Chapter Nineteen
Connie pulled her head out of the design catalogue as Cindy walked into the clinic, carrying two paper cups of take out coffee.
“Good morning, Martha Stewart,” Cindy said with a yawn. “Here I come bearing caffeine.”
“Super.” She grabbed a cup and sipped. “I owe you.” Shaking her long dark hair, she gestured to the stack of catalogue books. “I’m going nuts. Looking at tile, and bathroom fixtures, and chairs. After all this time of hoping and dreaming of making improvements to the clinic, when I’m actually faced with the reality of these decisions, I’m clueless.”
Cindy laughed at the dismay in her friend’s voice. “Kind of hard to believe when the good stuff starts coming. I hear you.”
The last few days had been spent in an ongoing dialogue with the energetic dynamo who was now her new editor. Her first children’s story was under contract. After discussions and a lot of faxing, there had been an overnight delivery of her very first advance check. The amount wasn’t huge, but was substantial for her budget, and the check burned a hole in her jeans pocket as she carried it around. Later in the day, she would get to the bank.
Cindy smiled at the very thought. The money would take the pressure off their lives, along with getting her poor Harley out of hock and back onto the road. And the editor’s encouraging remarks assured her there would be more to come, more stories to write, more books to sell. The thought made joy run through her veins.
Connie had joy too, as she sat poring through her catalogues, waiting to meet with Celia Highfield and her committee members, who were arriving shortly for a tour and planning session to help for the clinic project.
“Chug that coffee, girl, and get your brain in gear.” Her hand waved at the catalogs. “Your medical ship has come in, and it’s time for you to see your hard work pay off. You deserve this, Connie. The clinic and the kids deserve it.”
Connie stood and did a victory dance. “It’s like a fairy tale. A happy ending.”
“Funny, as much as I love reading and writing fairy tales, I’ve never been one to believe in them much in real life. I’m more of a feet-on-the-ground person.”
“Feet glued to the ground, I would say. You never even buy a lottery ticket. No sense of thrill whatsoever.” Connie tossed her dark hair and examined a nail. “This should go a long way to convince you to get over all that.”
“No sense of thrill?” For some reason, the memory of Prince’s mouth exploring hers made her pulse pick up the pace, and there was a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. “I like thrill,” she said defensively. “I just like it grounded in reality.”
“Well, you better get over that pretty darn quick, because you seem to be starring in your very own fairy tale. With a prince in shiny armor, even if he is driving an Aston Martin instead of a white steed.” Connie laughed, grabbed her hands, and spun her around.
Cindy shivered. “We’ll see. Don’t count your chickens.”
“Chickens? Who’s a chicken? You have been invited to the royal ball, Cinderella. In fact, I think your Prince has given you a ticket to the whole castle. We peasants just have to hope you remember our names when you’re all that.” Connie howled with laughter.
Until she saw her friend’s pale face.
Immediately, Connie shook her arm. “Just kidding, girl. I’m just kidding. I know you’d never forget me. All this.” She gestured around the room, trying to lighten the mood. “And stop remembering the George fiasco. This man is not George by a long shot.”
Cindy shook her head. “No, I know he’s not George,” she said emphatically. “But no matter what anyone else thinks, I have no desire to live my life hiding from the world in a castle. I need to deal with the real world. With real people. And that’s most likely, too much to ask of Princeton Highfield.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, which were suddenly burning with memory.
“People are just people, Cindy,” Connie said confidently. “We’re all really alike, when you get right down to it. I don’t see a single reason why things won’t work out.”
Cindy didn’t have the opportunity to answer her friend, because at that moment, the door burst open, and four dynamic ladies strode in. Their assured presence took up the room. As did the wide brimmed hats accessorizing their expensive, designer suits, and leather pumps. Right behind them, with a wide eye-crinkling smile peering out of his narrow little black glasses, was a tiny little man with shiny spiked black hair, and a lime green-colored suit.
“Good morning, ladies,” announced Celia Highfield, with enthusiasm. The accompanying committee echoed her words. “We’re here to work, and we’ve brought Leonard, the most sought-after designer in the Philadelphia region.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” said the little man in a squeaky voice. Then he did a little movement, a combination of a bow and a curtsey.
Cindy extended her hand to shake his with welcome, giving a sideways glance to Connie, who stood beside her.
Yes, absolutely no differences, she thought with a smile. We’re all exactly the same. Right.
****
The conversation ensuing was a little like a tennis match.
The intention of charity committee was noble and direct. They were ready and eager to help in the betterment of the clinic. Their enthusiasm was as obvious as were their hats. The problem, instead, was clearly one of perspective. And communication was key.
“I’m visualizing a fountain right there,” gushed Leonard with a dramatic gesture. “Fountains can bring peace, serenity, the constant sound of flowing water. Exquisite.”
“Not so good,” responded Connie with a scrunched-up look on her face. “With a fountain, I’m visualizing splashing, and mothers rescuing soaked toddlers. Fountains can bring floods, destruction, and lawsuits. And the constant sound of flowing water is going to wreak havoc on moms who are potty training.”
