Chapter 9

Anya was playing with the radio dial while Travis munched on the last of the carrots. He wasn't a great fan of rabbit food, but if his tummy was happy, Travis was happy. He glanced at the upcoming signage and asked Anya to pull out the cell phone from the glove compartment. That exercise took a few minutes of explanation, but finally he had the devise in his hand.

"Hi Madelyn? It's Travis Doherty. I've got seven new pieces of furniture I think you'll want to see. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, I'm kind of in a rush and I know that it's Saturday afternoon, but would it be all right if I swung by now? Uh-huh. I'm already passing Pontiac so give me 30 minutes. Thanks Madelyn."

Thirty-five minutes later, Travis swung the truck into the parking lot and parked it across all five spaces. He turned to Anya and asked her, "How do I look?"

"Your hair needs combing," she said.

Travis grimaced, "I don't have a comb. I lost it a couple of weeks ago."

Anya shot him a dirty look and he stopped trying to run his fingers through his hair.

"Wha.?" he shot out of his mouth and then held the last letter when he realized he was missing her entire point, "a lack of imagination on my part?"

She beamed and nodded. Travis put his hands together, centered himself and straightened his hair better than a barber could ever manage. He gave her wink and launched himself from the truck, taking the steps to the front entrance two at a time.

In a moment, a thin fifty-something woman, with bright red cats-eye frames dressed in a black with white striped tailored pants suit, strode out the door with him. She was still putting on her long coat as they came down the stairs. Anya hopped out of the passenger side and met them at the rear of the trailer.

Before Travis could say a word, Madelyn and stepped forward and thrust out her right hand. "Hello, I'm Madelyn Rosenblatt and you must be Travis's friend. You have the most beautiful, unblemished skin, so delicate."

Anya blushed furiously as she stammered, "Thank you. I'm Anya and it's a pleasure to meet you."

Madelyn nudged Travis with her elbow as he spun the dial on the trailer lock, "Travis, she has manners too."

It was Travis's turn to blush and, of course, Madelyn noticed it. "Oh, so you like this one," she commented and then turned back to Anya, "I have a hard time extracting any information out of this boy, quite taciturn if you ask me. How old are you, dear?"

Anya worked her jaw for a moment before speaking, taken aback by the direct interrogation of Mrs. Rosenblatt, "I'm far more than fifteen, even though I apparently look that young."

"She's nineteen," Travis interjected, "and her daddy's a prince."

Travis undid the latch and swung open the doors. Anya stepped forward without prompting and helped him pull out all seven pieces right into the middle of the parking lot. Instead of looking at the furniture, the older woman was making a careful study of the younger woman, sizing her up and weighing suspicions.

When they were out of the trailer, Madelyn went through all seven pieces, inspecting them from all sides, sometimes turning the lighter pieces over to inspect the joints. Travis fidgeted as she went through each piece with quiet comments of "hmm" and "ahh."

"How fast can you reproduce these, Travis?" Madelyn finally asked.

Travis cocked his head and thought out loud, "Four to seven days, depending on what is in the shop at the moment, but more important is what wood you want. Oak is no problem, maple isn't difficult either; but cherry I have to order from the mill."

"I want an eighteen month exclusivity clause," Madelyn demanded. Travis's heart leapt because she obviously wanted the furniture and was ready to deal. He resisted the desire to vigorously shake his head and took a moment to consider the offer.

"The only way I would guarantee eighteen months is a minimum purchase agreement," Travis replied.

"Tough negotiator," Madelyn replied to Anya, loudly enough to make Travis smile.

"I want these six pieces, Travis, but this last piece with the unusual angles I don't believe I can move."

Travis looked stricken for a moment but hid it again behind a stone face. "P-problem?" he managed to get off of his tongue, losing all sense of guile.

"That's a museum quality piece, dear. I work with some wonderfully rich and tasteful people, but moving a piece like that usually requires a different expertise. This is more than a piece of furniture; this is a sculpture done in wood. Whatever possessed you to envision this piece must have been extraordinary."

Travis stared at her in disbelief. He glanced at Anya for advice but she was surreptitiously examining the older woman with a certain intensity.

Madelyn continued, "If we agree to agree, then I suggest you move these pieces to the loading door on the backside of building. Tyrone is in the back and I'm sure you remember him from last time; I believe you dropped one of the units on his foot. Just follow the driveway around and I'll meet you inside. Anya, why don't you come with me and we'll warm up inside while the men do the work."