Mr. Right Goes Wrong

by Pamela Morsi

  It was almost two o’clock when Mazy returned to the bank. She’d gone over Charlie’s books and they weren’t as dismal as she’d feared. He did have some options. She was going to be able to get him some space, but he was also going to have to build business and cut corners. There was no magic bullet, but she was hopeful.

  She thought about calling Eli. She couldn’t really talk about bank business, but she wanted to share her upbeat mood, her sense of making a small positive difference in one life.

  Mazy smiled as she thought about Eli. He was so...so not how she remembered. He’d always been good in bed, but he’d also been kind and considerate and sweet. He was still those things, she assured herself. But now he was something else, too. He was demanding and kind of bossy and...and like a guy.

  That thought caught her up short. Like a guy? What he’d always been was a guy. There had never been anything wussy about him. He was always strong and tough. He’d always been her defender.

  No, he wasn’t really changed, she assured herself. They were simply getting reacquainted as true adults. And of course, there would be some new things that would be different. They were different. Mazy hoped that the lessons she’d learned had made her a smarter, better person. Eli had already been that, but maybe his years had matured him in other ways. He was a truly nice guy and this time she was determined to value that.

  The phone on her desk rang.

  “In my office. Now.”

  Tad never bothered to identify himself and it was not necessary to ask.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  What had she done now? She quickly gathered up the files in front of her and carried them with her as she walked down the hallway and across the foyer under the watchful eyes of the rest of the staff.

  She knocked on his door and was immediately given entry.

  The gray fall day was visible from two directions in his corner windows. Tad sat behind his immaculately clean desk. There was not so much as a Post-it note to hide the finish.

  Dressed in a dove-gray suit with a pale blue shirt and Windsor tie, Tad looked especially attractive today. Mazy might have said that he was handsome, except that his mouth was one thin line of disapproval and his eyes cold with dislike.

  She shut the door behind her and walked toward the chair opposite him.

  “I did not ask you to take a seat,” he said sharply.

  Mazy stood.

  He leaned back and silently glared at her.

  The moment stretched on. It was all Mazy could do not to roll her eyes. What on earth was this about? This was not how people in business conducted themselves. Maybe the young women in this town thought they had to put up with this kind of crap, but she’d worked a lot of places and she knew better.

  “You wanted to speak with me?” she asked, determined to end his little force of wills.

  His words were slow, dripping venom. “I don’t want to speak to you,” he answered. “I would like to never even get another glimpse of you for the rest of your life, but unfortunately your behavior has forced me to have to speak to you.”

  From his tone she would have thought that Tad was the school principal and she was a recess ruffian sent to the office.

  “My behavior? What behavior is that?” she asked.

  “I know that you believe that you’ve got the upper hand here, forcing me to give you a job.”

  Mazy opened her mouth to deny it.

  “Don’t interrupt me!” he snapped. “Women like you always think you can lead a man around by the nose. That you can manipulate everything to get what you want. You think that you’ve got it made here and can do what you please, but believe me, I don’t get bullied. I don’t allow anybody to bully me. You’d be smart to remember that. I could throw you out that door today and take my chances with the judge. And I just might have to, because I will not allow you to make a mockery out of me or thwart my authority in this building.”

  Mazy was incredulous. “I have not, and would not, do that,” she assured him.

  If anything, that statement seemed to make him angrier. “Do you think that I don’t know what’s going on with my staff?” he asked. “Do you think that I simply sit in this office all day and do nothing?”

  From the look of his desk, Mazy might have thought exactly that, but she didn’t say so.

  “I don’t know what you think I’ve done,” she told him. “I’ve not been talking about you to the staff. Honestly, I’ve not even been talking to the staff. I’m not sure I know what I’m being cautioned about.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  “Did you think you could simply waltz out of here, like you own the place, and take a three-hour lunch and nobody would notice?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t even try to pretend it didn’t happen. Every woman on my staff saw you leave and return, most of them noted the time and more than half of them made a point to tell me about it.”

  Mazy wanted to sigh in frustration. At any new job there was always a certain amount of new-employee distrust. But it felt excessive.

  “Perhaps the bank would be better served if the women on your staff spent more time concentrating on their own work than second-guessing what other people are doing.”

  “Oh, so they’re all lying?”

  “No, they’re all misinterpreting,” Mazy answered. “I did leave here at eleven, but it was for a meeting with Charlie McDee.”

  “Charlie McDee? Isn’t he a bit old for you, or are you scraping the bottom of the barrel these days?”

  “Charlie is a client of the bank,” Mazy answered. “He’s one of my accounts and I spent three hours going over his financials.”

  “What a waste of time,” Tad said. “That old building is an albatross. He was an idiot to buy it.”

  “Was he? And who advised him that it was a great deal? I believe it was this bank. And if he goes into foreclosure, who’s going to end up with that albatross? This bank will.”