“I’m visualizing a soft pale color palette, from a delectable pale peach carpet as a floor treatment, to gentle ocean scenes in peach and soft blue on the walls. An idyllic haven of hope.” Leonard looked skyward poised like he was meditating, dramatically raising his arm in a sweeping gesture.
Connie laughed. She couldn’t help herself.
“I’m visualizing how I’m going to get the pee stains, puke and blood drippings out of that peach carpet. Can I have nice, bright, easy-to-clean tile? My idyllic haven of hope includes much more easy maintenance. To say nothing of hygiene, and keeping the health department happy.”
Connie was holding her own. She stated her needs, and demonstrated her ideas with catalogues and pictures. Cindy listened with interest. She watched the committee ladies, heads turning rhythmically back and forth as the two dueled with ideas. Back and forth, back and forth.
After a while, Leonard scowled, and his face was the shade of a ripe plum.
Finally, Celia Highfield raised an authoritative hand, and the room fell to silence. “Leonard, this may be the ultimate challenge of your career.” Her voice was calm, and decisive. “And I know you are up to it.”
Leonard opened his mouth, ready to object. But a toss of her head, and a sharp glance silenced him.
“This project—” Celia Highfield proclaimed, as regally as a queen, “—is going to provide an environment for children. Little ones. And their families. I have seen this. I have seen them in action. I have seen my youngest son with ice cream on his shirt, and candy cotton in his hair.”
Leonard gasped, his eyes shooting wide.
“Believe me,” she went on, “What this girl says is true. The design must be exquisite, but it must be functional. I’m sure she has many visions of her own. So we will listen now. And we will learn.”
Leonard wiped his brow then he nodded. “I’m not one to break under duress. I accept the challenge. I’ve designed projects magically transforming old factories to museum showplaces, and many ramshackle ruins to modern day masterpieces. I can create something wonderfully functional for…children.”
&n
bsp; “You must,” Celia Highfield said in a firm voice. “This project initiated from my son’s strong belief we need to focus on a sense of community in this city, and I’m not going to let him down. Let’s get to work.”
And so they did. The hats came off. They sat around a table and pored over Connie’s catalogues.
Cindy sat quietly, her heart full of gratitude for Prince’s part in Connie’s dream. Like in her writing career, he was making miracles happen. She watched their progress, and occasionally injected an idea herself.
The proposed fountain corner morphed into a safe, creative play area for toddlers. The walls would bear colorful murals of popular literature characters. Furniture would be comfortable and serviceable micro fiber. And the staff would enjoy serenity because the floors would be easily maintained tile, with removable area rugs in seating areas. The room would include bright colors, good lighting, and a fully stocked, family-friendly shelf for books and toys.
Supply and equipment lists were reviewed, and next a working timetable was established. These ladies may not have known much about stains, but they proved themselves to be experts in organizational efficiency. When the elegant hats went back on, and the troupe rose to leave, a plan was well in place.
“I know it will be breathtaking, Ms. Rodriguez,” gushed Leonard in his squeaky voice, his portfolio clutched against his chest.
As she thanked them profusely, shaking hands. tears welled in Connie’s eyes. “You cannot imagine how much this is going to mean to so many people. I am just overwhelmed with this,” she said with respect.
“I can feel the dedication you both have to your work and your beliefs. This is a very worthy project for our time, and our money,” said Celia softly. “I am very glad my son brought your clinic to our attention. I’m beginning to think he is a most excellent judge of character.”
Prince’s mother turned then, and offered her hand to Cindy. “An excellent judge,” she repeated, looking directly at her.
And then in a flash, Leonard and the flurry of hats were gone.
After a minute of tearful laughter, Connie and Cindy got down to business. They reorganized the table and desktop, and got ready to open the clinic doors for afternoon hours.
Life went on. As the clinic work was done, Cindy couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to her worries.
The police had kept the stranger in jail. His name turned out to be Hank Peters. Investigation had tied him to a series of crimes, and charges were mounting. So far, he was not cooperating with the police. She was reassured to know he was safely off the street, but not reassured to know his name and Jimmy’s had been definitely linked regarding a string of burglaries from several years before.
Jimmy was dead. He had paid any price he was going to pay. At this point in time, she held no anger toward him, except for the fact his actions were still causing the fallout haunting them today.
And she had no idea why.
Most of all, Cindy knew a kind of sadness, his children, who she loved as her own, would someday be old enough to wonder, and ask questions about their birth father.
And about their mother. She had many positive memories to share about her sister, including pictures and stories from their childhood. But what could she say about their father? One way or another, she hoped she’d have the right things to say.
When her receptionist arrived and the clinic doors opened, Cindy left Connie. She decided to hike to the bank to deposit her miraculous advance check. The bills would be paid easily this month, and finally, she’d get the Harley back on the road.
She rubbed her hands in anticipation, and headed to the bank as fast as her Birkenstocks would take her.
