“I take it that you mean Brittany Harding. The witch with a capital B,” Chandler said with a smile.
“The one and only.”
Chandler tilted his head and crinkled his brow. “I’m not convinced.”
“Maybe you should finish telling him the story, Phil,” Hellman said. “Then he’ll understand.”
Madison tossed his napkin on the table. “So much for fine dining.”
Madison picked up the story where he had left off: Harding had gone beyond reasonable and professional conduct in telling Chuck Nallin about the disagreement Madison had had with her at the Fifth Street Café. “It wasn’t as if it was an innocent conversation between friends,” Madison told Chandler. “She made a deliberate attempt to strike up a conversation with someone she barely knew, just to spread word of discord between us.”
A couple of weeks passed. After the incident at the gas station, Madison asked John Stevens to keep his ears open and to let him know if any other Harding rumors came his way. Stevens sympathized with Madison and graciously agreed to keep him informed.
Madison’s relationship with Harding was strained, at best. He attempted to minimize contact with her as much as possible, but it was time again to touch base regarding the up-and-coming board meeting. As he was about to call her late in the afternoon after a full day of patients, he retrieved a voicemail from Michael Murphy. The message lacked its usual verve. Although there were more pressing calls regarding patients and the total hip replacement scheduled for tomorrow, Madison phoned Murphy first.
Murphy began by relating a conversation he had had with a prospective client, a twenty-two-year-old mother of a four-year-old who had mental retardation. “She called to complain,” Murphy was saying, “because she was enraged by a comment Brittany had made during the intake interview.”
“What’d she say?”
“Brittany asked the mother what kind of drugs she’d taken during her pregnancy that caused her son to become mentally retarded.”
Madison leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me she didn’t really say that.”
“This poor mother was in tears, Phil. She’d been harboring enough guilt about having given birth to a child with Klinefelter’s...but to be subjected to such a question by the very organization that she came to for help...” His voice trailed off. Madison knew better than most that Klinefelter’s syndrome was a genetic disorder that had nothing to do with drug abuse during pregnancy.
“Brittany’s a time bomb waiting to explode, Murph.”
“I was beside myself, Phil. She represents the organization. The public doesn’t perceive her as just an employee. They look at her and see us.”
Madison rubbed his forehead. “How’d we get ourselves into this situation?” It was something he had asked himself a couple of weeks ago. “We should get together and discuss all this. I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner, but I’ve been swamped. A few things have happened recently that you should know about.”
“Good idea, ‘cause I just got a call from Donna’s husband. She’s not gonna be returning. Inoperable brain tumor.”
“Oh, Jesus. Did he say what kind it was?”
“All I heard was ‘inoperable.’ I kind of spaced out the rest of what he was saying.”
“I guess it all fits, especially the abrupt change in personality and erratic behavior.” He shook his head. “She’s only forty-nine. Her husband must be devastated. I should give them a call, express my condolences—”
“Just let it go, Phil. He said she’s deteriorated pretty rapidly. I let him know how sorry we all are.” Murphy sighed. “We need to talk. When are you available?”
“When are you going to be in town?”
“When do you want me to be?”
“Tomorrow night, around seven. My office.”
“Phil, we were going to spend tomorrow night together,” Leeza said with the phone propped on her shoulder as she cleaned up the chopped onions. Her eyes were tearing and she was sniffling. “We haven’t had a night alone in three weeks.”
“Honey, I’m sorry. I know we had plans. I was looking forward to spending time together. But I don’t know what to do. Murph and I have to meet and figure it out. He’s just gonna have to fire her before we have a replacement. I promise, once we figure out a plan of action, we’ll be rid of her and her psychoses and then you and I can get back to normal.”
“I don’t want normal. Normal is I don’t see you. The kids don’t see you.”
“It was better, wasn’t it? After we talked and I rearranged my office schedule—”
“Yes,” she said between sniffles, wiping her eyes. The onion was on her fingertips and only caused her eyes to tear more. “It was better. Not great, but better.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. It’s just been so damned stressful dealing with this nut. She’s got problems, Lee, and she needs help.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
“I’m just interested in getting the Consortium back on track. Then things should ease. We’ll make reservations at that bed-and-breakfast we went to in Monterey, okay? Just the two of us, walking on the beach at night...”
“I got a call today from Blair.”
Madison’s assistant had walked in and handed him another two messages. He scanned them quickly.
“Phil, are you listening to me?”
“Blair. Your conversation with Blair.”
“Phil, you’re impossible.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate. I have six calls to return before I leave.”
“Blair said she heard a rumor that you and Brittany Harding were an item.”
“An item?” he asked. “What kind of item?”
“Having an affair.”
“Goddammit!” he said, crumpling papers that were beneath his right hand. “Blair’s your hairdresser, right?”
“Phil, just tell me it’s not true and I’ll let it go.”
“Honey,” he said, trying to compose himself, “it’s not true.”