  Tad shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I’ll sell his loan off before it gets that far.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve found a way to give him some time, so we’re going to keep his loan out of default and his building from becoming another abandoned downtown property. That’s what you hired me to do, and that’s what I intend to ‘manipulate’ into happening. And as for lunch, I haven’t even had any. But now that you mention it, I’m starved. Is there anything else, Mr. Driscoll?”

  18

  All day Eli fantasized about calling Mazy. She might not be able to pick up, but he could leave a message. He could say something sexy about last night. Or tease her―that was probably better, nothing seriously sexy, but more like dirty joking. Or he could simply ask her out on a date with him. Take her out someplace for a romantic dinner— No, he couldn’t do that. It was way too dangerous. He could see himself getting starry-eyed and confessing how much he was totally back in love with her.

  No, he was definitely not going to be that kind of guy. He was going to be the one who never called, even if that meant he didn’t get to see her.

  Strangely, having his mind on Mazy was somehow conducive to his labor. Woodworking typically required focus and concentration. Each piece of wood had its unique characteristics affecting how it could and should be used. And the joinery was exacting. Spacing too tight didn’t allow for natural expansion and the piece could crack. Spacing too loose didn’t allow for contraction and the piece would be rickety. Mistakes in wood were expensive. So he couldn’t allow his thoughts to wander. But he found that keeping Mazy in the back of his head didn’t distract him, it seemed almost to help. Having her in his life again, in his bed again, settled over him like a warm, healing salve.

  What didn’t sit as well was the constant comings and goings a
t the front of the shop.

  Eli set up the workspace deliberately with Clark in the front. His brother was more gregarious than he was. He enjoyed having people come in and out. He preferred talking over working. That was simply the way that it was and Eli tried to be okay with it. Some days were easier than others. The Windsors were finally ready to be shipped. Eli had already mentioned it twice, but Clark hadn’t made a move to package them, to contact the freight company or even to phone the customers. He’d spent most of yesterday piddling around doing nothing. And today he was deeply involved in setting up the PTA concession booth for the first game of the season. He took call after call about it. Sheila was chair of the committee, but apparently needed to consult her husband on every possible question.

  Eli finally mentioned it.

  “Are you going to get those Windsors ready to ship?”

  Clark looked up, glanced over at the chairs taking up valuable space on the far side of the room. “No, not today.”

  Eli was annoyed, but pushed back against it. “I guess you wouldn’t really have time, with that big load of wood coming this afternoon.”

  “Damn!”

  Eli looked up.

  “I forgot about the wood delivery,” Clark said. “I’m not going to be here this afternoon.”

  “What?”

  “Ashley’s class is going out on a field trip to the pumpkin patch. Sheila’s too busy to take her, so I said I would.”

  “Just come back afterward,” Eli suggested. “Dale and I can get it off the trailer. But it’s likely to rain overnight―I don’t want it sitting outside until morning.”

  Clark shook his head. “Not happening,” he said. “You know Sheila wants me home with the kids in the evening.”

  “This is our business,” Eli pointed out. “Not an eight-to-five job.”

  Clark chuckled. “For me, that’s exactly what it is.”

  In a family business, Eli believed it was often better to say nothing than to blurt out what he was thinking. Eli owned the business, not because it was given to him, but because he had saved his money and bought out Clark’s share. It was that cash that had financed the nice family home that he and Sheila lived in. Still, Clark had a good paycheck, stable employment, excellent benefits and a boss that he treated like a kid brother.

  “Sorry, Termite,” Clark told him casually. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  That was doubtful.

  Clark didn’t even wait until noon. In fact, he left while Eli was at the house giving Dad his morning bath. With his brother gone, all the noise and commotion that circled around him disappeared, as well. Eli was able to knuckle down on the rasping. He worked straight through lunch and managed to chisel the hinge impressions on several of the music cabinet’s fifteen doors.

  Dale Krakalovich arrived a little after three. Eli inspected his order while it was still on the trailer. Then they off-loaded the wood near the storage shed. Once the hauler was paid and on his way, Eli faced the task of getting everything inside and out of the weather on his own. Sorting, measuring, marking, stacking, up and down on the ladder―the process was time-consuming.

  About an hour later, he heard the buzzer on the shop entrance. He walked up there to find Tru quietly and industriously engaged in sweeping up. When he opened the door, the boy looked up.

  “Hey, glad you’re here,” Eli said. “Come down to the woodshed.”

  Tru put his broom up. “Taking me to the woodshed? Isn’t that the way you say ‘getting in trouble’ around here?”

  Eli shook his head. “Different kind of woodshed. I need your help.”

  The building that housed the raw lumber was set apart from both the shop and the house. The front was double sliding doors. Windows in the eaves on both the east and west side allowed enough natural light to negate the necessity of electricity. There was no heat source or wiring.

