pleading in his voice, “Does Pamela Brighton live here?”

“Sir,” the doorman replied, with distain in his voice. “ I am not at liberty to disclose the names of our residents. Now please, step away, or I shall ask the concierge to call for a police officer.”

“Ah, come on, buddy,” Seth pleaded in desperation. “Pamela Brighton asked me to meet her here at the Breckenshire House at eleven.” Raising his hands to emphasize his plea, Seth added, “Give me a break?”

The man’s face softened. “You’re new to the city, aren’t you? And from the haircut, you’re probably military.”

“Yes, first visit and no, second, former military.”

The doorman continued his examination of Seth. “Are you a friend?”

Seth rubbed his chin, overwhelmed that a doorman was all that stood between him and Pamela. Choking on his words, Seth said, “Am I her friend? I don’t know. We met on a plane. She asked me to meet her.”

“You’re scared, aren’t you, young man?”

“To the bone,” Seth said, honestly.

“What’s your name?” 

“Seth.”

“Seth Collins,” the doorman said.

“Yes.”

“Miss Brighton left me instructions that you were to meet her. My name is Tony. Do you wish to have the concierge tell her you’ve arrived?”

Seth Collins felt it, the sweat on the palms of his hands and the bridge of his nose. Panic. Raw panic. Looking back at the wide sidewalk, he searched for relief in the sea of faces rushing from here to there. Many carried a bag or briefcase clutched to their chest to avoid having it knocked out of their hand or worse, grabbed. No one spoke and their grim faces announced they were late for whatever destiny had waiting for them. They ignored Seth.

“Tony. . .I. . .”

Tony reached out and shook Seth’s hand. “Seth, you look like you need some time to think.”

“Yeah,” Seth admitted.

Tony, his face softened with an expression of concern, said, “Seth, I will be here till five. I hope you come back.”

“Thanks,” Seth said appreciatively. Stepping away, he reached for his cell phone and punched the number of the only other person he knew in the city.

“Moses,” Seth pleaded, “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Moses said, confused. “Meet Pamela?”

“Moses, she lives in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I can’t compete with that.”

“Seth, relax.” Moses urged. “I’ve talked to Pamela. I know how much she wants to see you. Don’t blow it, my friend. She is the best thing that ever happened to you. When were you going to meet her?”

“An half an hour ago,” Seth said cautiously. “Moses, I swear, I can’t do this. I need your help.”

“I’m close by. I’ll grab a taxi and pick you up in five minutes.”

****

Looking out the window, as if in search of Seth, Victoria said, indignantly “Well if I may say so, your friend is late.”

Laying the New Yorker magazine down on the sofa, Pamela smiled and said casually, “Yes he is, Mother.”

Turning away from the window, Victoria said in a stern voice, “That is very rude of him. Really, Pamela, you must come to your senses. You are disrupting our home and upsetting Dusty with this frivolous whim of yours. There are plenty of eligible men available that have position and are social pillars in our circle.”

Pamela brushed a strand of her shoulder-length, black hair away from her face and laughed.

“Pamela, I’m your mother,” Victoria snapped.

Becoming serious, Pamela replied, “And I am not your ten-year old daughter anymore. Mother, relax. I know exactly what I am doing. And as for Dusty, she is very upset with me right now. I’m sorry about that, but neither you nor Dusty can deny me what happiness I may find. It may be Seth. It may be someone else. That’s my decision. And as for Dusty, she is my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

Victoria refused to accept Pamela’s decision. “Well, I never.”

“I know this about him. Seth’s word is his bond. He may knock on the door in the next second or it may take him three days. But Seth will be here. Mother, I love you but you need to back off. Seth is going to happen, so please, deal with it.”

“Well, Pamela,” Victoria, said in a disapproving tone, “if you know him so well, just where is this Seth?”

“Mother, if I had to guess, he is somewhere downstairs, terrified that I live here.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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January 22, 2015

PAMELA

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Seth had become weary of talking to himself. It hadn’t solving anything. He told her he would meet her when he came to the city .And it was time to leave, nine-thirty. That should give him enough time to meet her at eleven. Still, he paused when he put his hand on the doorknob.

