Writing was her life.
Telling stories was how she made a living.
Thus far, her fairy tale ending could be seen over the horizon as she made her way towards a happily ever after with a charming prince who made love like a king. Finding it difficult to fathom how her day could get any better, she headed back to Scott’s, ready for a quiet evening in his home.
Zelda finished the initial interviews at the open registration day of the conference in record time. Everything went smoothly simply because authors were easy—just ask them about their favorite characters and the interview would write itself. Six characters later, her recorder was full of material with two New York Times Best Selling Authors, three USA Today Best Sellers, and one interesting author wearing a witch’s costume.
As the four p.m. hour neared, she really didn’t want to be at the conference anymore. I have what I need. Instead, she typed in the address for the nearest shopping center and found a men’s store. In her life, she’d bought a few ties for her brother and one or two men she’d dated, but never had it taken her so long to find just the right one with matching pocket square for her Scott. The crisp yellow shirt was sharp but she didn’t know his size.
Alone in the corner of the register, stood a clear box filled with men’s bracelet’s by AAGAARD. A shiny silver steel bracelet with cobalt blue shiny beads caught her eye.
“I’ll take that one,” she told the salesman.
A braided leather neck charm with a matching cobalt bead Zelda also purchased as a gift for him. She’d never really bought a man gifts like these and she hoped he would like them. Leaving the store, she headed to the crazy Popsicle house, happy, elated and ready to spend a late evening with her hairy man.
*****
“Good evening, Chandler,” she said, making her way to the cabinet to return the keys. Zelda made a beeline for the fridge, pulling out cold cuts, lettuce, and all the fixings, making herself a huge, man-sized sandwich.
“Oh,” Chandler said, watching her scarf down the huge meal. He understood what Scott meant about ‘Zelda eats’. He found himself wanting to tap one of her legs to make sure it wasn’t hollow. For the life of him, where she was putting that food was a mystery.
“Did you have a good day, Madam?” he asked her, looking at the empty plate suspiciously, as if house elves had wandered in and eaten all the food she had prepared.
“I had an excellent day. I met and had lunch with Janet Mahery,” she said with a huge grin and wide eyes. “I was so surprised by how open she was as an author. You know writers tend to be introverts and recluses?”
“I did not know that, Madam,” he said, watching her slice into the cake he’d baked, taking a huge chunk.
“Well, they are. I am going to have this upstairs,” she said with a smile. “I am also going to soak in that huge tub again as well.”
“Do you need me to draw you a bath?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, no, Chandler. Go on about your day. I’m cool. I am going to soak, work on these articles, and wait for my guy to get home,” she said to him. Nibbling on the cake, she climbed the stairs to Scott’s rooms and started the bath as she prepared her body for a soaking in the warm waters. She bathed languidly, enjoying the scented water, the wonderful lotions and the feel of the high thread count sheets as she tucked her legs under the covers, surrounded by her papers. Zelda’s eyelids drooped after a long soak in the wonderful tub filled with lavender scented salts. Working through her shorthand, Zelda found herself a bit more tired than she had imagined.
Time escaped her as she worked through her notes, transcribed a portion of the interviews, and muddled about the room changing music tracks searching for the perfect song for the arrival of her man. Sleep took over her tired body as she lay under the covers, half dressed, dreaming of a romantic night in his arms. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of a knight on a white horse, and an evening with her man.
However, the evening turned into a nightmare.
Chapter 6
Wednesday Night, Late Afternoon
The boardroom was standing room only with the Berger’s remaining stoic flanking Scott on both sides, while the opposition, namely his cousins, led the charge for change. No matter how many years the annual meeting convened, it never failed to leave a sunken feeling in Scott’s soul, praying secretly to have the launch codes to his pod. The same yearly argument to go public was on the table and a moot point of conversation as far as he was concerned.
“I understand your argument,” he started by saying. “However, Berger Vent has always been privately owned and family run. We do not mass produce vent dolls in some factory overseas. Our dolls are handcrafted right here in Kentucky with centuries old standards for height, size, and even meticulous details in eye color. I will not have the conversation again, not today, not tomorrow, and definitely not next year,” he said firmly.
“We are only asking that you take into consideration making more dolls than what we currently produce, Scott,” Celia, his cousin with very expensive taste, said.
“Berger Vent has consistently turned a profit, doubling the numbers in recent years after I became CEO. If your desire to mass produce more dolls centers around the longing to simply make more money to have more money, my answer is still no. When we can justify the number of orders to correlate with production, then and only then will I consider increasing labor to match the demand. Are there any other matters up for review?”
His head hurt.
His tongue felt numb.
I am stuck here while my Zelda is waiting at the house for me. A nice dinner, a bottle of wine, some deep conversation on the meaning of our existence on the plane of cosmic energy...
“Scott?” his father called his name.
“I’m sorry, Sir, what did you say?”
“The meeting this evening with Woodbury, is it still on?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Scott mumbled.
“Son, you seem distracted. Is it that kissing woman that has your mind elsewhere and not here on business?” Jacob asked him.
