Perfect Match (5 page)

Car fluids were leaking and D.R.’s limp body was oozing
life-sustaining blood. His white shirt was drenched crimson. As the car was
being reshaped by a vector of conflicting physical forces, a piece of chrome
had popped loose and sliced his left cheek, barely missing his eye. The 638
horsepower supercharged engine had come to rest on his right foot and ankle.
Seat belt and air bags had provided the only mercy of the wreck.

The EMS staff worked quickly removing him from the tangled
wreck. They loaded him on an ordinary gurney that had been used to transport
all kinds of humanity in need of help.

The fresh spring air had brought a light misting rain that
dampened the night life of Asheville.

Madison, with coffee cup in hand, sat down, and spread the
Asheville
Citizen-Times
ready for her morning read. She was still reeling from her
job promotion, when her eyes locked on the mangled red Corvette on the front
page. The headlines read
Fallington Enterprises’ CEO in Critical Condition
.
She read the full article, then speed-dialed Edna Fallington. Madison’s heart
was beating fast, but not from the coffee.

“Hope I didn’t wake you, Edna. I just saw the article in the
paper about D.R., Is he okay?” Worry was in her voice.

“I left the hospital about midnight. The doctors have him
stabilized, but he may be out of it for another day or two. He has a crushed
right ankle, a cut on the left-side of his face, and an assortment of other
bangs and bruises. The scan revealed normal brain function, which is
disappointing to me. I had actually hoped the wreck would’ve knocked some sense
into D.R., but I guess that’s wishing for too much.”

Madison said, “I hope I can develop a sense of humor like
you Edna.”

“You will, just give it time. Wait ‘til you have
grandchildren. You’ll develop all kinds of resilience.” She laughed.

“Umm…well…is there anything I can do? I feel so…like…like—”

Edna cut her off, “Like you’re responsible for D.R.’s
misfortune?”

Madison sighed. “Yes, a little of that, I guess.”

“D.R. was acting a fool last night, Madison, not you. This
is all about him. He needs lots of time to face himself and think about his
life. He has to do that. Neither you nor I can do that for him. He runs with
the wrong crowd, especially his choice of women. I just wish he could
appreciate maturity in a woman.”

She paused.

“Listen, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll be responsible for
trying to raise my grandson, and you’ll be responsible for resurrecting the
company that he wrecked.” She scoffed, “Neither one of us has an easy job.
We’ll probably become green-tea-drinking floozies before we get everything
straightened out.”

Madison laughed. “Count me in.”

“One other thing, how’s your daughter and will she need
someone when you visit our branch offices?”

“She’s fine. My sister-in-law helps me when needed.”

“Keep me posted on anything you need.”

After their call ended, Madison leaned back in her chair,
pondering the past few years and the future.

She finished her coffee, gathered her nerve and headed for
Fallington Enterprises, looking forward to her first full day as CEO. She felt
confident, but cautious. She knew there were lots of weaknesses with
Fallington, and changes would have to be made quickly for survival.

Rodney met her at the door with a subdued smile and some
completed work that she’d assigned him the day before. She went over a few
things with him, and he was happy to finally have some direction in his day. He
felt that he and Wilma had come to a personal understanding about their future,
although it was painful for both of them. He’d learned of D.R.’s accident from
his grandmother, but the realization hadn’t hit him yet. He was still focused
on his $50,000 reduction in salary, and his marital issues.

The twenty-something threesome came rushing through the door
on time for their meeting with Madison in the conference room. They were
sleepy, slapped together, and shell-shocked that human beings were actually
functioning at 8:30 in the morning. The trio looked dazed as they plopped down
at the table.

Madison began promptly. “I want to help you become
productive, successful business women, if you’re willing to learn.”

The three twitted with questions throughout the meeting, but
Madison was patient. She felt they had potential but D.R. had programmed them
to serve only his purposes.

“Is this going to be hard stuff to learn?”

Madison responded, “At first it might seem that way.”

“Do we have to come to work every day at 8:30?”

“Yes, and since you’re on a salary, you’ll work until daily
tasks are completed, and sometimes that might mean working a couple extra
hours, either early or late; your choice.”