Where is this taking me?

****

Choked with cars and people, Seth had stared in disbelief when his taxi crossed 7th Avenue at Times Square in Mid-Manhattan. Something was wrong.

His anxiety remained as they turned north on the Avenue of the Americas. Finally, in concern and frustration, he raised his voice above the sound of traffic and said to the taxi driver, “Hey, buddy, I’ve made a mistake. She doesn’t live in this area.”

Wearing a dirty Yankees baseball cap, the driver grunted, “What’s your problem, Mac?” as he cut off another taxi and squeezed into the right lane. Throwing up his open palm hand, he blew off the driver behind him when the driver pounded on the horn.

“I got the wrong address,” Seth said, as he began to panic. His eyes darted up and down the sidewalk as if he was searching for Pamela. He’d find her in the crowd, and she’d comfort him that he had made a mistake in writing her address down.

Seth, get a grip.

Solution at hand, Seth moved up and said, “Hey, buddy, maybe you could pull over and I can call her. Traffic is noisy. Maybe I can find a doorway. Get the right address.”

“Are you nuts?” the driver snorted, as he hit the brakes to avoid a limousine that had made a sudden stop ahead. “Read the sign, mister, parking is on the other side of the street.”

For an unknown reason, the traffic had ground to a halt and the drivers had begun their concert of pounding on their car horns.

Pamela, you gave me the wrong address.

The driver turned back to Seth and said, “You told me the Breckenshire House on West Fifty-Ninth Street. Right?”

Despite his memory, Seth pulled out the note and read the address Pamela had confirmed was correct. Seth rubbed his legs as panic gave way to confusion. Pamela Brighton lived somewhere in the opulence of Mid-Manhattan while he had two hundred and twelve bucks left in his billfold.

He stroked his neck for a necktie that he knew wasn’t there and pressed the crease of the only slacks he owned. Resting his elbow on the door armrest, he felt his elbow through the thinness of his sweater. Seth sagged down into the back seat of the taxi, defeated.

She’ll take one look at you, buddy, and send you packing. It surprised him how much the thought unsettled him.

“You ain’t been here before, have ya?” the driver said, as traffic remained stopped.

“No,” Seth said dejected, as he returned to an upright position. Slouching had never been a habit that he had mastered. A twelve-year veteran with the marines, his back was usually ramrod straight. His posture, together with his rank of staff sergeant, had sent a message to his unit that he was a serious man doing serious business.

“Been most everywhere,” Seth replied, as he continued to study the people rushing on the sidewalks. “Somehow, I never made it here.” Looking at the driver’s back, Seth asked, “Why is everybody in such a rush? It’s as bad as Tokyo.”

The driver laughed. “Life in the city, son. Gotta keep movin’ or ya’ll get run over.”

Traffic slowly started moving as the driver announced, “We ain’t got far to go, mister. My name is Demetrius.”

“Seth.”

Demetrius turned his head back, “You a soldier?”

“Was, marines,” Seth answered, as he looked at the driver’s face in the rear-view mirror.

“I could tell. You got the funny kind of haircut, just like my nephew. Shaved head with just a little short streak on top. Whatcha call that?”

“High and tight.”

“Yeah, that’s what my nephew’s got. He’s in the army. Just went to Korea. Have you been in the war?”

“Some.”

“Could tell.” Demetrius leaned on his horn as the limousine stopped for no apparent reason. Message sent, he returned both hands to the wheel and said. “Your eyes keep darting back and forth. Different than most people.”

Seth shrugged and asked cautiously, “Do rich people live around here?”

“Sure do.”

We’re okay, Seth. We’ll get through this area and then get to Pamela’s house. Probably some quiet little street on the other side of town. Yep, we’re just fine.

“So tell me about Fifty-Ninth Street. No rich people live there, right?”

Demetrius laughed again. “Seth, you are from the sticks. Only the richest live on West Fifty-Ninth. Central Park is across the street.”

“Oh my God,” Seth said, as he looked at the rearview mirror in shock.

****

Finishing her tea and resting the cup in the saucer, Pamela’s mother Victoria said in a crisp voice, “I can’t believe you are doing this.”

