Thawing Miss Grover

Chapter 1

The battered white and dirty Mercedes coupe that would have prompted cardiac arrests if parked in the foyer of the car's-maker's Stuttgart HQ, entered the palm-lined entrance and through exotic gardens surrounding three sides of the international factory and administrative center of Chic Swimwear Inc. of California.

Chic Madison grinned, thinking of the back street sweat-house factory he'd played in as a boy where his dad had tutored the machinists, supervised their work, repaired their machines and helped sort of their domestic disputes with husbands and children and, as well, printed out addresses on a new-fangled computer and later a laser printer and ran administration comprising two semi-retired clerks.

And now this palatial house of business; it was the first time he'd seen it other than on film or in marketing brochures.

Oh, those machinists shared duties, three of them also filling in as his surrogate mom and he often slept over with their kids, giving him the gift of being able to speak flawless Spanish and understand Mexican culture almost as well as general European/American culture.

Initially, his had mom spent much of her life on the road, displaying garments to wholesalers and even modeling them when requested and, probably as Chic surmised later in life, offering her body to secure really large orders.

To his knowledge, she still used that embracing marketing technique as corporation president to win favors for the organization.

Ah, mom. He was looking forward to meeting that stranger.

It wasn't her fault that she had to work so hard and he always saw her Sundays when she was awake or not in the bedroom with his dad with the door locked.

Her half-sister, Aunt Mae from Manhattan, arrived when Chic was sixteen and was amazed to find him consorting with girls from twelve to twenty with such familiarity that she flushed in embarrassment and had to go and lie down with a wet towel over her forehead.

She ignored the fact that he was just as familiar with males of similar ages and the kids' parents, and failed to acknowledge that he was just a super-friendly kid.

When at last she managed to pin down Chic, and he spoke to her in accented English, she seized him by the ear and had said, 'You're coming back home with me to learn how to be an American'.

Smiling at those memories, Chic parked in the grand entrance and the doorman came rushing out pugnaciously and ordered, "Move that dirty wreck buster even if it's a Mercedes."

"Drive it carefully when you park it; I'm Chic Madison."

"Oh God," squawked the doorman dying a thousand deaths. "I'm sorry Mr Madison."

"You'll now always remember who I am, won't you?"

"Yes Sir, Mr Madison."

The doorman rushed up the steps, held the door open and pulled a finger across his throat to the two receptionists who were doing their fingernails. One cleared away and the other sounded a quick blast on the fire alarm system that alerted the entire workforce.

Danny Madison, in his deputy- executive chairman's office, finished the last hand of poker with two executives and then waved them back to their posts. He needed to prepare to meet his long estranged son.

In the executive chairman's office, Elle Madison pushed her blonde PA away, pulled up her panties and did up the side buttons of her wrap-round skirt while Maggie, her PA and consenting adult, sprayed air-freshener and unlocked the doors before disappearing into her office.

Chic had married Aunt Mae and Uncle Silas' adopted daughter Francine when he returned to New York from London with his MBA. He was made president of their chain of jewelry stores where he languished, working hard but bored to his teeth because despite what women might think, dealing in the diamond business is a huge yawn and Francine had such fantastic antennae that he rarely strayed.

However, Francine found someone else early last year. When their divorce came through two weeks ago, Chic was fired from the jewelry company.

He'd called his mom, she invited him home as she was interested to see what he looked like and she changed his mind after he'd said no. She'd added allurement by inviting Chic to become CEO of the company, a position that she and her husband had shared as part of their chairman and deputy-chairman duties. And here he was.

The two young receptionists gaped.

The new boss was not only a rave as a looker but he had a mane of blond hair and although twenty-nine, showed no sign of baldness. But not only that: he was about six-three with a wide chest and was dressed immaculately in a white polo, white suit and white casual shoes.

"Hello girls." he smiled, showing great enamel.

"One of you please take me to my mom."

The youngest was out of the blocks first.

"Hi Mr Madison, I'm Nancy."

In the elevator to the upper floor of the sprawling two-level building, Chic pointed to Nancy's breasts. "Is all that you?"

"Yes Mr Madison," she said, fluttering her extended eyelashes. "Remember, you are in California now."