“The first thing I did was laugh. I thought, when would he have the time?”
Madison sensed a definite lightening of her tone after his denial. “Leeza, honey, there’s nothing going on. Never has and never will be in a million years. You’re the only woman in my life.”
“It means a lot to hear you say that. I mean, I know that I am. It’s just that it caught me totally off guard. I thought it was a joke until I realized she was serious. Rumors like this spread quickly, people look at you funny. They think it’s true. And when you deny it, they think, What’s she gonna say?”
Madison was nodding, clenching his jaw. “Where did Blair hear this?”
“She was talking to Serena yesterday.”
“Serena. How’d she get involved?”
“Serena’s cousin’s niece is enrolled in the program at CCMR.”
“Serena’s cousin’s niece…how would a rumor like that get started?”
“Supposedly slipped out during a conversation she was having with Brittany Harding.”
“Slipped out,” Madison said. “Now do you see why Murph and I need to meet tomorrow night?”
“Let’s just get her out of our life, Phil.”
“I’m working on it, honey. I promise you I’ll find some way of ending this nightmare.”
He hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands. She seemed to handle it well and accept his denial without resistance. But as he was to find out, dealing with Leeza was the easy part.
CHAPTER 15
HIS MEETING with Murphy was short and to the point. “Mr. Positive” was anything but, having heard one story after another of Harding’s systematic destruction of the Consortium from within. Madison’s recent experiences were just icing on an already glazed cake. It was no longer safe to have her around, controlling the inner workings of the office, Murphy was saying.
“She’s got to be let go now.”
Madison just sat there and nodded his approval. He could ima
gine how Murphy used to be, before he discovered positive mental attitude therapy. It was easy to lapse back into reality and good old pessimism when the stresses of life interceded.
“Am I wrong, Phil, am I wrong?”
“No, Murph. I agree with you, it’s got to be done. My only question is how we’re going to keep things running without a staff person directing and running the programs until we get someone hired.”
“I can be up here most of the time for a couple of weeks. We’ll just have to get someone hired within that time.”
“When are you going to break the news?”
“I need to speak with our attorney, but everything should be in order. I’ll probably talk with her on Saturday morning.”
“Do I need to be there?”
“No sense involving you in this mess. Do you have any reservations about—”
“None whatsoever.”
“Then it’s a done deal. Don’t worry, we’ll find someone to take over. Go home and spend some time with Leeza. And give her my regards.”
They shook hands and Madison left, feeling as if the monkey had been lifted from his back. In this case, King Kong—aka Brittany Harding.
CHAPTER 16
IT HAD BEEN A GRUELING day in surgery: a total hip replacement that lasted six hours and an ankle pinning that was supposed to be completed in thirty minutes, but took three times that due to complications with the Achilles tendon. Madison showered, changed into his street clothes, then checked his voicemail before leaving the hospital. A message from John Stevens caught his attention. On the slight possibility that Stevens was still there poring over a budget or reading a report, he took the elevator up to the third floor.
Madison was about to knock on the door when it opened. Stevens stood there staring at Madison, his sports jacket draped over his left forearm.
“On your way out?” Madison asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Just got your message, thought I’d catch you.”
“You in the garage?”
Madison nodded.
“Good, so am I. Why don’t we walk and talk?”
As they headed down the corridor, Madison said, “Your message mentioned something about Brittany.”
“You wanted me to keep my ears open,” he said. “Word is that you misappropriated some funds. Bought a boat or something, and that’s why the Consortium is having financial trouble. You don’t own a boat, do you, Phil?”
Madison shook his head. “Embezzlement?”
“That’s what she’s saying.”
“This rumor started with Brittany, I take it.”
Stevens looked at him, as if to say, Did you really need to ask?
Madison smiled out of one corner of his mouth and shook his head.
“Is that funny?”
“What’s funny, John, is that she really believes this bullshit.”
Stevens looked at him as if he didn’t understand. “Yesterday she was spreading BS that she and I were having an affair.”
“Should I ask—”
“No, you shouldn’t. We’re not having an affair, John. This woman has a very active imagination.”
“Lost touch with reality, if you ask me. Delusional.”
Madison pushed through the door into the stairwell. “Yeah, well, just between the two of us, Friday’s her last day. This nightmare will be out of my life for good.”
“You really think it’s that easy?”
“What do you mean?” Madison asked, his smile fading.
“Someone like this doesn’t merely just stop spreading rumors because she’s fired. Mark my words. It’s gonna get worse once she loses her job. Then it gets vindictive. Personal. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”
They descended the last flight of stairs and stepped into the parking garage.
“Come on. What makes you think—”
“I lived through it. Ten years ago. We had a staff person with Concerned Environmentalists who was pissed off at being fired. Different circumstances, but basically what happened was that she started spreading rumors all over the community. Nasty stuff, mostly aimed at the president at the time. I was just a VP, so I didn’t catch much of it. But it was pretty ugly at times. And there was nothing he could do about it.”
