Perfect Match (49 page)

Ramona Brimstone got up from her desk in her small study.
She stretched her arms overhead, and then unbuttoned her white cotton blouse,
tossing it across the back of her chair. She unhooked her white bra in front,
and slipped it off her shoulders, draping it on the arm of her rocking chair.
She turned back staring down at her laptop, as she cupped both breasts,
massaging them, and letting her hands caress them until they were standing at
full attention.

She slipped her blouse back on, leaving it unbuttoned and
pulled to the sides, since she was the only one in the parsonage. She sat once
again staring at the computer screen, and said out loud, “Okay, Lord, I thought
if I removed the bondage of my breasts, it’d free up my thinking.” She
chuckled. “At least I’m wide awake.

“I’ve revised three sermons but so far they’re falling flat.
They just don’t seem like the right uplifting message for Sunday.” She looked
upwards. “Lord it is one a.m. on Saturday and you do remember that the next day
is Sunday? I’m supposed to preach, and I need some help from you. Anything,
throw me something, a bone, a scrap, a morsel, something I can work with.”

She sat quietly for several minutes. Her hands moved up to
the edge of the desk, as she looked up and said, “That’s it? One word? I know
you’re into radical living, but do you really think we can handle it?”

She waited a few more minutes. One word kept reverberating
through her mind. She looked up again. “Okay, Lord, if that’s your final
answer, I’m going to jump on and ride this horse, but you sure better be in
control of the reins.” She looked down at her desk, smiling.

Ramona pulled a couple reference books and her Holy Bible
closer to the computer. She poised her hands on the keyboard. As she typed, her
movements jostled her breasts. Her breasts were pointing and moved in rhythm,
as if proofing every word streaming across the screen.

Sunday’s sermon was under construction.

Dr. Hertford entered the small waiting room, where Madison
was alone, seated on the edge of a green covered chair. Fright was written on
her face, accented by darkening shadows under her eyes. She stood, expecting
the worst.

Hertford’s smile and greeting was warm, even though it was
2:20 Saturday morning. When EMS was on the way to the hospital, he’d been
patched through on the call and gave instructions, as he went to the hospital.
“Selena’s okay, but first tell me how you’re doing.”

“Terrible. That’s all I know, but I want to know about
Selena.” Her chin quivered.

Hertford motioned for her to sit, as he pulled a chair
closer. “We finally got her stabilized. She was stubborn about any treatment.
Pulled her IV line out twice, before I could give her a mild sedative to calm
her. She’s sleeping now. We can give her medications intravenously, as well as
nutrition, until we can work through these explosive stressors, and you know
what I’m talking about.”

He paused.

Madison nodded slowly. “I take full responsibility for the
blowup in your office, but I thought Selena was calm after we left, and I
steered clear of anything controversial, until she told me her intention not to
eat or medicate.”

He said, “I’m not letting Selena off the hook. It sounds
like she’d made those harsh decisions on her own, whether you’d said anything
more or not. She’s claimed her adulthood status, and I’ll expect her to
shoulder some of the work in finding a solution.” He took a pause. “Do you
think some counseling would be helpful?”

She shrugged. “Possibly. I’m willing to try anything.”

“It might be best if you don’t visit her for a day or so.
You can look in on her before you leave, but don’t wake her. I’ll have one of
the psychiatrist come by. Sometimes a neutral party can pinpoint the problem
better than those in the middle of it.” He scratched the side of his head. “Do
you think three-way counseling would be a possibility?”

Her face puzzled. “Three-way? I don’t understand.”

“You, Selena, and Roscoe meeting with a counselor? Selena
seems to have a genuine appreciation for him.”

Madison thought a moment, then shook her head. “I doubt if
he’d want to ever see me again.” She looked down at her clasped hands. Her
shoulders slumped.

Hertford let her thought hang in the air a moment. A door
slammed somewhere down the corridor. He leaned forward. “He doesn’t hold any
ill-will toward you, Madison, and to put your mind at ease, he has no sexual interest
in Selena. He…uh...expressed great admiration for both of you. He didn’t know
that you were mother and daughter.”