As soon as Chic saw his mother. he saw why guys would still want to rumble with her. At just forty-seven (married and pregnant at 18), she was gorgeous and obviously had not suffered from some of the surgical mess-ups that leave many rich women victims of abortive or perhaps just inadequate scalpel-cutting.

"This is your mom," said Nancy, aware of the estrangement story, flashing teeth.

The executive-chairman gaped until she recovered and said, "Well, well, the younger women of California are going to love you but don't discount my friends including those older than me, says your flabbergasted mommy."

"I'm here to help drive our swimsuits to even greater heights, there is no time for frivolity," Chic grinned.

"Oh darling," Elle said offering her cheek to be kissed. "Don't call sex a frivolity, it's a cornerstone of life out here; even the devoutly religious are addicted. Is this your sleeping companion?"

"No, it's one of our receptionists, Nancy."

"Oh, hi Nancy. You may go now."

The young receptionist walked off swinging her ass and preparing to launch that cameo she'd just witnessed into the rumor mill that would lay the foundation of Chic's march toward becoming a legend within the company.

"Come Chic and meet your father; he's been worried that he might not remember you. By the way, if you see anyone you'd like to sleep with let me know, and I'll arrange it. But within your first few days they all will be lining up for you. I have had the final say in recruitment and only approve male and females whom I'd be prepared to sleep with. You'll have no idea how accurate that method is in the selection of employees with excellent all-round talent."

"Is this our son?" Danny asked.

"Hell yes, can't you see me all over him; he probably has your feet," his wife simpered.

Chic's dad held out his hand and said, "Call me Danny, son. Rule 1: if you ever want to talk to me confidentially in front of your mom, switch to Spanish. Rule 2: never go into your mom's bedroom without first knocking and then pausing. Rule 3: never go into your mom's office without first knocking and then pausing."

"Mom, are you likely to give me away to any woman who's bent on lowering my focus on life to sex?"

Elle glared at her homecoming son.

"Remember Chic, I allowed you to be taken to New York for a cultured upbringing. So please, none of that snide talk to me, do you understand."

"Yes mother, but in my upbringing post-you, I had to bust my nuts not to allow myself to be converted into a toffee-nosed goon. Don't get your nose out of joint just because I stayed out of sight all those years to allow you to enjoy erotic dates. I thought you would have appreciated me being well out of the way to avoid the disruptive embarrassment of having your son walking in on you."

Elle smiled beautifully.

"Tell me son," said Danny. "Do you know anything about swimwear?"

"Not much, but I've seen a few and taken off a few."

"That doesn't make you an expert," his dad scoffed.

"I know but experts are hired to carry out expert tasks dad. My role is to tighten the running of the corporation, keep it operating effectively, encourage people within it to work as close-knit team players and to push the selected few to really soar."

"Really? I don't have a clue what you are on about son."

"It's pretty basic Danny but I wouldn't worry about it. You actually know the theory without understanding you know it because how else would you and mom founded the business on such a strong base that has enabled it to grow to this enormous extent?"

"Sheer guts in risk-taking and working hard and attempting to predict the future and listening to the experts, I suppose."

"Dad, you've just earned yourself an MBA without knowing what you've earned and how you've earned it. You are amazing and, in my mind, you deserve being called a legend in our industry."

"And me? I suppose you grew up thinking I was happier away from you, playing and ...err ... sleeping?"

"Mom," Chic smiled, leaning over to pat her cheek that he found surprisingly soft and subtle.

"It takes two to make a proper partnership and that role you played to the hilt, sacrificing the easy life, family and living securely with a guy who I remember as a young kid was always aware he was the one who made you laugh, took your to the bath when you arrived home bone weary and put you to bed before he started to work through the order book smiling."

"I reckon, if someone cool wrote a film script about you two and your achievements, it would be rejected by Hollywood as being profoundly unbelievable and mischievously delusionary."

Danny laughed and said, "That's really a tremendous tribute from you, son. How is it your mind is not poisoned against us, for the way we stripped you of a family upbringing?"

