Perfect Match (2 page)

She had her own key code to the top-floor headquarters of
Fallington Enterprises in downtown Asheville. After hanging her coat, she
turned on her desktop computer. While it booted up she scanned three other
desks in separate cubicles. She thought of them as the Roxy, Jasmine, and Mindy
“cages.” Roxy was 26, Jasmine 25, and Mindy almost 24, two former, and current
bedmates of D.R. Fallington, arrogant playboy, and CEO of Fallington
Enterprises.

As Madison observed the three desks in disarray, she knew
she was looking at her work for the day. Papers spilling out of the fax and
printer trays, lipstick smears on desk blotters, nail polish bottles, mirrors,
hair brushes, perfume sprays, and assorted eye markers, all gave one the
feeling of having stepped into some baby doll play room. She didn’t touch
anything; just observed, as always.

She returned to her desk and got to work checking and
responding to emails and listening to phone messages that had been received
overnight from the Hong Kong office. She quickly took care of her own faxes and
some print jobs that she’d sent to the printer overnight.

She was among the rare women of America who had mastered
Microsoft Office and all of its components. Her last employer wrote, “Madison
is so fast and efficient with Microsoft that I have to take Dramamine. Watching
her work the keyboard and software programs is dizzying.”

She had finished with her last file when Rodney burst into
the office, face flushed, tie and shirt askew. “Thank God you’re here. Grandmother
has called an emergency staff meeting this morning at 9:30.” He paced jerkily
back and forth in front of her desk, stopping briefly to wring his hands,
before pacing again. “We’ve got to do something. Madison, you’ve got to do
something. You’ve got to help me.”

He ran his hand across his face, as if to wipe away his
tension.

“How can I help, Rodney?”

“We’ve got all these reports to have ready for Grandmother.”

“Mine are ready at the end of each day.”

“But…but…what about Roxy, and the other two?”

“Have you asked them if theirs are ready?”

“Well, no, but they usually don’t come into work until
around 9:30 or 10:00.” He glanced at the clock.

“I’ve noticed that, and they usually leave earlier than
everyone else.”

Rodney looked embarrassed. “I know Madison, I know. We have
a mess around here.” He paced again, driven by panic. “I just know Grandmother
will fire some people, and I’ll probably be one of them. Oh, God, my wife will
pitch a fit for sure.” Perspiration trickled down his neck.

“If people are doing their job, why should they be worried
about being fired?”

He looked at Madison like she was an idiot. “You don’t know
Grandmother like I know her.”

 “Maybe you don’t know your grandmother very well. She’s
always seemed like a very fair and kind woman.”

His shoulders slumped in surrender, arms fell limp, as eyes
closed, head shaking from side to side. “We’re dead. I just know it.”

She got up from her desk and led him to the three concubine
cubicles. “Let’s take a look at the Ménage a trois stables.”

He rolled his eyes.

Rodney helped her gather up all the loose papers and folders
from each of the offices and place them in three separate piles on her desk.
She said, “Three stacks, Roxy, Jasmine, and Mindy. When they arrive, have them
stop by my desk. I may have questions.”

“Yes, as soon as they come in.” Almost bowing in front of
her desk. “Thanks, Madison, thanks. I’ll owe you a big time favor.”

“Yes you will, and I won’t let you forget, Rodney.” She gave
him a level stare.

He scooted down the hall to the bathrooms, his stomach in an
uproar.

Madison thought back for a moment to when she was hired
three years ago. She’d been interviewed by Rodney on a morning similar to this
one, full panic mode. He’d asked her if she would retype a couple documents and
reports. She jumped at the chance to demonstrate her skills with Microsoft
Office and Excel in particular.

She’d made a few suggestions on improving the appearance of
a report that someone had left unfinished. Rodney hired her on the spot, but
she later heard D.R. chewing him out for hiring an ‘older’ woman. Her feelings
had been stung more than once when she’d learned of another of D.R.’s insulting
remarks about her. But she’d developed a pretty thick skin. She needed this
job.