Returning from the penthouse kitchen, opposite the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, Pamela said, “Mother, we’ve discussed it. You agreed you would meet him.”

“Yes,” Victoria replied with a tone of indignation, “but, really, Pamela. You’re inviting a total stranger from an airplane to visit our home.”

“No, Mother. I am inviting Seth into our home.”

“Well,” Victoria said with vigor, “What if he is an axe murderer?”

Sitting down in the pillow-back bench-seat sofa, Pamela laughed. “Mother, you are being overly dramatic.”

Joining Pamela on the sofa, Victoria added, “Well, I just can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Pamela smiled at her mother, who continued to wear a concerned look on her face, and reminded her, “You married daddy after knowing him for only three months.”

Brushing off an errant speck of lint on her designer wrap dress, Victoria said, “Yes, but I didn’t meet him on an airplane. I knew about his family and he had breeding. Breeding is important, Pamela. And what about your daughter? Dusty can’t be happy about this.”

“Let’s just say Dusty and I are having a continuing conversation. Relax, Mother. I know what I’m doing. I need to know if something happened on the plane between Seth and me.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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Hello

Welcome to my world. I have created hundreds of characters in my writing. Some were ordinary who performed the extraordinary while evil ruled in the hearts of others. Two of them are my favorites, Grace and Pamela. Grace’s story is in the novel, Grace an Unexpected Love.

I want you to know of my affection for the character, Pamela. I am excited to tell her and Seth’s story. Many have searched for love, but love doesn’t happen because of some drawn-up plan. Love is happenstance, a chance encounter, like meeting on a plane. So it was for Seth and Pamela. I hope you enjoy their  story as much as I did writing it.

JB Morris

January 20, 2015

CHAPTER 1

It was a day like no other. He saw it in the mirror when he shaved and tasted it in the eggs at breakfast.

Fear.

It wasn’t the catastrophic fear of death. Veteran of six combat tours with the marines in Iraq and Afghanistan, Seth Collins had discarded those fears years ago. Fear in combat was hesitancy and hesitancy was death. Emptying all auxiliary thoughts from his mind, his focus had been singular, kill the enemy or be killed. A philosophy that had awarded him a Navy Cross in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

But that was then. Unlike before, Seth’s new fear had robbed him of sleep and focus. It was the fear of the unknown, rejection, and it had a name.

Pamela Brighton.

She terrified him. Her elegance, grace, and beauty were in a stratosphere where he had never ventured. But most of all, she puzzled him. Why did you pick me, Pamela? Look at me, I’m just a bum. Put a gun in my hand and I’m home. How can you relate to that? You can’t. There’s no way this could ever work. You and me. Isn’t going to happen. And you have a daughter. I don’t know anything about a daughter. She’d write me off the first time she met me.

Looking into the mirror, talking to himself, had left him overwhelmed. Quickly finished shaving, he retreated to the window and looked down at the Canal Bar across the street. The bar anchored a three-story brick apartment house highlighted with a fire escape cascading down the front of the building and a faded American flag wrapped around a flagpole. An old man sat on a bench in front of the bar, asleep.

I wonder where you live, Pamela. You sure don’t live here in Brooklyn. Seth pulled out the folded piece of paper from his pocket with her address, 110 Breckenshire House, W 59th Street. The faded-wrinkled note had become difficult to read and the creases had begun to tear. It didn’t matter, he’d memorized the address. What did matter was he had written it when she unexpectedly called him. Looking at it helped to remind him of her poetic voice that was soft and gentle to his ear. Carefully, he put the note back into his pocket.

“This is nuts,” he told no one.

I mean, we met just once. Yes, it was nice between us. . . .no, Pamela. . . it was better than that. But then it was over. The plane landed. We’d never see each other again. Just walk away. It happens all the time. Seth rubbed his clean-shaven face and looked at the sky above. And I’d spend the rest of my life dreaming about you.

Seth had become weary of talking to himself. It hadn’t solving anything. He told her he would meet her when he came to the city. And it was time to leave, nine-thirty. That should give him enough time to meet her at eleven. Still, he paused when he put his hand on the doorknob.

Where is this taking me?