“Dad, honestly, I have spent the past fifteen years focusing on nothing but business. I am ready to enjoy kissing the kissing woman. I am planning to marry her in the next year and not long after that, welcome you a new grandchild into the Berger clan,” he said, rubbing his tired eyes. On days like today he missed his glasses. When he wore the thick rimmed women repellants, no one bothered to look him in the eye.
Now everyone gave him the eye.
“Marriage? Really? So soon?” Jacob Berger asked him. “This woman is the one, heh? I must tell you, I am with your Mom. I think she is crazy.”
“You haven’t even met her!”
“Scott, trust me, based on what you’ve said about her, some of those actions seem to be a bit to the left of whoo-hoo, whacky, yacky,” Jacob said emphatically.
“I have no idea what whacky yacky is. Please reserve your judgment until you meet her,” Scott said, closing his eyes for one second, hoping to make the headache stop pulsating in his temples.
“Well, we are ready to meet her,” Jacob said.
Scott had not told them Zelda was in town nor at the house. This was his time with his lady. If he told his family she was in the pod, they would come over and hoard all the time with her. Truthfully, he was afraid his family would run her off. His plan, if it worked, was to make her fall so deeply in love with him that she wouldn’t care about his nutty sisters, filterless mother, and eccentric father.
“Soon Dad,” he said.
“Good enough, Mr. Tough,” Jacob said.
*****
The old German clock in the foyer chimed ten as a weary Scott climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Today had worn him thin. He’d spoken briefly with Carolyn as she attempted to rearranged his schedule to come in late on Thursday morning so he would have more time with his spectacular lady. Tonight, he stopped in his downstairs den and poured himself a Bourbon, sipping it slowly to burn off the
bullshit of the day, calm his nerves, and help him mentally transition to a quiet evening with Zelda.
He found her sleeping in the bed, one long, sexy leg peeking from under the covers. His index finger trailed up her thigh, his heart racing, thumping in his chest, the burning desire to be inside of her fueling him. Patience, Scott. Take it slow. Leaning down, his breath reached her first, tickling the end of her nose as the sour scent of liquor joggled her brain. The feel of his lips on her neck made her sit straight up in the bed.
Eyes wide, blood racing through her veins, sweat beading on her forehead, she looked at Scott and screamed. A bloodcurdling scream which caught him off guard as she sprang from the bed, socking him in the nether regions, and took off running for the door. Pain seared through his lower body as he watched her bare bottom fleeing down the stairs.
The sound of the screams was not a foreign noise in the Berger household as Chandler appeared in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. A bigger concern was his boss on the floor holding himself. The woman had hit him in his reproductive parts.
Had Scott done something unseemly to Ms. Fitzsimmons?
Scott moaned through the pain, trying to point at the door. “Don’t just stand there, Chandler, catch her!”
*****
Chandler caught up to her at the door heading into the garage. He was certain she was unaware of her current state, but the fear on her face was real. The bathrobe he’d donned as he left his quarters he took off, using it to drape over her shoulders. Zelda jumped, turned, the appearance of a cornered rabbit, fear covering her face as he stepped back, going to the stove and starting the kettle.
“Madam, I can’t allow you to leave in this state,” he said calmly.
“You can’t keep me here! Let me out of this nuthouse,” she yelled.
“I can, but I am certain you don’t want to take off in the middle of the night without wearing anything to cover your arse,” he told her.
Zelda looked down and true enough, her lower half was bare. The midriff tee barely covered her breasts. She wore no shoes and her purse with identifications and credit cards was back upstairs in the bedroom.
“If you have been hurt or something has happened without your consent, I will personally drive you to wherever you wish to go and see that you get home safely. That is after you are properly attired for travel,” he said in the calmest voice he could muster. “Madam, have you been hurt?”
Scott walked up to the door frame, hiding behind the door as Chandler held up two fingers asking him to stand fast.
“No, I just need to get the hell out of here!” she said.
“It would appear to me, Ms. Fitzsimmons, that you have been running from whatever demon haunts you long enough. Tonight, it is time for you to make a stand,” Chandler said.
“I am going to stand my ass in line at the airport and get out of here and go home,” she said.
“Again, I shall help you do so, but your identification, purse, and underpants are still upstairs.” He paused, looking at her with gentle brown eyes. “Did Mr. Berger harm you?”
“No...,” she mumbled, feeling stupid. “It was ... my past, fears, he triggered something...I can’t.”
“Tonight, you shall. I need you to stand tall, Ms. Fitsimmons, because each time Scott speaks of you he stands taller. We all have demons. Nightmares, or pieces of our past that we can’t change. It is as strong of a part of us as anything we think, believe, or know. However, we become whole by putting the pieces together. Even the ugly ones,” he said.
Chandler turned his head slightly to point at his feet. Scott nodded, running up the stairs to retrieve Zelda’s shoes and a pair of pants. Her view of the countertop was blocked as the cup of the tea Chandler made was set before her.