“What happened?”
“Eventually, his term as president was up, and someone else stepped in. That slowed the assault. But every now and then he hears some weird rumor. He finally stopped asking where it originated.”
Madison grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. Stevens moved into the garage.
“I’m going to think positively,” Madison said. “This’ll be the last I hear from Brittany Harding.”
“Borrowing a page from Mike Murphy’s manual?”
“No, it’s the way it’s going to be.”
“Mark my words, Phil. This isn’t over. It won’t ever be over.”
Madison stood in front of his Mercedes in the brightly lit parking garage. Stevens lifted a tremulous hand, patted him on the back, and then walked off toward his car.
It won’t ever be over. Madison kept replaying it in his head. Stevens was wrong. He had to be. If there was one thing Madison was sure of, it was that he could not spend an indefinite amount of time dealing with all sorts of rumors and false accusations. He knew what the result would be: an ulcer...a nervous breakdown, and a big fat divorce.
CHAPTER 17
THE WAITER BROUGHT the check and placed it by Hellman’s elbow. Hellman picked up the vinyl case and opened it.
“In New York, he who picks up the cheek pays it,” Chandler said.
“I never heard that.”
“When was the last time you were in New York?”
“Ten years ago.”
Chandler flashed a crafty smile. “A lot’s changed in the past ten years.”
As Hellman pulled out his credit card, Madison pointed to the check. “He’s just going to add it to my bill.”
“You know it,” Hellman said with a grin as he placed his American Express card atop the check.
“So,” Chandler said, “I’m beginning to understand why you think that this Harding chick was responsible for framing you.”
Hellman held up a hand. “You haven’t heard the best part yet.”
“It gets better?”
“Or worse, depending upon how you look at it,” Hellman said.
“Tell me more.”
Madison sighed. “Well, I thought that Stevens was nuts. I thought I’d really be able to put the episode behind me. Actually, I was able to, it’s just that she wasn’t.”
They paid the check, parted company with Hellman, and the story continued in the car on the way home.
Madison had been pruning back the rose bushes in his expansive front yard. He had a gardener who manicured the grounds, but the roses were the one thing he insisted on doing himself. It gave him a few minutes out in the fresh air every so often, alone with his thoughts. It was a beautiful day, 70 degrees and a quiet, clear blue sky. Leeza was in the house; the kids had slept at their cousin’s and had not as yet returned.
This morning, Murphy had taken care of placing the last nail in the coffin of one Brittany Harding, put out to pasture with all of her delusional visions and phantasmal rumors. Madison took a deep breath of fresh air. “Free,” he said to himself as he exhaled.
Fifty yards away, out on the street; he could see the twirling spirals of a football being hurled back and forth. His neighbor, Matt Prisco, was playing ball with his son Scott, the starting quarterback for Rio Americano High.
A car pulled up at the curb and the horn started honking, brutally piercing the solitude of the moment. Through the slits in the trees and the stone wall beyond, Madison could see Matt talking to someone. A woman.
Brittany Harding.
She drove her car up the circular drive and stopped hard in front of Madison. Slammed the door. “You goddamned fucking son of a bitch!”
“Brittany, what ar
e you doing here—”
“You liar!” she shouted. “You’ll get yours!”
“Liar? What are you talking about?” he said, taking a step toward her, the pruning shears still in his right hand.
“You said that if I slept with you I wouldn’t lose my job! All I’d have to do is sleep with you!”
She flung her purse at Madison and knocked the shears from his hand. He ducked and dodged another roundhouse swing, threw up his hands, and leaned backward. As she swung again, he grabbed her from behind, strands of her strawberry-scented hair flying into his mouth as she squirmed and struggled to wrestle free of his grasp.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Brittany,” he said, forcing air into his lungs as he kept her torso pressed tightly against his body. You need psychiatric help. Serious help...”
She swung free, out of his grasp. “You pig! I’m going to the police—tell them what you did to me. You’re gonna pay for this!”
She jumped back into her car and screeched off along the circular, driveway, leaving displaced gravel and a pile of dust behind her. Madison stood there, the trimming shears lying on the grass ten feet away, his mouth open, watching the car drive off. Matt Prisco and his son were standing at the entrance to the driveway, staring at Madison.
And Leeza was up at the third story window, crying.
CHAPTER 18
LEEZA WAS IN TEARS for two hours before Madison could get her to calm down. He gave her a Valium tablet he kept in the medicine cabinet for those times when he needed to sleep following a particularly stressful day. He had been taking quite a few lately.
As she calmed down, he again assured her that nothing had happened between Harding and himself. But Leeza kept coming back to what Serena had told her: that he had had an affair with the woman. Now, after what she had witnessed, she was not sure what—or whom—to believe.
“Honey, I swear to you. I never laid a hand on her. I have never, ever even thought of getting involved with her.”
“Oh, come on, Phil. She’s gorgeous. You can’t tell me that you’ve never had fantasies about her.”
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