Madison remained at the hospital, checking on Selena every
hour, standing by her bed watching her young body, and reflecting back through
the years. Selena had been a brave trooper, and yes she’d had her own share of
hurts growing up with her health issue. Madison thought, why couldn’t I have
been a little more understanding? Maybe none of this would have happened.

She left the hospital at daybreak, frazzled from lack of
sleep, but not wanting to sleep. She stopped on her way home at Krispy Kreme,
and picked up two donuts and a large coffee.

She cleaned up the kitchen from the night before, while
munching on the donuts and sipping her coffee. The Mexican Chicken meal had to
be thrown out.

She finished off her coffee, and headed for the shower, gave
herself a good shampoo, and put on fresh jeans and cotton shirt.

After cleaning her room, she went to straighten up Selena’s
bedroom. Seeing her rumpled bed, and two pairs of shoes scattered, brought
their argument, last night, rushing back. She sat on the edge of Selena’s bed
looking around at the things that reflected. Her recent high school diploma,
already framed with her tassel attached at the corner, her two special awards
displayed in a shadow box, other little things that helped create her presence.

Madison reached down, and picked up scattered papers and a
notebook that had fallen out of her canvas messenger bag when the EMS staff
bumped her bed as they placed Selena on the stretcher last night. Madison was
placing them back in the canvas bag when she noticed some newspaper clippings
sticking out of a red folder. The one of D.R. Fallington’s wreck was on top.

She opened the folder and found an assortment of clippings
pertaining to her rise as CEO of Fallington, and a sought-after speaker in the
business community. Coverage of her TV appearances was included.

Articles from the Internet had been downloaded, and printed
that focused on D.R. when he was CEO.

What captivated Madison were the many notes Selena had made
in the margins of her notebook. Some mystified her.
R. is really a nice guy,
but M. doesn’t think so. Change female protagonist description in final draft.
Let R. figure out who C. is. Wish I could be around for that discovery. Let M.
have son
.

On and on Madison thumbed through the pages, puzzling
through Selena’s notes. The last one choked her up.
My prayer that mom will
find a man who will love her forever
.

She fell over on Selena’s bed, curling up, holding the
folder, crying softly, “My precious, precious, Selena.”

Sleep overtook her.

Roscoe and crew had worked until noon, when they had to
knock-off after running out of sheet rock. The vendor’s delivery truck had
mechanical problems, and it would be Monday before they could deliver again.

The crew returned back to the office and after a quick bite
of lunch, they put in two hours working on Roscoe’s roof-top garden. A
celebration cheer went up when they left at two o’clock, except for Billy. They
had the rest of Saturday, and all of Sunday away from work. For a crew that had
worked seventy-five hours that week, a day and a half of rest seemed like
eternity.

The craftsmanship of Romantic Renovations had spread from
neighborhood to neighborhood. As projects were underway, bright pink signs were
posted in yards, and lettered with
Another Romantic Renovation under
construction; Let us romance your home also
. New business was booked daily.
Billy had hustled the scheduling of projects and the updating of financial
projections for Roscoe to consider.

Billy said, “I never imagined the business taking off like
this.”

“It wouldn’t have happened, without your help.” Roscoe
smiled. They gathered around one of the office work tables. “What’s it looking
like over the next few months?”

Billy spread out some sheets, and pointing with a yellow
pencil stub, said, “With the cash reserve that’s building, you’ll be able to
add an additional truck, three more people, and some professional grade tools.
In addition we should finish up renovating the garage-warehouse out back in
another few days.”

Roscoe thought a moment. “Will those expenses interfere with
the scheduled wage increase for everyone?”

“No, and your cash reserve should increase another forty
percent. The bank is going to love RR’s financial picture.” He smiled.

Roscoe drummed his fingers on the table, and chuckled.
“After the ruckus of the Tojo arrest, the owner of the three dilapidated
houses, and three empty lots on the street contacted my realtor indicating that
he’ll sell at a sacrifice. I’m thinking I’ve got enough leverage to swing the
deal. How about taking a look at the houses and let me know what you think.”