For the next forty-five minutes she compiled and entered
data, toyed with layouts, ran some formulas in Excel, and prepared a PowerPoint
presentation. The printer was soon spitting out collated reports. She’d almost
finished with Mindy’s stack, when she and D.R. came through the door in a hustle
at 9:20, minutes before the dreaded staff meeting.

D.R. yelled out, “Rodney, in my office pronto.”

“Be right there.” Rodney managed to direct Mindy over to
Madison’s desk, before going to meet with him.

Madison said, “Good morning, Mindy. Got a couple of
questions on some of the L.A. stats.”

“Okay-y.” Looking puzzled.

“Did you do a double check on the latest data compared with
the past 90 days?”

“Well, no, D.R. said I didn’t have to worry about tha—”

Madison tried another question, “Do you have a file showing
our increases and decreases in L.A. revenues?”

“D.R. said you’d take care of that stuff—”

Madison cut her off again. “Did you make any recommendations
concerning inefficiencies in our L.A. operations? I didn’t see any in
your…umm…notes?”

“I don’t know why you’re blasting me with all these stupid
questions. D.R. said you’d clean up all these crappy reports. This is boring
shit anyway.”

Madison looked up from her screen and smiled pleasantly.
“Thanks, Mindy, for your help.”

Mindy looked puzzled as she wiggled away on her heels, short
skirt of the day revealing lots of leg.

In D.R.’s office Rodney was pacing again. He stopped,
looking at him, and said, “We’ve got one hellacious mess in this office.”

“Well, you’re supposed to be the operations guy around here,
straighten it out, and quit bitching about it.” D.R. leaned back in his rich
leather chair, propping his feet on the corner of his polished walnut desk.

“D.R. cut me a little slack, will you? It’s hard to get
three non-functional bimbos to do anything, when you tell them they don’t have
to do anything but sit around the office and look cute.”

D.R. grinned. “They’ve earned their keep in my bed, so this
office stuff is simply payoff time for them. Quit worrying about it. Besides
“taco lady” seems to handle everything just fine. By the way, does she have the
reports ready for the meeting?” He glanced at his watch, growing tense, as his
headache became insistent.

“She’s working on it, but the data from your three girls
were in shambles.”

D.R. snapped forward from his chair, strode for the door and
headed to Madison’s desk. “Got those reports ready for the meeting?” Harsh tone
rasping through his voice.

Without looking up, she said, “Probably.” Her manicured
fingers flashed across her keyboard.

He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Probably? Probably won’t cut
it. Either they’re ready or you’ve got a real problem.”

Madison stopped typing, looked up. He averted eye contact.
She thought, he never looks me in the eyes. She could recall only once. She
said, “I don’t have a problem; but you do.”

Veins swelled along his neck. He stalked back to his office,
slamming the door. He couldn’t contain his anger. His voice was loud. “Rodney,
you should’ve never hired that woman. I want that “taco bitch” fired. I mean
it. I’ll not have some peon talk down to me.” He kicked a small table over; a
pile of car magazines fell and slid across the floor.

There was a knock at his office door. The door opened and
Madison stepped inside and said, “Yes? I heard you call my name, ‘taco bitch.’
That’s me. What can I do for you, Mr. Fallington?” Her head tilted slightly.
She looked at D.R. He averted her eyes, looking through his floor-to-ceiling
windows at the rolling mountains of Asheville. Rodney stood speechless,
petrified.

Silence seized the room.

“Well, I can see there’s not a real man in the room. But if
you need me, just call out ‘taco bitch’ and I’ll come running. But remember,
I’m Hispanic and I’m a proud bitch.” She turned and quietly closed the door,
heading to her desk.

She held her head high, as her heels sounded her pride
across the hardwood floor. She was reaching for her pocket book in her desk
drawer, when Rodney flew out of D.R.’s office, approaching her, his face filled
with anguish. “Madison, please don’t leave. I’m…I’m…so sorry for—”

“I’m not leaving. I needed to get a pack of tissues.” She
took her seat, dabbing at her eyes.

She needed this job. Desperately. No matter what, she needed
her job, and her daughter needed her.

9:25 a.m.