TO BE CONTINUED

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January 13, 2015

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Grace laughed. “Now don’t you be doing that. You and I have a barbeque to attend.” Looking into Madison eyes, Grace continued. “Don’t worry about what you are wearing. You look beautiful, and you’ll be the hit of the party. We all know you are an elegant New York City girl. We’d be disappointed if you didn’t wear a designer dress. Someday you’ll just wear a plain ol’ sundress. It’ll happen. Just give it time. Okay.”

Hugging Grace, Madison said, “You are a special lady Grace.”

Grace laughed. “Tell that to Peter—please.”

****

The warm weather could not offset the coolness Madison had received when she joined the group. Women looked in disbelief at her dress and shoes, and men stopped to stare. Greetings were brief or nonexistent. Even Peter’s casual wave was unsettling. Madison swallowed her pride and moved slowly through the crowd. Despite the indifference she received, she continued her warm smile and pleasant greetings. She would not allow them to know that they had defeated her.

It was over. All of it.

Any hope of being accepted had evaporated. It was time to admit what it was, failure. Perhaps for the first time, Madison had failed to achieve her goal. It was time to return to Wall Street. She wanted to leave but thought better of it. It would mean they had won and she had lost. Madison retreated to a nearby tree away from the others as she bit her lip to push back her broken heart and ward off the tears.

What she didn’t know was that her secretary Heather would change everything.

Madison saw someone, sitting with her back to the crowd, at another tree, away from the others. It was a young woman, but she was unable to identify her. Then for a reason she was never able to explain, she decided to investigate. Why is she sitting alone away from everyone?

Madison’s curiosity changed her life.

Walking up, she recognized it was her secretary, Heather. In a cheerful voice, she said, “Hello, Heather. How are you today?”

It was a terribly wrong thing to say. Heather looked up, her face twisted in grief, her bloodshot eyes puffy from crying “I’m fine,” Heather muttered and burst into sobs.

Shocked at what she had seen, Madison muttered, “I’m so sorry, Heather. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Taking a step backwards, she stopped when Heather sadly looked up.

Instinctively, Madison pulled her up and hugged her close, forgetting her concern at failing to win over Peter and the others. Continuing to hold Heather close, stroking her hair, she was overwhelmed at the intensity of Heather’s grief.

Anxious, not knowing what to do, Madison rushed her words, “Heather, let me help you. . .get you something. . . a glass of water.” Her dress had become wet with Heather’s tears.

Swallowing hard to check the sobbing, Heather leaned into Madison’s shoulder and whispered in a broken voice, “My twin sister Haylie. . . is fighting cancer.” She choked on the next words, “And she’s losing the fight.”

“Oh my God,” Madison cried out. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Her heart opened up and her words resonated with love. “Come on, sweetheart. You need to sit down.”

Carefully guiding her back to the lawn chair, Madison knelt down and tenderly stroked Heather’s long, straight-blonde hair. Heather attempted a smile of appreciation but failed and sank further into the chair.

Her throat constricted, Heather explained between her sobs, “I didn’t want to be here today. My parents said it was important for me to attend. Peter had asked me to be his special guest. He’s going to promote me to be his secretary. Dad said Haylie would want me to be here, and she’d wait for me to come back.”

Holding Heather’s hands, Madison asked gently “How long has she been sick?” as tears welled up in her eyes.

Breaking her hands away, Heather said tearfully, “A long time, leukemia. I’m sitting here and Haylie’s at home dying.” The tears exploded, and Heather dropped her head onto her knees. Her body shook as the tears ran onto her legs.

Madison let Heather exhaust her tears while her own tears ran unchecked. Tears again exhausted, Heather sat up and Madison said, “Sweetheart, I know your pain. Believe me, I lived it. I know how helpless you feel. There isn’t a thing you can do. You are watching the person you love the most dying in front of you. Honey. . . can I tell you a story?”

Retrieving a handkerchief from a pocket, Heather said in a shaky voice, “Yes.”