"Dad, I mean Danny, "I had a fantastic upbringing. In New York, I met teens and then later young adults who had parents and grew up with them but never really knowing them. I remember as a youngster, often going to sleep on your knee as you worked away drawing. You never said 'No, go away, I'm too busy doing important work'. You would hug me and tickle me under the chin and make some stupid noises that made me laugh."

"You remember that?" Danny said in wonder.

"Sure dad, nothing like that happened to me in New York."

"And mom, I'd come into the bathroom and you'd be in the bath. You'd lift me up and I'd sit on your knees and we'd play splashing and you'd fall asleep and I'd move up and play with your titties and then I'd fall asleep on them. They are among the best memories of you because I knew, I really knew when we were like that you were my real mother. These days when I lie over the titties of women, I think of you and I guess they think they've created the smile on my face."

Elle just stared at the homecoming young man, tears leaking down her cheeks and said, "Omigod, my half-sister has done a wonderful job on you."

Chic nodded in silent tribute.

Danny asked did Chic have any new season ideas.

"Just the one, His-Her swimsuits."

Danny sighed. "Sorry son, we and other manufacturers have tried it and it dies before it has time to real catch on and some of the losses have been colossal."

Chic nodded in understanding but said, "Selling is mostly about marketing and successful marketing is all about image building Danny. You guys just give me an adequate budget and then step aside apart from offering advice based on wisdom rather than prejudices. I thought about this on the plane flying out here and it's all beginning to fall into place."

"Danny is right," sniffed his mom. "Why don't you wait until you accumulate on-the-job experience?"

"Step back mom, I want support, not to be anchored."

Danny asked what was the concept?

"Two words: We're one."

There was silence until Elle said, "I'm taking you to our chief designer."

"It's okay, point me in the right direction and I'll find him."

"Him? Oh, don't be so arrogant. She's Miss Grover, she refused to be called anything else but Miss Grover, the super-talented but stuck-up bitch."

"She doesn't like her given name and your mother doesn't like her because she thinks Miss Grover is still a virgin. Unfortunately for your mother, we can't fire her for being incompatible with company philosophy, because Miss Grover is the princess amongst swimsuit designers at present."

"Mom?"

"That covers it. What's more, she won't like you."

* * *

Chic walked through the vast first floor work room feeling like a blowfly must feel entering a butcher's premises. Eyes were riveted on him but whenever he looked, the heads of the machinists were down working. He suspected some of these workers would be the daughters of the original machinists, possible some of those original..."

He scanned the entire room and as he did so four elderly women stood up; his heart almost stopped and he recognized his former part-time foster mothers.

Then a plump pregnant young woman stood, came out into the aisle and began walking to him. Her supervisor called to her to return to her station.

Chic recognized the young woman, held out his arms and in Spanish called 'Modesta'. His long-ago favorite playmate ran into his arms and they kissed as brother and sister.

The room, mostly of women of Mexican descent, erupted into clapping and expressions of delight. Chic lead her back to her row and then went to each row where the elderly women still remained standing and he announced loudly what they had meant to him as a boy and called them to the aisle and kissed them. There would not have been a dry eye in the entire workroom, apart from executives.

The factory manager had waited patiently and when finished, Chic waved to her and began walking out.

"Back to work girls," called the manager.

No one moved.

Chic called in Spanish, "Back to work you lazy sluts or you won't earn enough to buy chocolates to fatten your asses."

There was a great roar of laughter and machines a buzzed as a whole wave of excitement swept the room.

"You're a star act, Mr Madison," smiled the manager. "I'm Sally Bright."

"Hope I haven't fucked up production for you Sally."

She smiled and said they may well hit a new record for a day's output.

"Just look at those fingers flying."

"I hope so Sally. Where do I find Miss Grover?"

"Oh, your poor man," Sally said, losing her smile. "Surely not on your first day. The design room is above us. Miss Grover sits at the far end facing the two rows of her estimators, pattern makers and fabric and other assistants."

Chic approached Miss Grover, optimistically, wondering what her wavelength was.

The rather shapely brunette flipped the dustcover over her easel to conceal her work.

"Yes?"

"I here to invite you to accompany me to the café for coffee. I wish to talk to you."

"Talk to me here thank you."

"No, the café. I am Chic Madison, newly appointed CEO of this company.

"I said talk to me here."