Edna Fallington was the fierce 80 year-old matriarch of the
remaining notorious Fallington family. She had homes in Asheville and New York
City. Her husband, John Fallington, ran off with his secretary when Edna was
50, and she was left with a business that was failing miserably. With raw
determination she’d built Fallington Enterprises into a multimillion-dollar
profit operation. Her biggest fear was that her two grandsons, D.R. and Rodney,
would destroy what she’d worked so hard to preserve.

Five minutes before the staff meeting, she walked through
the doors carrying a small black leather business bag. She was dressed in a
charcoal business pantsuit that fit her trim figure, and matched her natural
platinum hair. A single diamond pendant sparkled at the opening of her colorful
green blouse that complimented her gray eyes. She gave a warm greeting to
Madison, and walked directly to the conference room with a view of downtown
Asheville.

Rodney scampered over to Madison’s desk. “Uh…D.R. wants you
to attend the staff meeting, but don’t say anything. If he wants you to talk,
he’ll let you know. Understand? Just…please don’t speak out unless he asks you.
You know how upset he gets. Can you do that…for me?” Rodney was 45, the older
brother, but he’d always bent to the arrogance of D.R. He felt inferior to him
in every way.

After a long pause, Madison said. “I’ll try.”

Rodney cringed, thinking that his sphincter muscle would
either never function again or it would go completely, uncontrollably
ballistic. He didn’t know which, but right now he was scared shitless.

Edna sat at the head of the walnut conference table that
could seat twelve. D.R. sat to her right, Rodney next along with his secretary,
Janice Smithfield, a fiftyish quiet woman who’d worked part time for her church
before being hired by Rodney to do some “light typing.”

Madison sat to Edna’s left in an extra chair against the
wall. She gazed silently out the window at the mountain ranges in the distance,
but was attuned to everything happening in the tension-filled room.

“Let’s get started.” Edna nodded, looking at D.R.

He responded, distributing blue-bound company reports that
Madison had quickly assembled. “Reports are pretty standard, much the same as
last time we met. Everything is pretty much on target for another good year for
the company.” He took a deep breath, headache still nagging him. Damn it, I
should’ve taken two headache powders before this meeting began, he thought.

Edna glanced through the pages, flipping back and forth,
sighing audibly from time to time. Finally she looked up and said to D.R.,
“This report doesn’t indicate another good year.”

D.R. looked flustered, gestured toward Madison. “Well, there
must be some mistakes with the data.” He gave a hard look, and then glanced
away, as Madison tried to lock on his eyes.

Edna asked politely, “Who prepared the report?”

Rattled, D.R. said, “Maude did.” He pointed at Madison.

She snapped, “My name is Madison, Mr. Fallington.”

He shrugged and smirked.

Edna looked back and forth between the two, and then asked,
“Where did you get your information, Madison?”

Madison looked, with raised eyebrows, at D.R., waiting for
his cue before speaking.

He beckoned with his hand. “Tell her where you got the
info.”

Edna held her hand up as if to stop Madison, then addressed
him. “When I ask someone a question, I’m not accustomed to them getting
permission from you, before they can answer. Is that clear to everyone in the
room?”

D.R.’s face flushed crimson.

Rodney cowered lower in his seat, thinking how pleasant
instant death would be.

Edna extended her left hand toward Madison. “Come join us at
the table, please.”

She took the seat across from D.R. He crossed his arms and
stared at his blank legal pad on the table.

Edna said, “I thought there were three people coordinating
our data from Los Angeles, New York, and Atlanta. Why aren’t they present for
the meeting? Do they still work here? I didn’t see them when I came in.”

D.R. cleared his throat. “I didn’t think it was necessary
that they attend. The report speaks for itself.”

“But the report is vague. I need fine details, not
generalities.” Edna thumbed through the pages again, turning to Madison. “Can
you explain the sharp decrease in revenues coming out of Los Angeles, cited on
page 32?”

Madison was on her feet, walking to the other end of the
table where a laptop and rarely-used projector sat.

“I can show you the numbers, gaps, and projections with a
cumulative report that I’ve maintained from month to month.” Before anyone
could object or speak, she had accessed her files, clicked on her PowerPoint
presentation and for the next 20 minutes gave a comprehensive report of
Fallington Enterprises.