Madison paused to gain the strength she needed to tell the story that would never leave her. Their eyes locked onto each other as Madison said, “Heather, I haven’t told many people about my brother, but I want you to know. I lost my baby brother when I was a teenager. He was only fifteen when he died from bone cancer. I watched him die a little bit each day for three years. I cried almost every night for a year after he died. Sweetheart, I am so sorry for your pain.”

They embraced for a long time and cried together while Peter watched them. Mary was unable to answer Peter’s question as to why Madison was hugging Heather.

Six weeks later, Peter watched Madison hug Heather the tightest and longest at Haylie’s funeral. Walking away from Haylie for the last time, Heather’s mom and Madison held Heather’s hands as she began her sad life without her twin sister. 

Peter often saw a new and loving Madison at Heather’s desk. They had become sisters of the heart, speaking softly and privately to each other. Often, they touched their fingers together when they parted. Their smiles for each other were warm and genuine.

Peter summed it up best at an all-staff meeting when he said, “Thank you, Madison, for not giving up and leaving us. It would have been our loss.”

EDITORS NOTE:

A new series, PAMELA, will begin on January 20, 2015. I will be out of the country during the month of February. I’ve made arrangements for the story to continue to be published on Tuesday and Thursdays during my absence. I appreciate your patience if an error occurs while I am out of the office. Pamela is special to me and I am excited for you to read her story. You have been wonderful in your support, and I appreciate all of your kind notes. Thank you.

JB Morris

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January 8, 2015

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Grace smiled. A warm smile of satisfaction. Ignoring Madison’s last comment, she said, “I agree with you, Madison. I think we’re going to become good friends. Will I see you at the barbeque on Saturday?”

“Barbeque? I hadn’t heard about a barbeque,” Madison said, puzzled. With a small laugh, she added, “Maybe I know why.”

“Peter always hosts a summer barbeque. I want my friends to be there. That includes you, Madison.”

****

It had been a perfect day with temperatures cooler than during the week and the humidity had dropped to an acceptable level. With her ever-present French-twist hairstyle, Madison wore her large-rectangular Gucci sunglasses that shielded her eyes from the bright sun in a cloudless sky. Singing Faith Hill’s “Breathe,” her face was bright with joy on the drive to Bayshore Water Park and Peter’s barbeque. Today is your day, Madison. Oh, they’re going to love you. Forget everything that has happened. Remember, just dazzle them. Madison tapped the steering wheel to express her excitement and anticipation in regaining Peter’s confidence. Peter is going to be so happy with you today.

Then everything changed for the worse.

Madison’s body sagged when she stepped out of the car and looked at Peter’s guests. Panicked, she rubbed her designer silk wrap dress and looked at her four-hundred-dollar wedge pump shoes, as if wishing them away. Oh no, this is terrible. The women, clustered in groups, wore sleeveless-cotton sundresses of every hue in the rainbow, while the men wore shorts, bright shirts, and open-toed sandals. And children everywhere, running, yelling, and dashing between their parents.

No one told me what to wear. Am I that awful? Do they hate me that much? Even Grace didn’t tell me what to wear. That’s it. I’m leaving. Madison fumbled for her car keys in her pebbled leather tote bag. Hurry. . . get back into the car. No one has seen you. Leave.

For years Madison had been in the center ring at Long Island cocktail parties that featured fat, bald-headed corporate presidents along with their bored wives or empty-minded playthings. Clustered around her, the men wore tailored Italian suits with silk ties, while the women wore the newest Paris fashion-show silk dresses accentuating their bust enhancement surgeries. The few children of the attendees remained with their English nannies. Reserved for another world were bright sundresses and open-toes sandals.

Car key remote in hand, Madison had opened the door when a voice cried out, “Madison!”

Looking up, she saw Grace hurry across the lawn. “Out of breath,” Grace said, “I’m so happy you’re here. I was beginning to wonder.” Suddenly concerned that Madison’s car door was open with her purse on the seat, Grace asked. “Honey, you’re not leaving, are you?”

Leaning against the car in despair, Madison sighed, “Grace, look at me. I’m wearing a thousand-dollar designer dress, and they’re wearing sundresses. Why didn’t you tell me what to wear?” Madison wailed.

Gathering Madison into her arms, Grace said, “Honey, I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. I apologize. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I want to cry, Grace,” Madison whispered. “I haven’t done that for a long time.”