Billy smiled. “If you purchase, you’ve already got three
people who are interested.”

“Who?”

“Me, and the guys, Jerome, and Ned. We’ve already checked
them out. They need major work but the basic bones of all three are rock
solid.”

Roscoe laughed, “I can see this neighborhood is about to get
an earth-shaking renovation.”

For the remainder of the afternoon, Roscoe worked with his
shirt off on his roof-top garden. He’d gradually gained a decent tan, and his
laparoscopic incision sites had healed nicely, leaving remnants of incisions.

When the crew was doing an inside renovation they wore soft
pink cotton shirts, with tan pants. If outside, the men and women wore pink
T-shirts. The Romantic Renovations logo was embroidered on all shirts. Roscoe
encouraged the crew to wear their shirts any time, and to always carry business
cards and brochures with them when out running errands. It worked. Word that
there was a new business in town, was spreading like wildfire.

Sunday

Madison had rolled over, stretched, and was ready for more
sleep, but cracked an eyelid, realizing she was still on Selena’s bed, staring
at the clock on the small nightstand. Six o’clock. As she stretched again, and
sat on the edge of the bed, she figured that she’d slept almost eighteen hours.
How tired was I, she wondered.

She was stiff from such a long sleep, and did a few
free-hand exercise movements to loosen up. She was hungry, but not, and opted
for a wake-up shower.

When drying off she looked at her nude body in the mirror.
She acknowledged that she still had a fit body with shapely breasts, hips, and
legs. She took a stance like a tennis player, knees bent, and leaning over
slightly. She shifted her weight to the right, then left, noticing her lean
shape. Her breasts bounced, waiting to be caressed and kissed by a loving man.
Then what is it about me that attract the wrong men, she thought. Not coming up
with an answer, she finished drying off, and slipped on jeans and T-shirt.

While glancing through the Sunday newspaper, she settled on
coffee and the other donut. Afterwards she was restless, wandering from room to
room, ending up in Selena’s bedroom.

She dialed the nurses’ desk. The nurse on duty said, “Selena
is stable, and late yesterday the psychiatrist got her to split a coke with her
while they talked. That’s a breakthrough, but Hertford wants to get a
recommendation from the psychiatrist before you visit her again.”

Madison’s heart sank as she got off the phone. I can’t see
my own daughter? Am I an ogre? Yeah, probably. She was feeling low, feeling
sorry for herself, as she sat staring at the wall, before deciding to get ready
and go to church. If that didn’t help, nothing would.

She brushed out her hair, used a hint of makeup, and put on
an above-the-knee-length, one-piece summer dress with teal, blue, and green
florals, and a black sash as the belt. She wore a single gem on a dainty silver
necklace.

She slipped on two-inch black heels, a spray of fragrance,
and was out the door.

As Madison turned up the church drive she read the marquee.
Sermon:
The “F” Word
.

She eased up the incline, thinking, has Ramona lost her
mind? The church will probably be empty.

But the parking lot was packed.

The seats were going fast. Madison took the first available.

Before the service got started, Pastor Ramona mingled up and
down the aisles, greeting and shaking hands as people entered the sanctuary.

Soon the 10:45 a.m. service was underway. The praise team
equipped with electronic keyboard, guitars, drums, harmonica, tambourines, and
other assorted odds and ends, stirred the crowd with contemporary music,
tapering off to a couple of slower songs.

The service moved through the usual order of worship, quick
announcements, responsive readings, offering, prayers of the pastor and The
Lord’s Prayer by the congregation.

The sermon was next.

Ramona in her signature collared, long-sleeve white cotton
blouse, snug-fitting jeans, and sandals with blue straps, strode to the pulpit.
Her wireless mic was lost in her full head of blonde hair framing her face. A
silver necklace with a cross rested at the top of her cleavage. Her top button
was undone.

Her smile radiated, as she began. “Welcome again on this
beautiful Sunday morning. I’m so glad you’re here, and especially those
standing. I hope we’ll run out of seats at every service.”