by Baer, Judy
“I see you dressed her for dinner,” I commented to Wendy as I scratched Zelda behind one of her large ears and her purring intensified.
Zelda is a sphynx cat, the breed that is normally referred to as “hairless.” She isn’t bald as a billiard cue like one might assume. Instead, she’s covered with a fine down that can be felt but not seen, much like the fuzz on a peach. Sometimes, if I think she’s chilly, I put her in one of her little sweaters, most of which I knit or buy in the toy poodle section of the pet store. Wendy gave Zelda the cashmere getup for Christmas and now Zelda’s getting particular about what she wears. She has highly developed fashion tastes for something with four legs. She’s also insisted on eating her food out of a crystal goblet ever since she saw that cat food commercial on television. And though she hasn’t admitted it, I think she has a crush on that big white Persian and the hots for one of the cats from the Tidy Cat commercial.
Like Imelda, Zelda is exceedingly special to me, a role model, in fact. Although she is the oddest, most skeletal, bald cat most of my friends have ever seen, Zelda knows she’s beautiful. She doesn’t think it, she knows it. It’s obvious in the way she moves and in her fearless willingness to take center stage and give herself a bath in a room full of people like a tiny naked yoga instructor doing contortions on my living room floor.
I love the way Zelda knows she’s been created just the way she is and is perfectly accepting of it. I’m perfect the way God created me, too—He gave me everything I need to fulfill the purpose He has for me, yet sometimes I slink around, embarrassed and think I’m not “good” enough. Zelda is my reminder that if a hairless cat with ears like Dumbo and a personality like Cleopatra can make it, I can, too.
“What about you?” I asked of Wendy, returning to the subject at hand. “What would you need?”
Wendy chewed on her lip while she considered the question. At thirty, Wendy is still occasionally mistaken for a teenager. There is something deceptively innocent and ethereal about her, yet she’s anything but ethereal. When Wendy chooses to make an impression, her imprint remains, much like the treads of a bulldozer on soft ground.
“I’d like to say I need someone as messy as me, but I’m afraid that might be asking for trouble.”
“I’d say so.”
“But I need someone who could understand me.”
“Tolerate you, you mean.”
Her sweet smile washed over me. “Exactly. You’ve learned to tolerate me. That means there’s hope for me yet.”
I forced Wendy to take Imelda for a walk while I did the dishes. She was, after all, the one guilty of making her into a potential doggy time bomb with all that spilled mayo. Maybe it’s all the shoe leather she eats that makes Imelda’s stomach so touchy. Chips with fiery hot salsa is my downfall but, like Imelda, I pick my poison and eat it anyway.
“Come here, Zelda.” I popped the top on a cat food can, piled it into a crystal goblet and put it down on the glittery beaded place mat she loves.
Imperiously she marched toward the goblet, sniffed the contents delicately and considered for a moment if the aroma was satisfying to her sensitive nose and delicate palate. It seemed to be acceptable because she chowed down, purring and gulping like her last meal had been in the 20th century.
As I scraped and rinsed the dishes, my thoughts returned to Carver Advertising. Or, more accurately, they returned to Jared Hamilton, the storm cloud of a man I’d met there.
I’m not usually hypersensitive, but that man really managed to pet my fur the wrong way. Even today his words to Ethan Carver stung. What are you? Nuts?
Or so Mr. Know-It-All Hamilton thinks. It’s easy to figure out what others should do. It’s not quite so simple when the problem is in your own backyard. Or with one’s own sister.
I found myself scrubbing a dish so hard I was about to remove its painted design. What a waste—that man’s gorgeous looks, and a personality like a Brillo pad. For some reason Know-It-All Hamilton really gets on my nerves. Who does he think he is, anyway, snorting and stewing in the elevator, lurking in the shadows at Carver’s office and laughing at me?
He’d never had desperate messages on his answering machine pleading for help from people who had lost their master’s thesis, their promotion, their lease or their job because of the disorder in which they lived and worked. Some of my former clients have me on their emergency call list with their doctor, plumber and the police station.
How dare Jared Hamilton think he knows anything at all about me?
“What’s with you?” Wendy asked when she returned with Imelda. They both looked like they’d been running. “You look like you lost a best friend. But of course you didn’t, because that would be me.” She gave me a hug and a look of concern.
“No big deal. It was just something someone said, that’s all. I think I’m pouting.” I hadn’t let anyone get under my skin in a long time, but Jared Hamilton had managed it by saying four little words. He’d shaken my confidence without even blinking.
“I’d love to stay and find out what’s getting you down,” Wendy said, “but I need to get to class. Can I take a rain check on it?”
“Of course. See you later.”
And Wendy disappeared through my front door.
Feeling disheartened, I picked up Zelda and nuzzled her. As I took off her cashmere and cuddled her close, she purred until her little body vibrated. Sighing, I took my feline hot-water bottle and my Bible and went to bed.
Chapter Six
“Be still, my heart!” Theresa swooned into my office on Wednesday, wearing the expression of a bedazzled groupie just having seen her favorite rock star.
“Is that cute FedEx man back?” I asked absently. “I thought he quit to become an underwear model.”