Grace laughed. “Now don’t you be doing that. You and I have a barbeque to attend.” Looking into Madison’s eyes, Grace continued. “Don’t worry about what you are wearing. You look beautiful, and you’ll be the hit of the party. We all know you are an elegant New York City girl. We’d be disappointed if you didn’t wear a designer dress. Someday you’ll just wear a plain ol’ sundress. It’ll happen. Just give it time. Okay?”

Hugging Grace, Madison said, “You are a special lady, Grace.”

Grace laughed. “Tell that to Peter—please.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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January 6, 2015

CHAPTER 8

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Polite. It wasn’t a bad word but then again, it wasn’t a very warm word either. Polite offered a crisp greeting without a smile or further inquiry as to the person’s health or well-being. So it was for Madison. In the days that followed her confrontation with Peter, politeness had replaced the staff’s hostility toward her. The staff accepted Madison as an employee but not as a member of the team. She drank her coffee alone at her desk or in the employee lounge. Meetings with Peter were stiff and uncomfortable for both of them. Others joined her for lunch only when a client requested a business luncheon.

Madison was perplexed on what she could do to change the staffs’ attitude toward her. The answer was so simple and surprisingly unexpected. But first, she found a new friend.

****

“May I join you?”

Sitting alone, Madison looked up from her coffee cup in the employees lounge to see Grace Parrish standing at the doorway. “Of course,” Madison said, surprised. Grace, a beautiful black woman with light skin and delicate features, always extended a warm smile to Madison.

Madison finished her coffee and set aside the magazine while Grace made herself a cup of tea. Sitting across from Madison at the small rectangular table, Grace said, “I don’t know about you, but I’ll be lucky to get everything done today.” She brushed away her long, softly-curled, black hair and added, “So, what does your day look like?”

“Thank you for asking,” Madison said with a return smile. Madison had liked Grace since their introduction. Her soft voice and gentle manner were a welcome respite from the harsh judgmental faces of the others. Madison said enthusiastically, “I’m working on a plant-start-up that’ll bring in a couple thousand jobs. I’m waiting for a call from the chairman of the board to see if he’s interested.”

“That’s exciting news, Madison. I’m so happy for you. I know Peter is happy too.”

Madison offered a weak smile that was not convincing nor was her light chuckle. “Grace, I don’t think Peter is happy about anything I do.”

Grace reached over and held Madison’s hand. “I know about you and Vicki. We all make mistakes, Madison. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Madison replied with conviction, “That isn’t the message I received from Peter. I think he wants to fire me. He just needs to settle on a reason why. The staff isn’t too thrilled with me either.”

“May I speak frankly, Madison?” Grace said, cautiously.

“Of course,” Madison replied, confused on the direction of the conversation.

“I’ve known Peter for years. Trust me, he wants you to succeed and he’ll push you to get there. Peter is a good man. He’ll be fair.”

“Now it’s my turn, Grace to speak frankly.”

Grace’s face became serious as if she had somehow revealed a secret.

Speaking quietly, Madison said, “Grace, you speak with a passion when you talk about Peter.”

Keeping her serious countenance, Grace said, “Peter is my friend. His wife Lori was my best friend. She died two years ago and it has been a hard struggle for him. Sometimes he becomes overwhelmed and it takes him days to recover. You just caught him at a sad moment in his life. You need to be understanding and gentle with him.”

Madison was convinced her intuition was correct. “I like you, Grace. You’re nice and you’ve been kind to me. I would like us to become friends. “May I ask you a question that I hope doesn’t upset or offend you?”

“Of course, you can ask me any question. I can’t promise I’ll answer it.”

“You’re in love with Peter?”

Grace smiled. It was a warm smile that did little to hide her secret. The smile lingered, as she remained silent.

“You don’t have to say anything, Grace. It’s written all over your face.”

Grace paused to select her words carefully.. Finally, she said, “You’re very perceptive, Madison. I’d ask you to respect me and allow me to keep my secret. Peter must never know.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Grace. May I say something that may give you comfort?”

“Of course.”