"No, I want coffee and I want to talk to you in private. This is no longer an invitation; it's a command."

Their eyes locked; it mattered who blinked first.

Chapter 2

Chic was not meant to begin work until the next day, beginning by attending a full executive meeting at 9:00. But learning of the apparent maverick Miss Grover had captured his mind. He fancied coming to an understanding with her without taking her to a movie or a bar. Perhaps if he were good enough, he might get to date her and even woo her to bed. Ha.

It wasn't much of a ha-ha right now. He'd stupidly blundered into a confrontation in front of other employees. He should have known the likelihood of this happening with a maverick. He held his gaze wondering if she admired emerald eyes and his heart flipped when he saw her eyes waver.

"You have emerald eyes, great color. I'll grab my bag."

Huh, she sounded just like any normal young woman.

They went through a side door.

"We watched the commotion below on the monitor when you entered the workroom. We couldn't hear what was going on. You seem to handle women very well. But an entire hall of them? I thought, wow."

"I like handing women," he grinned.

She didn't comment, remaining expressionless.

He told her what Modesta had been to him and what the four older women had done for him as a child. She stopped walking and looked at him shocked.

"How ghastly for you. I had impression you would have been raised amid great wealth. I was taken from an orphanage by a Spanish couple and also had a ghastly life. I learned later my name had been Isobel but they changed it to ghastly Jacinta, the name of their daughter who had died two weeks after birth and that tragedy was what had brought them to the orphanage looking for her replacement."

"Wow, how terrible for you, Miss J, Um, I didn't have a ghastly life," Chic explained.

"In fact, I had a wonderful life and believe that has given me a free spirit although I did marry badly and that caged me for nigh on three years. I speak Spanish as well as English, play the guitar, love people and festivals and can sing in front of other people without embarrassment and know how to love women because women believe they know how to love me. Why don't you change your name back to Isobel?"

Her eyes showed her surprised.

"I can't, my foster parents gave me the name Jacinta."

"I don't mind it, in fact it's a pretty name; it means..."

"I know what it means."

"Then just call yourself Isobel and sign official documents Jacinta."

"What?"

"Just call yourself Isobel."

"It's not that easy," she said, looking alarmed as Chic moved in smoothly to take her arm.

Fortunately, they were alone in a corridor leading to the elevator.

"Don't you dare touch me," she said shaking.

"Isobel, I'm not him."

"W-what do you mean," she said, her eyes dilating slightly.

"Isobel, Isobel, come to me," he soothed.

She stood quivering like a fawn, ready to flee.

Chic stepped right up to her, arms open wide.

"Isobel, Isobel, come to me."

With an anguished cry she stepped forward and he closed his arms softly and stood still, avoiding breathing into her hair. He could feel through his chest her heart-beat up tempo.

She pulled back with a little pressure and he dropped his arms but she didn't move away any farther; it appeared she just wanted to see his face.

"H-how did you know my adopted father used to touch me, more than touch me?"

"I've come across scarred daughters in my time. And at least two sons to come to think of it."

"Oh, how dreadful."

"Yes, but it happens. Let me hear you say, 'I'm Isobel'."

"No, you shouldn't be doing this to me. I've had professional help and they haven't been forceful like this. Why are you doing this to me?"

"This isn't about me Isobel; it's about you. Don't you want to break free?"

"Of course, but it's impossible. There's no way that saying Isobel will free me."

"What a ridiculous thought."

"What?" she looked at Chic genuinely astounded.

"It won't. Saying a name - in particularly that name - will only mark a change in attitude. Changes in attitude will gradually free your mind; it's really no big deal. One doesn't have to be a student of psychology to know that."

"Isobel."

"Louder."

"Isobel."

"Much better, now shout it."

"Isobel!!"

Chic grinned. "Good, now come for coffee."

He walked on and called, "Come on, run and catch up."

He heard the clatter of her shoes on the tiles and challenged, "Race you to the elevator."

He started slowly and she flashed by holding up her skirt in both hands. He rather fancied that was the first reckless thing she'd done in years; a prudent woman would have taken off her shoes before running on tiles.

She had 'I won!' written over her face when he reached her but she didn't say anything.