“Better.”
“What’s better than an underwear model who comes bearing cleaning supplies?” I have scoped out vendors who sell hard-to-get products and I must admit that when the FedEx truck pulls up my heart beats a little faster.
“A paying customer who looks even better than the FedEx man!”
“You’d better lay off the lattes for a while.” Obviously a case of too many espressos from the machine in the back room.
“No. Truth! Come see for yourself. And he’s got a cute friend, too.”
Sighing, I stood up and peeked into my minuscule waiting room where a man paced back and forth while another, with rosy cheeks, sat flipping through a magazine. Dark hair with a hint of curl, clean shaven, strong jaw, beautifully shaped nose, eyelashes a woman would trade her jewelry for, a finely cut jacket that caressed broad shoulders and an expression that could freeze hot coffee…. My heart sank.
Theresa jammed her elbow into my side. “I told you so.”
She produced a business card with the flair of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. “His name is Jared Hamilton. He’s president of Hamilton and Hamilton Financial Planners. Ooooh—” Theresa’s mouth puckered with anticipation “—maybe he’s rich!”
“Don’t count your paychecks until they’re hatched,” I warned. “I’ve met this guy. I can’t imagine why he’s here unless he’s deluded enough to think he can sell me something.”
“A mutual fund pusher? I’ll buy some, whatever it is.” She prodded me toward the door. “Go find out what he wants.”
I hesitated but, unexpectedly, Theresa gave me a helpful shove. I tripped inelegantly into the room, teetered for balance, thrust out my hand and blurted, “Welcome to Clutter Busters. May I help you, Mr. Hamilton? Hello, Ethan.”
“You remembered,” Hamilton growled.
I smiled more sweetly than I felt. “How could I forget?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me. I studied him right back. He was even better looking up close, definitely Godiva caliber eye candy. Too bad his flavor is sour ball.
“Samantha Smith, correct?”
“In the flesh.” That came out badly. “In person, I mean.” I fumbled for something more to say. “I didn’t expect to
see you here today.”
“No, I imagine you didn’t. I didn’t expect to see me here today, either.” He glared at Ethan, who, looking innocent as a cherub, returned his attention to the magazine.
So it was like that, was it?
I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. I felt Theresa’s eyes boring into my back, so I turned and waved her off. This was awkward enough without an audience.
He shifted from handsomely clad foot to handsomely clad foot as his eyes darted around the office, looking, no doubt, for something out of place.
“You claim you can organize anyone’s life, correct?”
“I can help anyone organize their home or office if they are motivated, yes. And I can coach someone through the roadblocks that keep them from action.”
“Has there ever been a situation you found impossible to handle?” He frowned as he asked the question and a hint of a scowl began to form. Ethan moved the magazine closer to his face. He couldn’t possibly be reading since his eyes would be crossed at that distance.
“Not if the client is willing to work with me on setting goals and is motivated to change his or her habits.”
“You mean the owner of the mess?”
“Well, yes.” I peered into his inscrutable eyes. “Are you inquiring for yourself?”
Oddly, he flinched. Then he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Me? Of course not!” he said indignantly.
“Your business or corporation, then?”
“You could say that, I suppose.”
Even though he was the one who’d come to me, I felt as though I were prying into his personal life. “If not exactly that, why do you want to hire me?”
Unfortunately, people hiring a professional organizer or coach often feel embarrassed about their situation or the fact that they can’t handle their predicament alone when, in fact, seeking help is probably the most sensible thing they’ve ever done.
But Hamilton has an aura of being able to handle anything. He wears his confidence and capable air like a second skin. Had he come in just to check us out and have a laugh?
“Ethan suggested I talk to you.” He squeezed the words through gritted teeth.
Thanks a bunch for the recommendation, I thought, with a withering look at Ethan’s still-downcast head. I’ll have to send you a plant to show my gratitude—a cactus, maybe, to match your friend’s personality.
I couldn’t help myself. “Why?”
“I want you to organize my sister.”
“I see.” Interesting. I hadn’t expected this.
“Do you?” He looked at me oddly.
“I see that you, a third party, are attempting to hire someone as individual as a personal organizer or clutter coach for your sister. Frankly, Mr. Hamilton, that seldom works out satisfactorily. Now if you would send your sister in to discuss this…”
He rolled his eyes and made a scornful sound. “Send Molly in? We’d all be gray-haired and senile before she got around to it. No, I just want to hire you. Ethan sang your praises, that’s enough for me. I’ll let her know that she’s getting help.”
Then I heard him mutter under his breath, “She certainly needs it.”
“I prefer not to work that way,” I protested. Oddly, I felt a little dizzy from something in the air—woodsy aftershave? Testosterone? “Coaching is only effective if the client is willing and ready to do what it takes to change.”
“You are Molly’s final chance, Ms. Smith.” His gaze bore into mine hypnotically. He emphasized “final chance.”
“I could help her, but it wouldn’t last if she isn’t involved and willing.”
A sigh emanated from somewhere deep and primal inside him, ripping its way painfully to the surface.
His patience was crumbling. This man has a fuse as short as the wick on a birthday candle.