“I thought I was interested in Peter. My interest was misplaced. I made a mistake. Find a way, Grace. Peter should know you love him.”

Grace smiled. A warm smile of satisfaction. Ignoring Madison’s last comment, Grace said, “I agree with you, Madison. I think we’re going to become good friends. Will I see you at the barbeque on Saturday?”

“Barbeque? I hadn’t heard about a barbeque,” Madison said, puzzled. With a small laugh, she added, “Maybe I know why.”

“Peter always hosts a summer barbeque. I want my friends to be there, especially my new ones. That includes you, Madison.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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December 30, 2014

Because of the New Year’s Day holiday on Thursday, Madison will resume on Tuesday, January 6, 2015

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Vicki said, “I sent the Taylor report to the Palmer Group and I spoke to the manager of the market committee. He is very happy with the information we’ve sent him and said everything looks very favorable. He also said Mr. Dominic Rowlands wants you to call him when he returns to the office late next week.”

“Oh, that’s great news, Vicki. Great news. Thank you for all of your help. I brought us your favorite, spiced chai lattes and blueberry scones. Will you join me?”

Relaxed, Vicki said, “Yes, thank you. I love chai lattes.”

As they sat at the conference table, Heather stepped in and said, “Madison, Peter would like to see you when you’re available.”

****

The unexpected had been Madison’s secret to disarming her opponents. Less than twenty-fours earlier, Peter had threatened to fire her. Called back into his office on the following morning, she refused to cower in his presence or grovel to keep her job. Vicky had accepted her apology. Peter was next. She needed to neutralize his focus on her and turn it back to managing the practice.

Madison knew exactly what she needed to do.

Entering Peter’s office, she radiated confidence on her face and offered him a warm smile. Walking to his desk, her steps were relaxed as if she had stopped by for a casual visit. Madison was pleased that Peter seemed flustered at her entrance.

Cheerfully, she said, “Good morning, Peter. You wanted to see me?”

Clearly disarmed by Madison’s entrance, Peter motioned for her to sit while he toyed with his tie and tightened the knot.

Madison one, Peter nothing. You’ve got control, Madison. Keep it. Don’t let Peter take it away from you.

Peter had replaced his initial stern expression when she entered his office to one that telegraphed surprise. Sitting in his chair, back ramrod straight, Madison thought he looked uncomfortable. She accepted his discomfort, welcomed his uneasiness.

You are a challenge, Peter Marshall, and oh, I love challenges, You haven’t got a chance. I’m going to win you over.

Peter cleared his throat to emphasize the seriousness of the moment and recapture the momentum of the meeting. “I must admit, Madison, that I am surprised you’ve returned to the office, especially so quickly since our discussion yesterday. And I admit, I am disappointed. I believe you would be more comfortable returning to Wall Street.”

Speaking firmly so there would be clarity in each of her words, Madison said, “Peter. May I remind you that you did not fire me yesterday. You said distinctly, ‘One more outburst like your performance today and you’re fired.” There will be no further outbursts. Now, Peter, are you prepared to give me the chance to prove there will be no more outbursts or are you going to be unfair and fire me?”

Unable to respond, Peter reeled from Madison’s comment.

Unwilling to allow the advantage to switch to Peter, Madison immediately followed up. “So what is it going to be, Peter? Do I get a chance to prove myself or am I fired?”

Madison’s unexpected reaction pushed back Peter who warned in a weak voice, “There must be no more outbursts,”

“Agreed,” Madison, said quickly. “Will there be anything else, Peter?”

“No,” Peter said in a tepid voice.

Madison one, Peter zero.

****

Polite. It wasn’t a bad word, but then again, it wasn’t a very warm word either. Polite offered a crisp greeting without a smile or further inquiry as to the person’s health or well-being. So it was for Madison. In the days that followed her confrontation with Peter, politeness had replaced the staff’s hostility toward her. The staff accepted Madison as an employee but not as a member of the team. She drank her coffee alone at her desk or in the employee lounge. Meetings with Peter were stiff and uncomfortable for both of them. Others joined her for lunch only when a client requested a business luncheon.