“A cup of tea always re-centers me when I am unable to sleep, which was often as I made the transition in America,” he said. “Making the transition from being homeless to living in this house was another story.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek as ugly recollections danced through her head like devilish ballerinas. The smell of the Bourbon, his hand on her thigh...Zelda shuddered. The memory was there, but fuzzy. She couldn’t see it. Try as she might, what happened to her wasn’t there in her memories as if it had been erased.
Always close. Always so close.
The pants and shoes which Scott slipped onto the counter were picked up by Chandler.
“Madam, put these on. There is something I need to show you,” Chandler said, turning his back so she could dress.
“And if I refuse?”
His back still to her, he spoke softly. “Then you head back to Texas, no stronger in your understanding of the power of survival, overcoming a bad life experience, and forging ahead against the odds than when you arrived.”
He could hear the fabric swish as she donned the pants. The shoes she put on one after the other as Chandler turned and extended his hand. “Come,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Reluctantly, Zelda stood as he walked toward the door to the long Popsicle stick walkway which connected the pod to the house. She’d only gone as far as the living room and kitchen. She didn’t know what else lay in the museum like home of oddities. Yet, she was hesitant. He waved his fingers as she stepped out into the hallway, knowing Scott would be standing there.
He wasn’t.
Zelda followed Chandler down the corridor, worried about what she would see, but knowing it was something which was not shared with many. She was going to see the underbelly of the Berger world.
“Madam, we often see only what we wish to see. We look with hooded eyes, knowing there is an undeniable truth in the world, but comfort keeps us complacent. I am never complacent and neither is Mr. Berger. He has fought his way back from a very dark time in his life, holding the weight of the Berger Vent livelihood in his hands. Yet he has never complained. I was brought here to give him a friend and to help him find his purpose,” Chandler told her, opening a door to a darkened room filled with still figures.
“In order to love a man, you must understand a man. Allow me to show you the man I have served with pride and honor since I was but a child myself,” Chandler told her.
She knew he was going to show her Scott’s Achilles’ heel, giving her insight into who he was not just as a man, but a man of value and principle. Further, she grasped that Chandler believed by showing her this part of Scott’s life, he would also help her heal. Zelda didn’t know how to heal since she had no how idea how deep was her wound.
Chapter 7
Darkness seeped from the walkway, greeting Zelda with a sense of foreboding as she entered the cavernous space. The walls, lined with shadowboxes filled with memories from years past and sad snippets in time, hung waiting for her eyes to reinstate their importance in Scott’s past. Posters, costumes, and playbills showcased the life of a former well-known performer. A cherub faced doll was encased in a glass box with big round eyes that were frozen in a sideways stare as if it were giving the side eye to any onlookers.
“I recognize that doll!” Zelda said. “It belonged to that kid, what was his name? He was an amazing ventriloquist, he had these really bucked teeth...”
Chandler’s eyebrow went up.
“Nooooo!” Zelda said.
“Yes Madam, Little Scottie was Mr. Berger,” he said.
“He was so famous. He toured the world, had his own Saturday morning cartoon show with the magical village of Lakeland,” she said in wonder.
He touched a light switch and the set of Lakeland appeared before her. White fabric covered much of the set but the puppet boxes were there as well as the tiny train ridden by Andy to start the Saturday morning show. Each Saturday, she sat transfixed, waiting for the toot of the horn of the train.
“The doll’s name is Andy! It was Little Scottie and Andy on the Little Scottie Show! Oh, my goodness! What happened?”
“The same thing that always happens, Madam, puberty struck. The cute little boy with bucked teeth was no
longer. Acne, the sudden rapid growth of loads of body hair matched with an accompanying attitude full of angst and no one wanted to book a bucked tooth teenager,” Chandler said.
So much of Scott’s childhood was in this room. She looked at the entire set, thinking he grew up in the space, telling stories to kids all over the world. He and his best friend Andy. Now, Andy was locked in a glass case and Chandler stood next to it.
Zelda asked, “How do you factor into this?”
Chandler covered a piece of furniture with the edge of a cloth. Making a mental note to have the room thoroughly cleaned and dusted, he would come back to the space, but truthfully, it disturbed him. All the way down to his bones the room did not sit well with him as he began to unfold the multi-layered story.
“The company was folding, the museum was falling apart, and the earnings of Little Scottie kept the family afloat. Technically, he has managed Berger Vent all of his life. He’s known nothing but this company. He has bled, cried, and nearly died for the Berger Vent Company,” he said solemnly.
“Once the fame and accolades ended, Scott had no friends and he lacked the social skills to go to high school. He barely had the wherewithal to be homeschooled. He was sullen, withdrawn and depressed. At sixteen years old, he was suicidal. That’s where I come into the picture. I guess his father figured a boy found on the streets of Italy eating out of a garbage can could save his son by giving him a reason to get up each day. My life was forfeit and there was nowhere else for me to go so I was happy to have a bed and a job. My job was to give him a reason to get up each day by teaching me how to serve. I was another sad sack of a human being and together, we managed to bring each other back up to humanness. He taught me American English and to fit in as a black American man, I taught him to be an arrogant white one. I know, the irony doesn’t escape me either,” Chandler said.
A Frickin' Fantastic Friday (The Zelda Dairies Book 3) Page 5