Chapter Twenty
Prince couldn’t allay the feeling of anxiety haunting him after talking to the police detective. There should have been a feeling relief Hank Peters was being kept in jail and would be prosecuted for the break-ins. But instead of finality, the arrest brought a new list of disturbing questions and fears. Peters had been carrying a gun. The thought was a chilling one, putting the break-ins on a whole different level, in his mind.
The air was hot on this Indian summer day in the city. He could feel the heat rising from the pavement as he moved down the block.
The “what ifs” were mounting. What if Peters had broken in and found Cindy and the children home? What if he had, as was suspected, made good on his plan to set their home on fire? What was the significance if he was connected to the kids’ father? To take such risks, his motivation had to be strong. What if they never figured out what he wanted? And what if, as Prince feared most, Peters was not working alone? What if someone else was out there, unnamed, unseen, with the same devastating intentions? Despite the security guards, who were alert and focused, he was powerless, and he hated that condition, especially about the situations closest to his heart.
Prince stepped off the curb, leather briefcase in hand, and flagged a passing taxi. There were situations, however, in his control. Settling back on the well-worn leather seat of the yellow cab, he looked out the window as the familiar city flashed by. The cabbie wove in and out of the noon time traffic, ignoring the honks and occasional disgruntled yells as he passed through.
When he had left his father, the famous Hugh Highfield, minutes before, his sire was in a state of shock. Prince smiled. In the time since he finished college and taken his desk at Highfield Enterprises, many instances occurred where he dreamed of handing in his resignation. As his job was more like a social secretary to his father and mother than a business manager, Prince never mustered up enthusiasm or pride for his work.
Deep in his heart, he knew he was a disappointment to his father. Also, he’d felt like a disappointment to himself. But not anymore.
What are you passionate about? That simple question, asked by a charming woman with sparkle in her eye and a bounce in her step, began the process of turning his life around. Day by day, moment by moment, he began to find the answer to that question.
Prince no longer needed the security of the big office in Highfield Enterprises, or the approval of his parents. His passion was found. And today, he quit his job to pursue it.
Initially, his father’s reaction resembled a tsunami. Like a giant wave, Hugh Highfield roared, insulted, and threatened. He banged his fist on his inlaid leather desk so hard the overhead chandelier wobbled. And then, like a wave, the onslaught receded.
After the initial shock wore off, his father listened. Prince explained his plan, and the steps taken so far to make his own dream a reality. The elder Highfield asked several curt questions, nodded his head a few times, and finally reached out to shake his hand. Prince shook it with a firm grip.
Something was in his father’s gaze, something he’d never seen before. The look had gone far beyond approval and acceptance. Prince recognized respect and his chest had swelled with his reaction.
The cab pulled up to the trendy restaurant and Prince climbed out, handing over his fare and a healthy tip.
“Thanks, buddy,” grunted the cabbie. “Be cool.”
“You too,” he answered.
Even in the dim light of the restaurant, Prince saw his friends waiting at one of the large central tables.
“Salut!” Someone toasted as he walked their way. Several glasses were raised toward him.
“Good to see you, old man,” Matt said. “Been a while. Where have you been? We thought you had left the planet.”
Prince took his chair, and accepted the drink the waiter brought. “Same universe, my friends,” he smiled, glad to see them. “But maybe in a slightly different world. And I like it.”
“We heard you’re still seeing the little librarian. Is that so? Haley’s having a fit,” Matt said.
Prince frowned. “Haley will get over it. She’s known for quite a while she and I didn’t have a future. And yes, I’m still seeing Cindy. She’s great.”
“Uh oh, watch out! Next thing you know, you’ll be tied up in knots, and hearing about commitment
.”
There was a little tug at his heart. As if he wasn’t already tied up in knots? Commitment was what he wanted from her. How had this happened to him? More and more he yearned for her, and as each day he got to know her, her resistance was still apparent. Cindy didn’t want to trust, to believe there was such a thing as lifetime love. Like a butterfly hovering on a limb, he was afraid at any moment, she would flap her wings and fly right out of his life. The thought stung.
But that situation sure wasn’t something he was going to discuss with this table full of upwardly mobile and socially connected professionals. That part of his dream would stay in his heart.
But concerning the other part of his dream, his business plan for the future, they were going to be an important part. Whether they liked it or lot. “Lots of changes, guys,” he began, and told the story of what he had planned.
Prince was still talking when their food arrived, and they were pounding him with questions.
“A foundation, Highfield? A charity? What led you to this?”
“What do you know about kids, Prince? So you collect all this money, what will you do with it?”
“I can’t believe you left the company, man. That business would have come to you and your brother some day.”
Prince had spent hours with an attorney friend who specialized in foundations, and had done the extensive paperwork to provide the framework for his dream. A few days before, he’d opened a little office down on Pine Street, in the oldest area of the city. One of Connie’s cousins, Marisa, who lived in center city, had been hired to be his secretary.
For most of his life, he’d seen his mother and her fellow matrons gather tons of idle money to install gardens, and statues all over the city. With his prodding, they were now well on their way to making a significant and meaningful contribution to Connie’s clinic. The benefit to the community would be very substantial. Suddenly awakened, he saw clearly how the world needed more of these efforts.
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