Chpt 1 (continued) (edited)

Bucket of Daisies

Georgette spent the rest of the day on the sales floor. She wasn’t partial to sales, because she felt uncomfortable trying to talk people into buying more than they came for. But one of her sales reps had a dental appointment and she was left to fill in the spot.

She was over by the gardening tool section rearranging the hoes and shovels, when a voice behind her startled her. “How much for the hoe?”

With a clatter of noise, she turned to face Mr. Redden, a prominent political figure. She recognized him right away. He was a frequent face on the airwaves of Trip’s TV station.

“The hoe? We have different brands. Which one, sir?”

“Which is the best?” His eyes weren’t on the gardening tools.

“It’s not the tool that performs, but the person utilizing it. How much do you want to spend, sir?” As soon as she asked, Georgette realized she had handed him a loaded gun.

“Lovely lady, that depends on what I’ll get for my money?” His eyebrows resembled thick caterpillars, rising to battle. Georgette struggled to find a neutral reply. The arrival of another man saved her from the embarrassment.

“Congressman Redden, I’ve had the girl at the cash register to page the owner. No one seems to know where she is.” The man spoke with a hint of impatient. Then his eyes touched Georgette’s form a mere moment, before moving on to rummage around the rest of the area.

She cleared her throat, “I’m the owner. My name is Georgette Witt. How can I help you?”

The man’s dark eyes riveted back to her. He didn’t speak, just stood examining every particle of her. She returned his stare, willing her eyes to boldly examine him from foot to head. Her heart was pounding with indignation. She had never met a man who was so boorish. Georgette supposed his sun bronzed skin, masked brown eyes, generous nose and mouth could be a pleasant sight for most women. She hated to admit that the widow’s peak at his forehead dared her to brush his black hair back from his face and watch it feather back down in place around his temples.

The silence was becoming awkward, so Georgette repeated herself. “I’m the owner. How can I help you?”

“You’re the owner?” asked Redden, a gleam of devilment in his eyes. “I would love to hear about your business and how you came up with the name ‘Bucket of Daisies.’ Preferably over dinner, my dear. We really should have dinner tonight.”

With a blatantly impatient glare at Redden, the man hurried a reply, once again saving her from an awkward retort. “Oh sorry, Miss Witt. You’re not exactly what I expected. I’m Rod Hutchins and this is Ex-congressman Redden. Martin Schmidt suggested the congressman and I seek your advice on landscaping that will correlate with the downtown renovation project. Mr. Redden is the project head and I’m the architect. May we find a more private place to talk?”

“I read about the project. Also, Martin Schmidt is one of my closest friends. My office isn’t far. Follow me, gentlemen.” She wasn’t sure which set of eyes unnerved her the most—the dark impatient man’s or the roving hungry politician’s.

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Jennifer had told Mr. Larkin a white lie—her appointment book was clear. She felt she needed some time to canvas the neighborhood of her potential new home. It was of vital importance that the surrounding neighbors were of the same caliber as her. She knew from observing loan applicants that most spent money on their upkeep, such as clothing, jewelry, hair/nail care and even automobiles, while neglecting important objects like their homes and lawn.

She had no difficulty finding the street and was satisfied that Mr. Larkin wasn’t at the house, trying to spruce it up in hopes to seal the deal. The grounds were properly maintained. Not a single oak or magnolia leaf littered the lawn. Bloomless azaleas bordering the front porch were trimmed. Jennifer allowed her car to idle in the drive, while she sat examining the house with calculating intent. The irregular shaped stones that made up the house were unique with various shades of gray. The wood trim and porch were painted a slate blue. She couldn’t find a blemish from where she sat, but that didn’t comfort her. So she turned the ignition off and inspected the grounds thoroughly. Just as she expected, there were a few minor things in need of repair. She made notes and then returned to her car. During the appointment with Mr. Larkin, she would be sure to examine every inch inside, as well.

As Jennifer was backing out of the drive, a vivid pink Cadillac came pealing out of the driveway of the house across the street. She saw a mass of blonde hair and the rude finger gesture of the driver for only a second and then it was gone. Jennifer thought that the owner must be in desperate need of attention, to own an expensive car pimped in a tacky color of pink. Looking at the house it came from, no wonder the car sped off. The woodwork around the windows probably screamed in pain as the paint peeled off. An immaculate lawn seemed at odds with the smudged windows and the porch that needed sweeping.

While she drove around the block and back, Jennifer mulled over the Cadillac, remembering the dream of her youth of one day owning a “love bug”, like in the Disney movie, except it was to have been pink instead of white. She thought of how time changes dreams, as she gracefully stopped for a traffic sign in her pale green BMW. Jennifer stole a glance at her wristwatch. It was close to the meeting time, so she drove back to the house.