Madison was perplexed on what she could do to change the staff’s attitude toward her. The answer was so simple and surprisingly unexpected. But first, she found a new friend.

TO BE CONTINUED

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December 23, 2014

Because of the Christmas holiday on Thursday, Madison will resume on Tuesday, December 30, 2014

CHAPTER 7

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

Hold on, girl. Not so fast. You’re forgetting one thing.

What?

You’ve got to say it.

No, I can’t do that.

Yes, you can. It can’t be that hard. Swallow your pride, Madison.

Madison rejected the thought of drinking any more wine and put her glass on the nightstand. The cat, sensing that her mistress’ mood had improved, returned to the bed. Curled up into a ball, eyes closed, Madison stroked the cat’s neck and said. “Okay, I admit it. I was wrong. I made a mistake.”

There, you said it. That wasn’t so hard.

****

Attitude and judgment pressed hard Madison on all sides when she returned to Peter’s law office the following morning. Employees quickly looked at her in disapproval and stepped away. People suddenly stopped talking or muted their conversations when she passed. The atmosphere was cold, ice cold. Without smiling, even Mary said a terse good morning. Madison’s secretary Heather refused to look at her, and Vicki was out of the room.

Despite knowing what to expect, the employees’ reaction was painful, and how to ask for forgiveness was a new and confusing experience. But hidden in her heart was a resolve that overshadowed the reception she had received.

I will not fail. You cannot defeat me. I’ll prove to all of you that I can change.

She’d overcome the taunts from her classmates. She could overcome the disapproval that she had returned to work.

The battle for redemption had begun. She welcomed her greatest challenge.

****

Despite the disdain she had received, Madison’s countenance was determined. She caught a glimpse of Peter through the open door of his office. Madison thought he looked surprised and upset when they exchanged glances. Such a look would have deterred many. Madison refused to reconsider that her decision was a mistake. Peter, You will not defeat me.

Purposefully leaving her office door open, Madison hung her coat and purse and placed the paper sack she had carried onto her desk. “Would you please find her for me?” she asked Heather. Within minutes, they stood together in the center of the office.

Madison and Vicki.

Vicki’s stone face spoke volumes to Madison. Perhaps she had irreversibly destroyed their working relationship.

Speaking quietly, Madison said, “Will you hear me out, Vicki, before you make your final judgment of me?”

Vicki said nothing. The wariness in her face said it all. The open door had served its purpose as the staff stood in place, fixated on the conversation in Madison’s office. They couldn’t hear anything but sensed the bolts of emotional energy discharging between the two women. Madison needed the open door to prove to the others that she could repair the damage she had done.

Perfect. The arena was set with the open door, silence in the outer office, and Vicki’s closed mind. Speaking from her wounded heart, Madison said, “Vicki. I treated you badly yesterday, and there is no excuse for my behavior. If I could take back my hurtful words, I would, but I can’t. I sincerely apologize, Vicki. You are a valued employee and I recognize your contribution to the office. I’m asking you to forgive me and allow us to have a fresh start. Can we do that?”

Her stone face softened, Vicki said, “You hurt me, Madison. You hurt me very badly.”

Surprised that her eyes felt moist, Madison asked, “Will you give me a second chance? Vicki, it’s very important to me.”

Vicki looked at the sincerity on Madison’s face. Politely, she said, “I’ll accept your apology, Madison. Thank you. I hope it doesn’t happen again. Even my children were upset that I was upset. I want us to work together. You know so much that you can teach me.” As if brushed by magic, the tenseness between the two women evaporated, and people resumed their work in the outer office.

Vicki said, “I sent the Taylor report to the Palmer Group and I spoke to the manager of the market committee. He is very happy with the information we’ve sent him and said everything looks very favorable. He also said Mr. Dominic Rowlands wants you to call him when he returns to the office late next week.”

Visibly relieved, Madison said, “Oh, that’s great news ,Vicki. Great news. Thank you for all of your help. I brought us your favorite, spiced chai lattes and blueberry scones. Will you join me?”

Relaxed, Vicki said, “Yes, thank you. I love chai lattes.”

As they sat at the conference table, Heather stepped in and said, “Madison, Peter would like to see you when you’re available.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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