  “We got a wood delivery today. It’s mostly ash and maple, but there are some beautifully grained pieces of white oak, as well.”

  The doors were open wide, the afternoon sun dappling though the remainder of autumn leaves to illuminate the inside. A grid framework twelve feet high was divided into labeled square yard sections.

  “Let’s start with the ash, since it’s up top. Are you pretty steady on a ladder, you think?”

  “Sure,” Tru answered.

  Eli rolled the outsize stepladder into position and locked it down securely.

  “Okay, you see where the ash is? Stand maybe three steps up.”

  The teenager got into place. He ran his hand over the placard indicating the lumber type.

  “This is like wood burning, right?”

  Eli glanced up. “Uh-huh.”

  “I was in a Boy Scout troop once, we were going to learn how to do that.”

  “Oh, yeah? What happened?”

  Tru shrugged. “We moved. Did you do these?” he asked, indicating all the wood nameplates.

  “No. I think it was my dad,” Eli answered.

  “Your dad used to work here?”

  Eli chuckled. “Yep. My dad and his dad and his dad’s dad. Lathams have been whittlin’ on this hill for a might spell, the old-timers would say.”

  Tru laughed. “So your dad’s, like, retired or something?”

  “Something,” Eli answered. “He’s not feeling very well these days. He still lives up in the house.”

  “Oh.”

  “Okay, so this is what we do,” Eli said, handing Tru a bucket filled with small scraps of wood. “Hang this on the ladder hook.”

  Tru complied.

  “I’m going to measure the length of each board,” he explained. “And I’m going to write the length on the end. Then I’m going to hand it up to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You lay it on the pile and then you wedge in a couple of those shims to raise it off the board beneath it.”

  “Okay.”

  “The lumber needs to get air underneath it so that it dries at the same rate on both sides.”

  Tru had a little bit of trouble at first managing the shimming of the long, unwieldy boards. But Eli was glad to see that he had the patience and the determination to get it done right. Within a few minutes, they were doing the job fairly efficiently. The snapping sound of the measuring tape and the clunk of boards fitting into place filled the air.

  “So did you start here working for your dad?” Tru asked.

  “I did,” Eli answered. “I spent my days in the shop when Clark started kindergarten. And then, after school and summers all my life. Not as a job, really. Dad let me hang around and help until I learned enough to actually be a help. He didn’t officially hire me until I was in high school.”

  “How was that? Working for your dad?”

  “It was fine. Great, actually.”

  “Really?” Tru sounded genuinely surprised. “My buddies always complain about how their dads yell at them and never like anything they do.”

  “Well, I guess some dads are like that,” Eli said. “Or maybe guys remember getting yelled at more clearly than when somebody says, ‘Hey, nice job.’”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  When they moved on to the white oak, Eli traded places with Tru, giving him the responsibility of measuring and marking. That slowed the process a little as he picked up his new task. But Tru also asked questions, which occasionally had Eli stopping to show him the answers. The kid seemed to have a genuine interest. And curiosity could be worthwhile when focused in such a purposeful direction.

  “See how these two fit together,” Eli said, sidling up the board Tru had just handed him with the one he was now holding. “See the grain in these.

  “They’re called sister boards or sometimes brother boards, something to let you know that they are siblings. They came fr
om the same place on the same tree. They’re part of a family. When you put them together, the look is not only really nice, it’s really strong.”

  Eli heard something behind him and turned to see Mazy standing silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What are you guys up to?”

  “We got a lumber shipment and we’re sorting and storing it,” Tru answered.

  Mazy smiled at her son.

  Eli had never seen her dressed for work. He thought her business suit was sexy somehow. The skirt was not short and the cut did not show off her curves, but it was almost as if the concealment itself was sexy. Or maybe it was to Eli, because he knew what was beneath that drab gray tweed.

  Tru explained to her how the storage system worked and why it was so important to stack the wood properly.

  “I’m impressed,” Mazy told him finally. “And I thought all you did was sweep sawdust.”

  His reply was long-suffering and just superior enough to be typical teen. “Mom, I sweep up shavings and chips. Sawdust is captured in the dust collection system. I only empty that.”

  “Oh, okay. I stand corrected,” Mazy answered. She glanced up at Eli on the ladder. “I’d better get to the house. I thought...I thought I might come by tonight. Would that be okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Eli answered, before remembering that he was supposed to be harder to get. “I, uh, I don’t think I’ve got anything going on.”

  “I’ll wait until after you’ve seen your dad,” Mazy said. “And I’ll bring over some dinner. Beth Ann has been cooking like a fiend every day. I’m sure there’ll be enough to share.”

  “Okay.”

  Mazy shot a glance toward Tru and then continued with unneeded explanations. “I’ve had a pretty crappy day. I got chewed out for something I didn’t do. I guess I need to vent.”

  “You have my permission to rant incessantly so long as you’ll bring me some of Beth Ann’s cooking,” he said.