“Why do we have to change the way we dress? That means we
have to buy new clothes.”

Madison was glad to answer this question. “I anticipate
increased clients coming to our offices; therefore we’re going to dress
business-like. We’re not running an escort service or a drive-thru sex store.
Dresses and skirts no more than a couple of inches above the knees, like mine.
Clean cut business slacks, and blouses that don’t show everything you’ve got up
top. In the past, I could tell each of you what color panties you had on. Every
time you’d sit or bend over you exposed them to the world.”

“Well, D.R. wanted us to—”

“D.R. doesn’t work here anymore. I’m your boss now.” Madison
figured they’d not heard about the accident last night. They hadn’t mentioned
it.

There was a pause.

“Are you jealous of us?” Mindy studied her bright nails.

Madison took a deep breath. “Mindy, the truth is I hardly
know any of you. I don’t know enough about any of you to be jealous. And you
know something else? I know even less about D.R. This has been a very
dysfunctional office, with almost no interacting at any level.

“But I can tell you I’ve been a very busy woman in this
office. My mind has been focused on my job, not you or D.R. I’m a single mom,
with a wonderful daughter. I just became the CEO of a challenging, but
promising company.” She paused, looking at each closely. “Are you jealous of
me?”

Jasmine blurted out, “Not me. I don’t envy you at all,
Madison. I wouldn’t want the job, but I admire you.” The two other blonde heads
nodded. “I don’t know how you’re going to do it.”

Madison said, “I’m going to do it with your help. That’s how
we’re
going to do it.”

For the rest of the day, the office was a flurry of
activity, phone calls returned, files put in order, the trio getting some
hands-on training with the office productivity software and equipment.

Around 6 o’clock, as they entered the elevator down to the
parking garage, Madison asked, “So what bars are we hopping tonight, ladies?”

The three were incredulous, and frazzled looking. “Are you
kidding? I’m so tired I could fall asleep right now, said Mindy.”

Roxy chimed in, “I’m going home, drink vitamin water, and
fall asleep watching old re-runs on TV.”

Jasmine laughed. “I think I’ll just crash on the sofa.”

Madison, looking calm, joked, “Guess I’ll have to party-down
on Asheville tonight by myself.”

They all laughed.

As they stepped off the elevator, Roxy touched Madison’s arm
and said, “Thanks for treating us like…real women today.”

Madison smiled at the three and headed for her rusted
Cavalier. But she was working on trading cars.

Cobalt Medical Center commanded a sprawling campus on the
edge of Asheville’s rolling landscape. It had gained an excellent reputation
through the years. During the past ten years an aggressive building and
expansion program had resulted in a medical facility that was competing with
the best. But in the last three years concerns had been raised over the
tight-fisted budget practices of the current hospital administrator.

For the past three days doctors at Cobalt Medical Center had
analyzed D.R.’s medical records, and 65-year-old Dr. Milhouse Stillwell, who
had served as the Fallington’s family doctor for years, was prepared to go over
the options.

“Morning D.R., how’re you feeling?”

“Terrible, so fix me up so I can get out of this lousy
place.” He carefully adjusted himself on the hospital bed, wincing at the
various pains he’d aroused.

Stillwell studied him as he walked around the bed glancing
at the bedside monitor’s digital readouts, thinking that his attitude hasn’t
changed an iota. D.R. is the worst patient he’d ever had.

He stepped closer to the bed, feeling of his neck and facial
muscles near the bandaged gash the wreck had delivered. He listened to his
heart and breathing, muttering the anticipated, “Fine. Fine. Sounds good.” He
draped his stethoscope around his neck.

“Let me give you an update and spell out some options for
you to consider.”

D.R. grunted, looking with his right eye only, since the
bandage for the cut on his cheek was partially placed catty-cornered across his
left eye.

“You received a nasty cut on your cheek, but you’re fairly
young so the healing should be normal. Later on, if needed, a plastic surgeon
can help minimize any scarring.”

D.R. was uncomfortable thinking about any scarring on his
face.