What kind of chaos did this sister of his create, anyway? I’ve been in this business long enough to never be surprised by anything, but this situation felt different to me. I glanced at Ethan, but he was still hidden behind the magazine. He was obviously here only for moral support—and not mine.
Hamilton reached for his billfold and pulled a wad of cash from it and put it into my hand. “Here’s a partial retainer. I’ll write a check for the rest later. Here’s the address. When can you be there?”
“We don’t even know if I’m the proper coach for you and your sister,” I pointed out calmly, although the money was busily making itself at home in my palm.
“Just my sister. Not me. And you’ll do fine. Molly can get along with anyone. Just get her straightened out, that’s all I ask.”
“Let’s let Molly decide that.” I pushed the money back into his hand. It was warm and strong and his nails were beautifully shaped….
I gave myself a little mental slap on the cheek and continued. “I’m happy to talk with her but I can’t just take your money and bully her into something she may not want.”
“Let’s put it this way, Ms. Smith. My sister has no choice but to shape up. My sister works with me and if she doesn’t get her act together soon, I’ll have to fire her.”
If felt my eyes widen and jaw drop. “You’d fire your own sister?” Okay, so the woman had a problem with organization, but she was likely talented in ways that compensated for her to have come this far in business. And if she wasn’t totally up to her current job couldn’t he just tailor the job more to her skills? I hadn’t liked this man yesterday, and he certainly hadn’t improved overnight. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone quite so resolute as Hamilton appeared at that moment. His eyes were dark and flat as river stones as he looked at me.
“I would. And I will do it soon. I may have no choice. Think of it this way, Ms. Smith. You are the only thing standing between my sister Molly and unemployment. If you turn this down, you have a heart of stone.”
Me? How did I become responsible all of a sudden? A heart of stone, huh? Well, it takes one to know one!
I looked at Jared Hamilton with new eyes. Physically luscious, perhaps, but cold as ice in the family relationship department. Disappointment tumbled through me. Where have all the good men gone?
After a thankfully brief session over the contract, I left them in my office while I made some copies. Unbeknown to them, the acoustics in my office are such that whatever is said in my office is funneled directly back to where my copy machine sits.
“Calm down, Jared. This will work out,” Ethan said.
“That’s exactly what Molly said to me when she came to me with her ‘brilliant’ idea that we should be in business together because her degree in finance and banking background would enhance my financial planning business and bring in new clients.”
“In theory, it wasn’t a bad idea.”
“No? You don’t know her like I do. But she wore me down, just like she has a million times since our childhood. She’s always been able to twist me around her little finger and this wasn’t any different.
“And,” Jared continued morosely, “that’s when I put my finger on the trigger of the gun that eventually shot me in the foot. I’m just as much to blame as Molly for this fiasco. I, at least, should have known better.”
I heard him shifting in his chair. “I just can’t quit thinking of Molly as a little girl. She depended on me to get her out of every jam she was in—and there were many.”
“But you aren’t going to bail her out this time,” Ethan said softly.
“Not out of this. It’s too big. Too important.”
“Then it’s a good thing we came here, Jared. Sammi can help.”
“It says ‘Clutter Busters’ on the door, Ethan. Not ‘Miracle Worker.’ I’ve never felt so foolish in my life,” Jared growled. “This isn’t going to work, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind. She helped me enormously. I plan to use her again. She gives seminars. I’m bringing her in to speak to every department.” Ethan paused before adding, “Besides,
she’s great-looking. That alone should be of interest to you.”
“I don’t have time for looking. I’ve got my plate full and you know it.”
Ethan whistled under his breath. “You? With no time to notice women? This is even more serious than I thought.”
I cleared my throat as a warning and reentered the room.
When we were done, Jared bolted out the door of Clutter Busters and into the street. I watched him go. He looked to the right and to the left almost as if he were afraid to be caught coming out of such a questionable establishment as my office. You’d have thought he was leaving a bordello or bank heist.
“So you’re really going to do it?” Theresa sat on the edge of my desk swinging one leg and looking avidly curious. “You’re going to allow yourself to be hired by this guy to help his sister?”
“Of course not. I left the contract empty for his sister to fill out if she wants to hire me.” I studied my list of supplies to make sure I had everything I’d need if I actually took this assignment—markers, label maker, empty files, see-through containers, garbage bags, catalogues of shelf organizers and office supplies. “I’m simply going to meet the sister. Together we will decide if she’d like me to work with her.”
“It doesn’t sound to me like she has much say in the matter.” Theresa snapped her gum. “Fired by her own brother from her own company. Wicked. I wonder what she did to deserve this.”
My thoughts exactly. I hadn’t even met the woman I was supposed to assist and I was already enraged at the way she was being treated. In my family, we went to the mat for one another. I couldn’t imagine either of my brothers doing anything like this to me. I know what it is to be the adored little sister—it doesn’t involve being kicked out of a family business. What kind of jerk was this Hamilton guy, anyway? I’m even annoyed with myself for thinking he was good-looking now that I know what he’s up to. I usually have better taste than that.
“Next step, his royal highness and the command performance,” I muttered.