Mr. Larkin’s black sports car looked at home in the drive. She pulled in behind him. He appeared on the doorsteps, standing tall with a shock of gray at his temples. Jennifer smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, before she strode up the steps to take his outstretched hand.

“Ms. Swann, I’m happy you made it. Come inside. View the wonders.” He smiled down at her. She rarely met a man who made her height seem small.

“I’m impressed with the grounds. So immaculate and picturesque.” Her eyes scanned the foyer, as she spoke. “I’m not fond of wallpaper. I hope the rest of the house isn’t flooded with it.”
“With the right furniture and wall hangings, wallpaper can embody a homey feeling that every house longs for. Don’t rule it out completely.” He offered his hand again, “Shall we start upstairs and work our way down?

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Side Roads

Georgette viewed her office as a sanctuary within the empire of her business; a place where she could find brief escape from the overwhelming riots of daily commerce. Today was an exception, though. The cozy comfort of her feminine atmosphere was blindsided by a rage of testosterone and the subtle battle of wills, as the two men fought a silent battle of dominion over the conference with her.

At first she was bemused, and then irritated, especially when Mr. Redden made a comment about the tender blossoming flowers waiting to be plucked. He was referring to Heather, whom he glimpsed through one of the windows, as she came out of the greenhouse.

The rumor mill hinted that the reason Congressman Redden hadn’t run for a second term wasn’t due to ill health as purported, but to a scandal of inappropriate conduct within the confines of his own office. Georgette didn’t know the definite details, but in her heart she felt that maybe the rumors were found on solid ground in spite of the denials from those close to him. She was on the verge of canceling the meeting when Mr. Redden got a cell phone call that demanded his immediate attention. When he stepped into the hallway outside Georgette’s office to speak in private, Mr. Hutchins seized the moment to speak confidentially to Georgette.

In a quiet voice, he said, “I apologize for Congressman Redden’s behavior, Mrs. Witt.”

She interrupted. “Miss, not Mrs.”

“Miss Witt, then. When I won the architecture contract of the project, I didn’t realize I would have to include him in every minuscule aspect of the planning.”

“He is the project head, Mr. Hutchins. He’s not out of order, really. I dislike his innuendos, but can overlook them if the main object of our conjunction is met with professionalism. Let me offer you some unsolicited advice.”

“I’m all ears, Miss Witt.” His tolerant smile reminded her of her father and the times during her youth, when she would explain something to him that he already knew how to do.

“If you want to met deadlines and not appear weak opposite Mr. Redden’s force, you need to establish concise leadership boundaries immediately. The first step is to recognize that he’s not a congressman anymore. He’s in the vein of any committee member that you’ve dealt with in the past.”

Hutchins smiled broadly, “Wisdom becomes you, Miss Witt. I can see why Martin regards you so highly.”

They were interrupted by Mr. Redden’s return. A crisis at his office closed the meeting. Rod Hutchins promised to call her early the next morning. After they left, Georgette was pressed for time. She had some tasks to finish, before going over to Trip’s for the evening. With Heather’s help, she managed them and hurried home for a quick shower and change of clothes.

She exchanged jeans for a long flowing green skirt with a matching peasant style blouse. Traffic was light as she drove to Trip’s neighborhood. She drove, searching for a parking spot on the street perpendicular to Trip’s street. Locating a perfect one on the corner, Georgette parked her weathered jeep and walked briskly to Trip’s house. The toils and trials of the day ebbed about, as the anticipation of his kiss embraced her heart.
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Endless Search

The tour began upstairs with the four spacious rooms with accompanying closets and baths. As Jennifer feared wallpaper swathed every bedroom, bath and roomy closet. An outdated thick shag carpet blanketed the floors; the color a murky beige. The upstairs tour ended in the master bedroom, which had huge French style windows facing out the front of the house. Dale Larkin’s memorized tour lecture would have been boring if his voice wasn’t so melodious.

Jennifer looked out one of the windows. Dusk was beginning to fall. In a matter of minutes, darkness would cloak the trees with shadows. A fast moving figure caught her eye. A little woman in a dark skirt trotted towards the house across the street. The braid wound around her head amused Jennifer. All that the woman needed was for her skirt to be tie-dyed and a sign saying “Give Peace a Chance” and she could be mistaken for a hippy or even one of those Mother Earth Wicca worshippers who were always trying to save a tree. Miss plain Jane was in dire need of a head to feet make-over, which would require a miracle to transform her into a fashion model of today.