“Your joints received a thorough wrenching in the wreck. Most
should go away with time provided you practice good healthy living. However,
scans and X-rays can only show us so much. Measuring unseen stress on joints,
tendons, and ligaments is not easy to do. So as you age there’s a slight chance
of little surprise aches and pains.”

Millhouse watched D.R. grow impatient, so he cut to the
chase.

“Your right ankle is where most of the damage was done.
You’ve got a number of fractures. Modern medicine can do unbelievable things,
but we’re not magicians.”

D.R. panicked. “Am I going to lose my foot, my leg? Is that
what you’re telling me? What, damn it?”

Millhouse walked over, closed the door completely, and
returned to the foot of D.R.’s bed. He gave him a hard look. “I want you to
keep your mouth shut until I finish giving you my professional opinions, and
then I’ll listen to all of your concerns and questions. No more outbursts.”

D.R. sulked.

“In consultation with the orthopedic specialists, they’re
willing to commit that you could lose anywhere from a half-inch to an inch in
length of your right leg. It may be less than that, but that’s a framework to
be thinking about.”

He broke silence. “That’s not going to work for me. I will
not be a limper, a damn gimp. You’ll have to fix it or I’ll get someone who can
fix my ankle.”

Stillwell studied him for a moment. “Okay, I’ll go prepare a
legal form releasing you from my care, and you’ll be free to find another
doctor.” He headed for the door.

D.R. blurted, “No. No. Don’t. Don’t leave.”

The doctor had called his bluff.

D.R. sighed heavily. “I don’t want another doctor.” He sunk
into the lumpy hospital bed, defeated as he looked at his right leg and foot in
a cast and sling throbbing with pain.

Stillwell stood by the bed again, taking a couple of deep
breaths as he framed what he was about to say. “You can get through this, but
you have to stop fighting against everyone. Your dad killed himself with
alcohol. His liver turned to stone at 42. Your mother was the town whore; HIV
sweeping her health away at the young age of 39.” He shook his head slightly.
“There’s not a pleasant way to say these things, sorry.”

D.R. had heard all of this before, and remembered it well,
and the loneliness he’d felt losing both parents within three years, while
still a teenager. His grandmother, Edna Fallington, had stepped in, along with
a piece-meal network of nanny’s to get him through high school and on the
doorstep of college. His older brother, Rodney, was still in college after
changing his major for the third time.

 Stillwell continued. “Both your parents were obstinate;
don’t follow in their footsteps. Learn from their mistakes. Learn about, and
from life. There’s more to your life than the small limitation of your ankle.
Some people don’t have any arms or legs.” He paused. “There’s plenty of time to
think about all the options. I’ll keep day to day watch on your progress and
the positive things we can do.”

D.R. closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about options.
He’d never had to think about options. What the hell is that supposed to mean, he
thought.

Stillwell left the room to check on other patients.

Stillwell breezed by the girl in the wheelchair parked a few
feet from D.R.’s room. She slowly lifted her head, eyes following the doctor,
and then she glanced back at the closed door. While in the hall she’d picked up
most of the conversation between the doctor and D.R.

She wheeled on down the hall to a corner sunroom that was
rarely used by patients or visitors. But she liked the cozy room and was
thankful for each new day she greeted there, as the sun painted the morning
sky. She parked her wheelchair, pulled the
Asheville Citizen-Times
from
her worn canvas messenger bag. She loved reading about the local scene.

There was another detailed article regarding the wreck
victim five doors down from her hospital room. This article focused more on the
past shenanigans of D.R. Fallington than his injuries from the wreck, but she’d
already read and clipped those news accounts.

After finishing with the newspaper, with a small pair of scissors
she clipped a couple articles and filed them in a red folder, then wheeled over
and trashed the rest of the paper in the waste can.

She pulled from her bag a spiral notebook and pen, flipped a
few pages and scribbled a few notes. She paused, looking through the bank of
windows at the changing cloud formations, the coloring of the distant
landscape, and stout oaks swaying in the spring air. What a beautiful day, she
thought. Thank you, Lord. I love this day.