#34-Fabric
After Steve left, I called Darryl. He answered on the second ring. “What’s up, sugar?”
So help me, I could hear his smile and the lights shone brighter. “What are you doing?”
“Consulting with the legal team. I am about done.” His tone said: regardless of whether the legal team is. When a patient man loses all patience, watch out.
“I’ve got the diagrams for how the room can be set up. The room’s totally empty except for a few chairs. I don’t know how useful visualization will be for you at this juncture.”
“Emptiness is Zen, sugar. I’d like to bring along Sylvia from Marketing and Dave from IT. They came to me with a proposal on using some multimedia tools that I’d like to explore. It alters our plans for dinner.”
I laughed. “It sounds like a fabulous idea and I was just going to tell you that we’d have to change them anyway. George Zografos is here, redecorating the lobby. He painted me.”
“George is talented. A portrait of you by him might be kind of special.”
“Think, Darryl. What kind of paint does George use? Water-based interior latex! I have a stripe of Mediterranean Antique Gold running down my left side. My pantsuit is ruined.”
Darryl sucked in his breath. “He needs therapy.”
“Yes, he does. I’m his therapist. Generally speaking, the less he knows about my private life the better. His transference issues are he confuses me with his second daughter. For this and many other reasons, I’d like him to remain ignorant of the depth of our friendship.”
“I’ll agree, although my unenlightened impulse is to go down there and get all Texas all over his ass.”
I smiled at Darryl’s drawl. “No need. I can deal with George.”
“I’m sure you can, sugar. Will it take more than forty-five minutes? Because I am wrapping things up here and that’s about how long it will take to get there during rush hour.”
I could imagine Darryl with the phone pressed against his ear, his every emotion naked to the people around him. Since he was with the legal team, those people included Jerry Brampton. I shuddered. I could not warn him against Jerry again. It might backfire. I sorted through all the possible things I could say.
“It seems like a long time since I’ve seen you. However, realistically, I need an hour.”
Darryl blew out a sigh. “Yeah, same here. Realistically, it’s who knows when. I’ll call to confirm just before we get there.”
The lights seemed dimmer after he disconnected. I took a moment to center my breathing and savor the silence of the empty conference hall, then went to lay a therapeutic ass-whomping on George.
The paint crew was picking up their work area. The finished wall looked like cream and gold brocade that seemed to ripple as if stirred by a breeze. George regarded it, hand on hips, head tilted, as if not quite satisfied. He had removed his white coveralls to reveal black turtleneck and slacks, and now looked like an avant-garde version of Satan. The little soul patch on his chin quivered as he took in the stiffening paint on my sleeve. He opened his mouth. I knew he would have a spiel all planned.
“George, you will only get one warning,” I said, “If you try to justify your action as service to the world of fashion, you will regret it. That was assault, George. Your poor sales manager, who has been working all year for the account I represent, was so traumatized just from witnessing it that he had to go home.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Deweese. I realize that was inappropriate,” he said, “You must let me replace the suit. I’ve asked them to keep the shop open for our convenience.”
“That does show progress, George, and I accept the apology but can’t permit you to pick out clothing for me, especially not clothing that I would wear in a professional setting. If I do that, I can’t continue to counsel you.”
The amoral bastard looked shocked. “But I’ve followed your suggestions. I’m bringing my wife with me on my business trips now.”
“Does it help?”
“Yes, I’ve been very, very good. The romance between us has blossomed again. And it helps with the children. Could we sit down somewhere and talk about that? I really need to talk to you, Doctor.”
“I’d love to, George, but I can’t sit down. Even though I can feel it drying against my skin, the paint would still ruin anything I sat on. And the businessman I’m coaching through a public speaking engagement will be coming in to check out the hall and I’m going to look dreadfully unprofessional. Even though you have apologized, you still haven’t fully accepted the consequences of what you’ve done.”
I watched George suffering as he worked out the dilemma: he had to replace my clothing to repair the wrong that he had done, but if he chose that clothing himself—the whole reason for the assault—I would refuse to counsel him again.
“Wait right here, Dr. Deweese! Don’t move!” George patted the air all around me as if enclosing me in a box and ran over to a chair in the lobby where a woman sat reading the newspaper. He spoke to her, using his arms for dramatic emphasis, and she followed him back.
Helene Zografos was a middle-aged woman dressed with quiet dignity in a deep midnight blue dress. She put out her hand and when I took it, gripped it expressively.
“My husband has told me so much about you, Dr. Deweese. So kind of you not to sue him. He has explained the problem and naturally I understand your scruples. Would you accept me as your shopping assistant and continue to counsel my husband? George will take his crew to the bar and will not have any input into the process. Maybe I could borrow Greg to fetch and carry for us, dear?”
“Greg is a fabric expert,” said George, “He can advise on quality.”
“I believe that will be acceptable,” I said, “One more question, do you pay retail or wholesale at this shop?”
George clutched his chest as if I had stabbed him to the heart. When his wife glared at him, he admitted: “Wholesale.”
Thought so. I kept the smile off my face. “Then I think an appropriate apology includes three business suits, blouses and accessories plus a donation to the local battered women’s shelter.”
“This is not the time to haggle, dear,” said Helene. George handed her his credit card and slunk to the bar.
“Now that he’s out of earshot, I can safely say I agree with George about that suit, Tiffany. You are an attractive young lady and really could make better color choices.”
“I travel so much. Neutral colors seemed sensible. For professional reasons, my wardrobe needs to be modest and conservative. I love the color you’re wearing.”
Helene Zografos looked at me with eyes haunted by a world of experience, “Do you? It’s such a sad color.”