Her rumination was severed by Dale Larkin’s suave sales pitch echoing in the room. He stood behind her. His face faintly reflected in the crystal clear window pane. Handsome wasn’t the perfect word to describe his Roman-esque features…striking, yes that was the word. Jennifer admired the sales technique he employed, using his attractiveness and charm to win his potential buyer and using his intellect to close the sale—but not this time.

Without turning to face him, Jennifer said, “Mr. Larkin, I’m a woman who believes in intuition, as did my mother and her mother and so forth. Never have I known my intuition to scream as loudly as it’s shrieking now.” In the window pane, she watched his lips form to speak, but she forcibly continued talking. “I do acknowledge the moderate care and maintenance of the house. I have no complaints in that department. What raises my bile is the interior design. Wallpaper and shag carpet disagree with my sense of décor.”

Mr. Larkin took advantage of her need to breathe, saying, “Wallpaper and carpet are easy to replace, Ms. Swann. You shouldn’t let minor faults dissuade you from an ideal home.”

“I agree, Mr. Larkin. But it would cost a small fortune to renovate the interior of this house so that it matches the exquisite exterior. But that’s not my main concern. Time, which takes up a large percentage of my working day, dictates that I need housing that requires little work.”

She watched his reflection move closer until he stood directly behind her. “The search continues, Ms. Swann. Lucky for you, I have a long list. It may take months to find you a perfect home.” His breath at her ear caused an involuntary shiver. With a deliberate slowness, he turned her to face him.

Jennifer’s eye were soft as rain on roses, as she said, “It could be an endless search, Mr. Larkin.”

“One can hope, Ms. Swann. One can hope.” His wedding ring reflected in the window pane for a mere moment, as his fingers traced the fullness of her lips. Then his mouth crushed over hers in an urgency he didn’t bother to restrain. The primal cry of the zipper of her dress as he unzipped it was lost in the muffled sounds of words mingled with kisses, as they forgot their pseudo formalities.

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Rapunzel’s Hair

Trip’s version of supper was Chinese take-out. They reviewed the day’s show, as they ate. Trip made his usual negative comments regarding his image or speech and Georgette made her usual rebuttals, singing his praises like she had been doing for almost a decade.

“No one believes in me like you do, sweetie,” said Trip. “I could be bald and toothless with hair growing out my ears and you would still say I was perfect.”

She glowed like candlelight. “You are, Trip.” Georgette cleared her throat. Because of her awe for him, she found it hard to talk about herself. But she wanted to share her good fortune with him. The tale of her daily tasks usually bored him, but with the ex-congressman’s new role in the story, he might find it interesting today.

“I’ve got some news, Trip. The committee to beautiful downtown has chosen Buckets of Daisies to be their gardening supplier. I met with the architect, Mr. Hutchins and the committee head Ex-congressman Redden this afternoon.”

“Congratulations, Georgette. I’m impressed and amazed at the same time. Usually an outside company is chosen. Someone must have put in a good word for you.”
If anyone else has said that to her, she would have flamed them with the reminder that her company was in second best selling privately owned garden center in the whole county. It shouldn’t be so amazing that it was chosen, but this was Trip and he wasn’t just anyone.

“Martin knows the architect, but I don’t think that’s the reason I was chosen. Mr. Hutchins seemed impressed with my input at the meeting. That’s what cinched the job, Trip. Not who I know.”

“Schmidt!” He spat out the name. “He’s doing you a favor in hopes that you’ll do him a favor.” His emphasis on favor wasn’t flattering.

Her voice shaky, Georgette said, “Trip, that’s not true. Martin’s like my brother. I don’t think of him that way. He’s dating someone, by the way.” She was close to tears and hated how easily he could wound her. He should be celebrating her success along with her, instead of bringing it down with his jealousy of Martin. Loving Trip shouldn’t be this hurtful at times.

He lifted her chin with his hand. “Sorry, sweetie. I can’t help it if I get uptight about Schmidt. Don’t you know how much you mean to me? He would give anything to be in my place.” She nodded, tentatively. Her vulnerability was intoxicating to him. She sat humbly before him with her head bowed, hiding her face. All he could see was her braided hair, a laurel crown that she wore just for him. “Let your hair down for me.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Georgette removed the bobby pins that kept the thick braid in place around her head. She unwound it slowly, watching his rapt face. He did love her. She saw it in his eyes. “Unbraid it,” he instructed. She did as he asked, letting the sections fall around her shoulders and spill down to the small of her back.

Trip combed her hair with his fingers, putting it to his nose and inhaling the floral scent of gardenia. He pulled her into an embrace, hugging her tightly and said, “I love the fact that you hide your hair from the world. I love that you only share it with me.” They kissed. He wrapped a rope of her hair around his hand, using it to pull her head back. “Only me,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, as if searching for an answer, before returning to kiss her.